Name of the story is actually Forced Confessions/Dirty Laundry, but it seems like the slash-symbol can't be used in the title.
Characters and venues belong to Naughty Dog.
Zhi, Nyeki and the authors mentioned in this story are invented by me, but Naughty Dog can have them if they want to. P
Timing takes place during Jak II. Not compatible with the official time- and storyline.
Rated T for mildly depicted sexual action and language. (there are F-words near the end)
This became longer than I intented... Each and every review is welcome!
Dirty Laundry
The first thing Jak noticed when he woke up was the overwhelming weakness in his body. Somehow he felt like he should have hurt like hell but his nervous system was too weak to send out anything else but an intolerable itch. Jak tried to raise his hand to scratch his face but only managed to cause a twitch to his arm. In the short time between the sleep and the awakening he had thought that the surface he was on smelled and felt like an Underground bunk and now when he finally cared to open his eyes, he found out his nose and nerves hadn't lied to him. Yep, one of the bumpy mattresses with its hardly washed bed linens. Although the smell hinted towards bad personal hygiene, Jak was quite glad to find himself on the smelly fabric (although finding himself on clean and fragrant cloth could have been a bigger pleasure…). Being in the Underground always gave the green-and-blond-haired faery the feeling of safety. No matter how many Hell Cats and KGs were after him, when he saw the alley and saw the painted doors open, he knew nothing could hurt him anymore – or at least shoot his brain out. Jak was headstrong, bolshy and sometimes brave to the borderlines of foolishness but he wasn't stupid enough not to understand that there was always a possibility that somebody would make him kick the bucket. The base of Underground was safe (at least between the limits of relativity and ridicule), although being there brought out other insecurities of his.
He tried to remember the events of the last night, to which he very often didn't run into. What had happened? He had been sent on a mission to destroy the first fleet of the new heat-seeking plasma-coiled solid-red-eco-armoured blaah-blaah nearly-hyperspace-navigating almost-perpetual-motion Hell Cats which also had a guarantee of two civil wars and leather seats with genuine strawberry scent. He remembered taking that massacre machinery down - it was hard but hell he did it. Jak didn't usually feel proud of what he called the daily surviving, but this time around he did and with a reason. The last one of those Hell Cats had shot him down, but he had destroyed it afoot with only a few remaining ammo in his Vulcan Fury! And then…
And then?
Jak was sure he didn't go to Hip Hog Saloon after that, so there had to be another reason he didn't recall the last night.
You know it? He asked from the creature in his head, but astonishingly it didn't answer. Jak repeated the question though he knew that his dark alter-ego could read his thoughts anyway.
No answer. Only a tiny tickling feeling of mischievous amusement lurked out for Jak to know.
He felt a sudden need to explode at the intruder in his head. For once he was asked something and he didn't care to answer! Jak didn't especially love Dark Jak as Daxter called it and had rather called it something else as he didn't feel that the long-clawed wight was a part of him more than a shoe or a scratch was. And still the eco-being was scarily similar to him, though Jak wished he didn't come across as such an irritating and morally questionable person.
What happened?
Jak managed to fumble his forehead with his hand before the strength escaped his veins. He had a bandage on his frontal bone, and seemed to have bandages here and there, so something had happened for sure. But what? Had he been shot? Then how did he get to the Underground base?
"And there was a girl who could make love to ev'ry guy, for each and ev'ry guy she had a sparkle in her eye…" a voice of sliding doors and a singing ottsel pulled Jak back from his thoughts, "…but she loved only me and ev'ry hair on my fur, but that horny chic's darling's covered in cloaca dirt!" Daxter finished his song by moonwalking to Torn's desk. "Jak!" he shouted as he saw his pal on one of the bunks. "Sheesh, you here. Didn't see ya. Sleeping, huh?" The ottsel placed its head and hands on the edge of the bed and though he looked as adorable as always he reeked horrible.
"Yeah or at least I was", Jak admitted. "I can't remember the last night though. It is the new day by now, right?"
"Yeah, it's da so-called tomorrow morning", Daxter said. "Can't remember the last night, huh? Are you okay? Or did you go to have a couple of drinks?"
Jak smiled. "I would remember if I did. I just remember destroying all the Hell Cats."
"I saw a few of those junks on my way back", the ottsel said and went to shower himself with the water pipe. "Yuck! Please promise me it was the last time I – ever! – had to go to Palace via drainpipes!"
"Did you get the stuff you were looking for?"
"The secret plans? No", Daxter said while soaping his fur, "but I got the juiciest gossip! D'ya know about Erol's wart?"
"Dax", Jak smirked, "you know who's gonna kill ya."
"Don't worry", the showering ottsel shrugged it off and then continued: "I got the plans."
"Good. You didn't run into any trouble?"
"Hey!" Daxter turned the water off. "I went into da Palace. Of course I got into da trouble! Them crimson people had sealed one pipe so I had to improvise a bit but I got through it. I just dunno if Tattooed Wonder likes the fact that I overturned a wall, but hey, you've gotta live with da situation."
"Overturned a wall?" Jak laughed. "Dax, I was worried about you."
"Aww, don't be. I'm a smaller target than you." Daxter shook his fur dry. "Wow, you really look shit today."
Jak laughed again. "Thanks."
"Are you sure yer okay?" the damp ottsel climbed onto the bed and sat next to Jak's head. "You got a wound I see."
"I've got lots of wounds I suppose… But I'm fine. I'm just feeling weak. Tell me 'bout the plans."
"Don't cha wanna hear 'bout the gossip first?"
"Bring it on!"
"You're never gonna believe this, but there was this one Krimzon Guard and a yakow and one night a couple of days ago a few other Guards went and…"
Torn arrived about an hour later, when Daxter was half-way through Baron's not-so-secret-plan-anymore after babbling about rumours and ridicules for quite a while. He jumped to the aisle and announced pompously: "The Demolition Duo has been reunited!"
"Got the plans?" Torn asked with ice piercing bluntness.
"Yep, all in my head", the orange rodent tapped his skull. "D'ya wanna hear them?"
"No", the blunt faery said and stepped over the ottsel. "I'll ask for them later."
Jak couldn't help but notice that the commander was a lot moodier than the usual take-moody-onto-the-next-level Torn. He wondered what had caused this deepening of an emotion, the only emotion he had seen Torn put to use.
"Torn", he asked, "what happened last night?"
The faery in question turned quickly and gave Jak a quartz hard glance before turning back to the cupboard. "You completed your mission."
"Yeah, but after that?"
"You bled."
"Bled?"
"Wounds do."
"And I did?"
Torn didn't care to answer. He placed a few small glass bottles onto the desk and came to Jak with a needle and a tiny glass plate. "Your finger", he said and then continued, "no, never your trigger finger." He stabbed Jak's middle finger with a needle. Behind Torn's back the ottsel jested with his middle finger the other way around and Jak couldn't hold a tiny smile back. Torn went to his desk with the blood samples and dripped a drop from each glass bottle onto the glass disk.
"That's impossible!" he yelled suddenly.
"What?" Jak asked but didn't get an answer.
Torn went back to his closet and took out another set of pink, blue and transparent bottles. He played around with them until stopping and staring at the blood samples. Then he stabbed his own finger and the routine was done over. "That's impossible", he repeated in a confused tone. Jak noticed that the confusion suited the commander as well as being chronically pissed-off.
"What?" Daxter asked.
"You probably feel weak", Torn said turning to Jak. "That's because of blood loss. Normally I'd give you new blood to fix that, but now it seems impossible."
"Why?" the Demolition Duo asked with one throat.
"'Cause Jak doesn't have a blood type", Torn blurted out.
"What!" the Demolition Duo hollered.
"Your blood repels both A and B blood, so it should be AB. I tried with AB to get the final confirmation and your blood repels it, too. You even repel blood type O and that should not happen."
"Beg ya pardon", Daxter bounced onto the desk. "Are you sure yer bottles are fine and fresh?"
"They work perfectly with my blood", the commander snarled and stabbed the rodent with the needle. "And look, they work with you, too. Your blood type is the same as mine, B."
"So", Jak began, "what does it mean?"
"That there is a thing in this world", Torn said without a hint of emotions, "that connects my unfortunate soul to this miserable gnawer."
"Eh, fine. But I meant my blood type…less…ity?"
"If we can't get you blood", Torn said and shrugged, "you'll be tied to your bed for weeks, maybe months."
"Tied to my bed?" For months!
"Yeah. A faery body doesn't move well when it's slowly recovering from blood loss. We're not like yakows."
The expression on Daxter's face just screamed 'a wonderful idea'. "What about giving Jak yakow blood?"
Both faeries stared at him.
Daxter! Please…
"What? Wasn't it a great thought?"
"What about getting a physician?", Torn asked moodily.
"Yeah, that's cool. Get Jak a doctor. And while you're on it… get yourself a shrink!"
Torn grabbed his morph gun and walked out of the doors.
"Why's he like that?" Daxter asked and climbed back onto Jak's bed. "Has he sat in a beehive? Like, longer than usually? Anyway, where was I in the plan? Oh yes, then after the accidentally fishy accidental death of that politically open-minded chic – she's got good glandulars by the way! – then them crimson people… Jak, don't you know what's a glandular organ? Jak, yer clearly most uneducated. A glandular organ is a tit! …No, Jak, not the bird! Are you bugging me on purpose or are you just stupid? And where was I? Oh yes anyway, they are about to blow up – no! Jak you're a yakow, the Krimzon Guards are about to blow up, not the boobs… Sheesh, now, so, the KGs are 'bout to blow up the eastern side of da slums in order to get to that ore, which is just an excuse of course, but them people need to get rid of that chic first and that's where Torn comes in, he'll probably have the chic for himself, but anyway after that…"
Torn arrived in the afternoon with a man who was wearing Krimzon Guard pants but had left the upper armour somewhere. As soon as Jak saw the man bells went on in his head.
A Krimzon Guard. He brought in a Krimzon Guard?
"Don't make a habit outta this, Torn", the Krimzon Guard said with a bit nasal voice, "I still don't wanna be a part of your Underground."
"I know, Zhi", Torn said. "Believe me, I ran out of all the other physicians."
The KG, apparently Zhi, snorted. "Those so-called physicians."
"Well, at least they work for me."
"Such a silver lining."
"Better than nothing."
"Eww", Daxter sniffed at Zhi's undershirt. "Don't you shower? I have a sensitive nose."
Zhi's eyes got very big as he looked at the orange rodent standing on Jak's bed. Not because of what the rodent said but overall for the fact that he had said anything. Jak and Torn were both so used to the Orange Lightning that they always forgot what kind of a shock the hardly eloquent but ultimately talking rat was.
"Forgive him", Jak said and smirked at the man's astonishment. "He's not known for his good manners."
"Right. You must be the patient", Zhi shook hands with Jak who managed to lift his arm, "and you", Zhi turned to Daxter, "yes I do shower. But it's a sunny day out there and a Krimzon Guard uniform is warm enough."
"It's air-conditioned, isn't it?"
"It is. But it's also made in Haven."
"And?"
"That's the answer", Torn cut in. "The air conditioning doesn't work in the heat of the afternoon, so practically it's no use at all."
"Yep", Zhi nodded, "I wish I could join this rebellion so I wouldn't have to bare that nasty outfit. But", he turned back to Jak, "you. So, you ain't having a blood type?"
"Torn says so."
"Let's find out." Zhi took stuff out of the big pack he had brought in with him. Again Jak was stabbed with a needle, though Zhi's needle was more like a medical instrument whereas Torn's had been a simple safety-pin. "Yeah, no blood type."
"That's impossible, isn't it?" Torn asked.
"That's fascinating!" The KG physician took a quite large machine out of his pack. "Now, this is an electrothroughseer."
Jak glanced at the apparatus that looked like an accidental offspring produced by a one-night stand of a plasma screen and a torture device. For certain reasons Jak wasn't keen on the latter ones, thus he didn't welcome this new machine with hip-hip-hoorays. "Ele-what?"
"Something that exceeds our budget of three years", Torn explained.
Zhi chuckled. "It sees you through your skin. I can choose do I wanna see blood, bones, strings or whatever I can find inside you."
"Fair-haired monsters?" Daxter asked impishly.
"Dax!" Jak snarled.
"Well, I guess there's no blonde monsters inside this faery", Zhi said to Daxter. "Although I have heard the rumour."
"Yeah, it's probably just a KG rumour", Torn added but Jak thought he could catch a glimpse of sarcasm in his voice.
The physician paused for a moment. "This is the prison escapee, right?"
"You're a KG", Torn shrugged, "I'm not supposed to tell you that he is."
Huh? He told? Not supposed to? My ass, he told a KG!
Zhi chuckled again. "I don't understand how you did it", he said to Jak, "but sure you're good at driving Erol crazy. What's your record?"
"My record?"
"How many of us have you killed?"
"Ehm", Jak looked at Torn.
What should I say? Does he have me slain if I say 'many'? Or -
"He can't count that far", Torn answered. "Actually, Zhi, if you're going to stay in KGs, I can't promise you that this young talent of the year won't kick your ass."
"He won't kick my ass if I accidentally run into a teeny-weeny clinical error", Zhi said while placing the throughseer on Jak's chest. The blood and blood type lacking faery didn't find that certain joke funny. "So, blood… Interesting."
"What is it?" Daxter hopped over Jak and came to watch the screen of the machine.
"Your blood is pretty dark coloured."
"Can you really see my blood?"
"In theory, not. Practically, yes. The machine analyses your blood and draws it onto this screen. It's not live picture of your insides but it's a good substitute. You see, your insides are completely in dark."
"Yeah, lotsa darkness", Daxter replied and looked at Jak with a smirk, "but what's with the blood colour?"
"It's just more purple than usually."
"Oh, I wonder why's that." Daxter kept on joking. It seemed like Daxter had chosen to take the subject Dark Jak intentionally lightly and Jak usually respected it as nurturing gloomy thoughts didn't help anything. But sometimes he just couldn't find the right state of mind to laugh at the ottsel's jokes.
Zhi worked on the machine. "Now let's zoom. Okay. So here's a few schemes of normal blood and soon a scheme of Jak's blood should appear and we immediately –" The silence took over the room.
"How fascinating!" Torn blurted out.
"Happening", Daxter whispered.
"What?" Jak asked. "Tell me, it's my blood."
"This can't be…" The physician said and worked on the machine again. "Seriously. I've never seen such an extraordinary blood cell."
"Extraordinary?"
"Yeah, Jak, it's quite cool", Daxter explained enthusiastically. "It's got tentacles and horns and all them crazy stuff."
"Yeah great, Dax." Jak said assuming that it was a bad joke. "No, really?"
Zhi nodded. "There is this amazing complexion on it. I don't know what has caused it. I could analyze it and I actually wish to. This is a medical miracle to say at least."
Jak raised his eyebrows. "A miracle?"
"Or in your case a tragedy 'cause there is no blood to give you", Zhi took the throughseer and placed it carefully to his pack. "I think that was that. I'm no help"
"Don't you want blood samples?" Torn asked.
"I already got those little drops. This boy's so lacking blood that I'm not gonna make him bleed more."
"What do you suppose? How long will it take for him to heal?"
"Well, in normal circumstances it depends on the overall shape of the patient, the genes, the stress factor and the blood type. In his case, considering that his blood takes supposedly a lot more to be formed than an ordinary corpuscle due to the complicated exterior… I have no idea."
Torn sighed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose you want the payment now."
"My, why didn't you tell me you can read thoughts?" Zhi said in a delighted tone. "'Payment'. I just love the sound of those syllables."
"Oh, I wonder why's that", Torn snarled mocking the rodent and gave Zhi a little bag. Torn escorted him to the door and they changed a few words.
"You brought in a Krimzon Guard?" Jak asked from Torn as the commander returned.
"I did."
"Isn't that pretty risky?" Daxter shouted.
"I can tell you that Zhi's more loyal to us than he is to Baron." Torn sighed and cleaned his desk of the blood samples and bottles. "It's just that Zhi's got a family and he's got to make the living. Only a few want to be Krimzon Guards. Most have no other choice." He turned to Jak. "That's why I don't encourage you to slaughter KGs unless you have to."
Jak felt a sudden rush of anger. "Oh yeah. Well what should I do? Tap them on the head and have them blow my brain off?"
"I didn't say that", Torn snarled. "If you kill KGs while they're trying to kill you, I can't point a finger. But I don't encourage you to kill KGs just because they exist."
"If there were no KGs, the city would be a better place."
"I didn't expect you to be such naïve," the redhead snorted and shook his head. "Over the half of the eligible men in this town are Krimzon Guards. If you killed them all, how many fatherless children would there be? How many women would be left to miss their beloved ones? And in order to make the living the eldest sons of each family would go to KGs. It's unfortunate but it's true: you either serve in KGs or live in the slums and have practically no faery rights. Remember that."
Jak bit his lip. He wanted to say something back but couldn't think of anything worth uttering.
"So, now", Torn started while making a bed to one of the bunks with clean linens, "I guess I'll drive you to your apartment and you'll rest for –"
"I don't have one", Jak interrupted bluntly.
Torn stopped. "What?"
"Yeah, you heard", Daxter hollered. "We don't have one."
"An apartment?"
"No, we lack a foot. Or, yes, we lack a head. Or –"
"Thanks Dax", Jak snapped at the ottsel..
"So, I guess you'll stay here, then", Torn said, sounding not pleased at all. Jak felt as if an icicle had found its way to his extraordinarily purple interior and twisted and turned there right by the moment…
In the following days Jak didn't actually mind his bed vacation. He got to see the living inside the base. He had always thought that all Torn did was sit behind his desk and bark orders, but now he was surprised by the amount of action the faery went through. Torn could wake up after one hour of sleep, fly a zoomer, plan a strategy, go to a conference, collect a cargo, participate in a street fight, come up smelling like a rose (well… kind of a sweaty rose), plan another strategy, tie a wound, draw a map and read a book before hitting the bed in the next morning. Jak wasn't a person who needed lots of sleep, but Torn took that onto the next level, too. The commander really gave the Underground his everything and Jak found himself respecting the ridiculously dour redhead even more. The abovementioned moodiness stayed in the minus degrees and slowly Jak started to feel that the coldest shoulders were given to him. Torn constantly told him and Daxter be quiet and he sometimes gave them tirades about the way of the world but otherwise the commander hardly acknowledged Jak at all. Yes, it was Torn who helped the injured faery limp to the bathroom and it was usually Torn who cooked the food Jak got to eat, but the redhead never talked with Jak in more than two or three words. And when he did, there was this huge amount of energy full of wrath pushing through the sullen ice coating. Jak wondered if he had done something wrong, because something was wrong for sure.
"Have you noticed", he once asked from Daxter, "that Torn tries to ignore me as much as he can?"
The gnawer shrugged. "I don't think it's nothing you've done. Methinks he just takes it out on us 'cause we're here."
"Yeah, right", Jak murmured, "right." The days of resting started slowly to bother him.
He also started to notice his worth for the Underground. Usually Torn put a few men on missions that Jak knew would have been completed with the Demolition Duo alone. Also, some of his men failed on missions that Jak considered easy. One thing that in addition showed up was death. Every now and then a man did not return from a mission. Jak didn't know any of the other ciphers and to be honest he didn't care all that much, but still it was slightly shocking.
"Men do not die in war", Torn explained in one of his tirades one night when there were only the three of them and he was frustrated and tired. "They are dead when the war is over, but they do not die. They fall in battle or are wounded. Actually, the whole concept of war is built on one fat lie: the delusion that the wounds of violence will disappear once the antagonist is defeated. That things will be better if someone's shot."
"But you lead one side of the war", Jak said in a confused tone. "Why… how… or like…"
"Fighting a war is surviving", Torn snapped, "liking a war is insane."
Jak could see such wisdom behind those icy-blue eyes, yet he still didn't know what to think about the seemingly always pissed off faery. In the beginning he had been a little frightened of Torn but had taken his moodiness down with humour. Now, he trusted Torn but instead of vanishing, his fright had found a new way to circulate around the commander. Jak liked the redhead though he didn't know why. Torn ignored him 23.5/7 and Jak couldn't understand how he would like someone such… Jak didn't know. It was Torn who had tied his wounds but it also was Torn who had this look in his eyes that was ready to choke someone.
One night a successful mission filled the Underground base with drunken and drowsy faeries who celebrated the new wrench in Baron's works. Jak heard the story at least twenty times, each time from quite a different angle ("…and none of this coulda been possible unless this fine friend of mine here, with my self-sacrificing help of course, had not have…"). Torn stayed sober and watched over the fuss with a tolerating look in his eyes. Even he couldn't hide his smile when the rebels laughed at Baron. Daxter, who acted more drunken than he really was, left by the midnight with Tess, who acted more stupid than she really was. Jak didn't mind, actually he had told Daxter he could run on his own businesses. The patient had reasoned that Daxter needed to pay more attention to Tess than him now when it was possible, but in the end Jak was relieved that the ever so likable babbler was gone for a moment. As much as Jak loved the ottsel like a brother, Jak felt like he needed his own time.
That night all the bunks were filled, some carrying several sleeping (or practically passed out) faeries. Jak and Torn were the only ones awake, the fair-haired one lying on his bed staring at the bunk above and the latter one working on a couple of maps. Torn yawned, rose up and checked that every bunk was put to use. He took an auxiliary blanket from the closet and settled himself on the floor between the desk and Jak's bed. Torn could have easily woken up one of the ciphers and took his bed, and the rebel wouldn't even have felt a need to complain, but Torn didn't do it. Jak found himself surprisingly moved by the redhead's humbleness.
"Torn."
The faery in question turned over and saw the pillow Jak reached out for him.
"Take it."
"No", Torn whispered back. "You keep it."
"I've got a mattress, you've got a plank." Jak grinned. "Just take it and play martyrdom."
Torn grinned back and took the pillow. "Thanks", he whispered simply and Jak saw a whole different look in his eyes, a look Jak wanted to deposit to his mind. But the look didn't last for long and Torn turned over to his right side and Jak couldn't help feeling betrayed although he knew it was childish.
Why am I feeling these… things towards him? I say, of course I don't feel anything towards him. Well… At least anything I'm not supposed to. But… Why? It's like… He's always so moody and stuff – though I've gotta admit it only makes him even more – no, la la la, I'm not thinking like that. Ahem, and he's old. Yeah, very old. Though, it only – not again, not at all, no no. And like… He doesn't even look good – of course he doesn't have to and I haven't looked him like that but anyways as example he's got those ridiculous tattoos, oh how their black lines fell on his face… He's so handso- handsaw! Eh, handstanding? Hand-washable? Handmade? Eh, handicapped? Or he's hand and glove with eh a big yakow, eh, a big, a big big – la la la, I'm not thinking. Ahem, and his voice. Yeah, his voice. Like someone has mauled his throat. Although, well, that sexy, hoarse – I must be really tired, I almost thought I almost used that big bad S-word. Anyways, I'm not feeling these things towards him, okay? Torn's an asshole – and I'm not thinking about his asshole, right? Of course not! And… Well, of course there's no need to start thinking ifs and evens, but even if I felt something towards him – which of course I do not – what would be the use? 'Cause he feels nothing but anger towards me 'cause I'm in his – I mean, a pain in his ass. And – yeah, he's he. He's male, a man, so I without a doubt do not feel anything towards him. Absolutely nothing. 'Cause he is he. Zero emotions. 'Cause he's a man. Yeah, he's the man… Oh, now I know! It has to be some sort of a complex. Yes, that's it. 'Cause I've never had a real father, just that a bit touched-in-the-head uncle – oh, I wonder how he's doing. Does he miss me at all?... Oh well, I've never had a father, so I'm filling the void with Torn 'cause I've had some bad times and he's old, wise, my boss and hot down to the floor – LA LA LA I didn't think that! Yes, it's a complex. It has to be. And it will pass like an adolescent craze. It's a complex…
"It's a complex", Jak whispered aloud without noticing it.
"What's complex?" The half fast asleep sounding Torn asked, startling the younger faery.
"Eh, eh, nothing."
Torn sighed and pulled his blanket over his head. Jak blushed slightly and turned over, sensing the same pixilated amusement oozing out from the creature in his mind. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, only to see a dream he would be ashamed of the next morning…
In the following days of the pillow incident Torn didn't sleep at all. Jak noticed that the commander grew more and more frustrated, swore aloud often (which he normally didn't do) and walked circles around his desk for miles.
Bang. Torn's head hit the wall and pulled Jak back to reality.
"Ouch", the commander murmured and stared at the maps.
"Torn? Are you okay?"
"What? Of course I am."
"You hit your head to a wall. Literally."
"Not too often. Now, I need peace."
"Tell me, what's the deal?"
"The deal?" Torn still hadn't turned his eyes from the maps.
Jak almost asked about the deal between the two of them but changed the subject at the eleventh hour. "The plan you're wrestling with."
"None of your business", the redhead blurted out. "May I have my peace now?"
"Fine. Have as much of peace as you want to. At least you don't rest in it", Jak sassed. Talking about peace, the blonde faery was almost worried about his dark self. The silence continued – not that Jak would mind.
"I'm busy."
"Fine. Cut the helping hand. You've got enough cold shoulders to go around!"
"Shh! I am working."
"You are mentally asphyxiated."
"How lovely! Mister Mental tells me about behavioural adjustment. If I were you, I wouldn't talk back, especially about this subject", Torn then frowned and looked at Jak. "What the hell is asphyxiated anyway?"
Jak stared back angrily. "A rather big word."
"How wonderful. A rather big word. That's an answer to all my worries", the older faery scorned. "Have you ever thought about using words you do know?"
"Let me think for a moment", Jak mocked the act of cogitating. "How 'bout moody, boring, ugly, selfish, sullen, overworking, emotionless, ill-natured, unpleasant, verbally stingy, chronically cretin and asymmetrically tattooed hypocrite with an anger issue and flat ass?"
"That's it!" Torn yelled and hit his fists to the table. "If you speak even one word, if you move, if you even breathe –"
"I'm alive?"
"NO! You're a corpse. So if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut. UNDERSTOOD, SOLDIER!"
Jak had to admit he might have gone too far although his intentions were pure. He had never seen Torn this angry, yelling with his face red. Jak couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed, too, although his anger and pride got in the way of saying 'sorry'. Instead Jak just lay back and turned his back towards the ireful faery.
It took a moment for Jak to get rid of his wrath. Then he rose up to sitting position and looked at Torn's direction. The redhead gave him an asking glance.
"I guess…" Jak started. "May I speak?"
"Go ahead."
"I guess I shouldn't have… Well, said what I said."
"Well, neither me. Forgive me."
What!
Unless Jak had sat he would have surely been knocked off his feet. Torn apologized? And it seemed like a real apology, not like a shoulder-shrugging sorry. The green-and-blonde faery struggled to find words and just nodded. Torn explained the dilemma in the plan and actually came up with a solution after a while. The commander was seemingly relieved and actually smiled. Jak watched him and felt… quite joyful.
"Perhaps you were right", Torn said and yawned. "I might have worked too hard. Sleep might be a good idea."
He lay down on the bed next to Jak's bunk.
Jak watched his side rise and fall with breathing.
Torn turned and looked at Jak, and they stared each other in the eyes. The younger faery cracked a half-smile and the commander answered. They just sat and watched each other, and Jak barely remembered the moody Torn anymore. This Torn was different: soft and easy to approach. And then –
"The ottsel's in da house!"
"Daxter?" Startled Jak looked at the door. Torn snarled, suffered a devolution to his common sociopath-self and pulled the bedding over his head.
"Who else, honey?" Daxter joked and walked to the bunks.
The blonde faery was still a bit stupefied. "Where have you been?"
"With Tess", the orange rodent said innocently and crossed his hands behind his back. "Chatting. Shopping. Partying. Copulating."
Torn made a disgusted voice. Jak guessed what the last word meant but pushed it away and told himself he didn't know the meaning.
"So, what have you two been doin'?" Daxter asked. "Chatting? Unlikely. Shopping? Unlikely. Partying? Unlikely. Copulating? Dear Mar no!"
"We've been trying to sleep!" Torn roared and rose up throwing his short knife. Of course the more underlining than fatally intended dagger missed the ottsel by inches and hit the bed leg and was stuck there. "Shut the maw, rat", the commander growled before pulling the blanket up to his eartips again.
"Pissed off? I shouldn't be surprised", the ottsel stared the dagger rather amusedly. "Believe me, some copulating would do him good."
"I heard that!"
Jak lay his head on the pillow, "I guess we better sleep, Dax."
"That's a fine hello!" The ottsel gagged and jumped onto Jak's bunk and curled up on his legs. "Night!"
"Night!" Jak murmured. He stayed awake until the dawn, though, listening to a sleeptalking gnawer, which could get rather unpleasent ("…But Taryn, my babe… Ooh, nasty girl, you know the weapons, babe…" (Jak wondered who the hell was Taryn. Daxter's dream lover?) "...Taryn, uh, this is Tess… Tess, this is Taryn… And… And she had something between her breast- I mean, teeth... Yer not angry?... Huh? You both? At the same time? Wow! Sheesh, I simply love missionary women!...")
More importantly Jak listened to the peaceful breathing of a man he tried to push out of his mind, but by the time Daxter included Ashelin to his dream Jak gave up and started thinking about Torn…
The next evening Torn was to leave for the big mission whose planning had gotten him and Jak in the argument. Daxter was to come along, too, and yes, no matter how hard he tried to fight against, the orange rat had to go and crawl around in drain pipes.
"This work sucks – literally", he snarled. "I'll join them crimson people."
"Hmm", Torn aspirated. "Too bad you're just about four feet too short. Perhaps they'll take you in out of pity."
"Nah nah nah! I was s'posed to meet Tess tonight, but now I'll be dirty! You Torn, don't get it, seriously. This sucks, man, this sucks so bad…" Daxter kept on groaning and walked out of the doors.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" the commander asked from Jak.
"I'm fine."
"Well, Tess is not on a mission right now, so I could call her if you –"
"I'm fine, Torn." Jak gave the redhead an encouraging smile. It was quite weird in a nice way that the older faery was concerned about Jak's well-being. He guessed it was an after effect of the fight. "Just go and blow ém up."
Torn smiled condescendingly. "Right. And by the way, Zhi had the samples analyzed. Said that your blood has more dark eco than he's ever seen before. But well, here I go."
"Good luck."
"Hey", Torn turned and smiled. "I don't need luck."
Jak stared after the departing faery and found himself worried.
Worried? Why am I worried? Torn will survive ev'rything.
No. Jak rectified his thoughts. Why am I worried about Torn at all?
Jak smiled sheepishly at the walls of the Underground base. He couldn't avoid the fact: he had a thing on Torn. He couldn't push it away, so perhaps it was better to surrender. Jak wasn't ready to use the word 'attracted', but at least he was keen on the commander.
And now Jak was alone and knew exactly what to do.
For many days there had been a strange pulling feeling. He wondered if it was something his dark self did, but something in his mind tugged him towards the closet that stood in one corner of the Underground base. Jak knew Torn kept weapons, books, clothes and maps there, but there had to be something else.
Jak stood up and took a few shuddering steps. He could walk without support already, but for some reason he had stopped himself from telling it to anyone. He went to the cupboard which Torn had locked carefully. The lock wasn't a problem: Jak gave a simple request for the creature in his mind and Jak's right pinkie turned into a white and long-clawed version. He picked at the lock with his darker self's slim nail and the simple lock ticked open. Jak put the lock onto the desk while his pinkie changed back into his own finger. Then he turned to the closet again and opened the cupboard door carefully, as if a monster could jump on his face from within.
Books. Clothes. Maps. Guns. And the auxiliary blanket Jak had seen before.
Jak blushed by himself as he went through Torn's clothes. Most of them didn't differ from the commander's normal clothes at all (Jak had thought the redhead always wore the same jacket but now it seemed that there were many replicas).
What am I doing? Going through his clothes... Ah, whatever…
He found a dun tank top with green pattern in the front, and wondered how Torn would look in it, with his toned muscles showing, with his tattooed arms exposed and –
A moment! Tattooed arms?
"Where the hell did I come up with that?" Jak murmured and placed the confusing garment back to its place. He was sure Torn had tattoos on his arms, but when had he seen the redhead's arms? Torn had taken his jacket off quite a few times but his red undershirt, the one that had a scarf-like collar was long-sleeved, so…
I must have come up with that on my own.
Jak smirked. At least he would have liked it if Torn had tattooed arms.
Jak wanted to keep on exploring the little of Torn's clothes that existed. The slight fragrant of the commander, the reveries in Jak's head… But the blonde faery knew the mission the commander was on wouldn't last forever. So, he moved onto the maps.
Maps.
Nothing interesting in them. Jak had seen them on the table so many times before that he couldn't think of anything that would hide there. Perhaps an army of paper dust and Jak wished to avoid it.
Guns.
Jak played around with Torn's guns: a singular Vulcan Fury, a singular Peace Maker, a six-shooter, a crossbow… The guns were intriguing and certainly of fine calibre, but Jak didn't feel the same connection with them as he felt to his own morph gun.
So… Books?
Jak had never been a reader type – it was a miracle he remembered how to read at all. He didn't know any of the books so picked one randomly. 'The State of Atrocious Living' by Sir Havenick didn't seem unputdownable in any way. Jak was about to place it back to the shelf, but suddenly the book that had been behind Sir Havenick's script caught his eye. 'The Common Theories of how the Sudden Changes in Maudlin Entropy are Partial to the Paradoxical Dogmas of Bourgeoisie' by Warian the Peglegged. Jak hardly understood a word out of the title, but something in this book intrigued him. He started reading but didn't understand a thing, so he just flipped through the pages.
And there, in chapter five which took 'The Differences of Everyday Martyrdom and Medical Mushroom Poisoning' under consideration, between the pages 48 and 49 were three photographs.
Three photographs which made Jak gasp his breath.
The first two pictures came in sepia tones and they both portrayed the same guy who was the Underground dart board. In the first picture Erol posed stiffly in a Krimzon Guard uniform, looking serious, but in the second picture apparently shirtless Erol smiled casually in front of something that could have been the Haven forest.
But then there was the third picture. It was in colour and it wasn't just Erol this time. It was him and Torn. The latter one had his arm on the shoulder of the other one, who had his arm on the other faery's hips. They both smiled, Torn looking at the camera whilst Erol looked sideways at him Quite softly. Actually, Jak could have never thought that Erol could look that soft. He looked…
Affectionate.
Again the amusement lurked out from the dark corner of Jak's mind, but he didn't care to ask the fiend.
Jak took the book again, placed the pictures where they were and kept on flipping through… And there, in chapter eleven ('Unwonted Exegesis by Woebegone Vertebrates') between the pages 118 and 119, Jak found a folded piece of paper.
Dear Idiot, read on it and Jak couldn't escape the fact that it looked like his own handwriting.
"What the hell", he whispered and opened the letter.
I'm trying my best, so forgive my lack of fluency,
you marshmallow-brained pile of shit. Oops.
But, isn't this what you'd expect me to say? So,
I'll say it: I hate you, I hate the world, blaah
blaah, angst. Fine? Okay, moving on…
Dear Jak (see, no idiot this time! (tho' not
calling you an idiot doesn't necessarily
raise your IQ (means intelligence quotient
if you didn't know))). I know you're confused
right now. Yes, it's me, your saturnine self
(by the way, saturnine means dark).
I lead you to this cupboard (I should write 'I'll
try to lead you' coz using past tense is quite
funny in this situation but on the other hand
I have already lead you to the closet once you
get to read this so the past tense is entirely
suitable. Quite complicated, but I hope and
doubt that you understood it).
Right now you'll probably wonder how I
got there, to this closet, and how could I
write the letter. Well, first of all I didn't
get inside the closet, but anyways. There
is this one night you don't remember, isn't
there? Huh? Yes. That night you were un-
conscious and I was free for hours. Oh, you
should know just what you missed. Torn
was such a gentleman. Ha.
Just like you earlier (I suppose. You just
wouldn't start from the books, dork), I
went through Torn's stuff for the sake of
curiosity. I just knew there had to be
something clandestine (secret, if that's more
simple). As a saturnine creature, I have
an inborn ability to sense any secret
worth exposing. Aren't I lovely?
Methinks, yes. Ha ha.
Anyways, I found the photos you have
seen already (if you haven't, find the
fifth chapter (something about martyr-
dom). Let me tell you a thing: the two
faeries in the colour picture were a
pair. Shocked, huh? And you didn't
hear that from me, remember.
C'mon, you'd suspect that out of Erol,
wouldn't you? After all the horny glances
he laid on you… Ouch! You're so child-
like. I hardly believe I exist.
If you didn't get that last sentence, just
forget about it.
The redheads in the colour photo, oh,
they had a relationship for a long long
time. But unfortunately they both couldn't
become commanders and the other one
(Erol) couldn't take it. Why Torn? Why
not me? Blaah blaah, angst. Ouch
again, workplace romances never last.
Remember that!
Apropos to nothing, you'll find a few
more pictures between the pages of
'Motherlands and Vanity Fairs' by
Kateb Third, but I'm not sure do you
want to see sleazy snapshots of your
torturer…
And my de-lighted (got it, ha?) friend:
check out Torn's back. And think of me…
(hint hint nudge nudge)
yours sincerely,
Darkie
Ps. Oh yes, it DOES mean you have a
chance.
Jak squeezed the paper in his fist, feeling umbrageous, confused and deliriously pleased, all at once.
Check out Torn's back. And think of me…
The one whose back was to be checked arrived later that night.
"It went marvellously!" he hollered. "Surprisingly enough the rat held up his end of the bargain and now Baron's – are you sleeping?"
Jak growled and pretended to be asleep.
Torn smiled patronizingly and silently put his gun away.
Put the jacket away. Jak implored in his mind. And as if Torn had heard the voiceless plead, he took off the jacket and then fell on the bunk opposite the younger faery's bed.
Jak waited. And waited. Torn's breathing became heavy and relaxed. Jak waited. After a while that seemed to last forever he rose up quietly. The bunk creaked and the faery froze. The sleeping redhead didn't seem to notice anything. Jak got on his feet and tiptoed to Torn's bed. The sleeping faery rested on his side facing towards the desk, so Jak had to squeeze his way into the small place between the bunks. He checked Torn's face, which was tranquil.
What if someone came? Like Daxter… Nah, he's probably at Tess's right now…
Jak carefully lifted Torn's bedding and shifted it so that the sleeping faery's back was exposed. Jak raised Torn's red undershirt even more painstakingly. He couldn't get the shirt all the way up to the commander's neck, but he didn't have to. He saw enough.
Long pink scars ran down (or up) Torn's back. As Jak had once ripped his leg to a thorny bush while escaping an ireful colony of wumpbees, he knew the kind of cicatrices: the wounds didn't bleed much, just seeped a little, but the scars stayed for quite a long time.
And think of me.
Jak had to admit to himself what it looked like. Everything just clicked. Even if he ignored all the clues and hints, Jak knew on some eerie and unaware way what Dark had done to Torn, or what they had done to each other. Jak was now disappointed. Disappointed, confused, and outrageous.
Whilst captured in his thoughts, Jak didn't notice Torn's breathing changing.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the commander asked angrily.
Jak yelped and hit his head to the upper bunk.
Torn rose up adjusting his shirt and repeated his question.
Jak couldn't think of a lie, so he bluntly told the truth: "Checked out your back."
"And why the hell is that?"
"I was told that there was something I needed to see."
"And what was that?"
"Those scars."
Torn smirked without joy. "So he told, didn't he?"
"Kind of. I guessed."
"And I suppose you guessed right?"
"It seems like I did."
Torn snorted and walked around the corner. Jak though the redhead was going to come there but instead the commander passed him and walked towards the doors.
"Where the hell do you think you're going!" Jak yelled.
"I don't know." Torn turned. "I'll just go."
"Don't even think about it!" Jak shouted. "You think you can fuck me and run away?"
"I didn't fuck you", Torn hissed from between his teeth.
"Oh not at all, you just fucked Dark Jak. And that's not me, right? There is this itty-bitty diff'rence, but it's enough right? Let me tell you something, it's still my body!"
"I know that!" Torn looked pained but Jak didn't feel compassionate.
"Do you? Well why did you do it?" Jak still yelled. "Just the fact that you fucked Dark – that's disgusting!"
"Don't think I was happy of what I did", Torn stomped to the younger faery who stood on the aisle. "Don't you think I hated myself? I couldn't even look at you for my self-loath!"
"Oh that's so sweet", Jak mocked. "A guilt-trip thing. A confessional. Torn, guess what. You are loathsome. You, you fucked Dark Jak! You fucked an eco mutant and my body! It… It's a rape!"
Torn hissed. "It's not."
"It is! You're so revolting, Torn!" Jak roared at the redhead's tattooed face. "I don't wonder why you can't fucking stand yourself! You fucking raped me!"
"Okay, whatever, I did wrong, I raped you!" Torn shouted and walked out of the inner doors. The faery turned again. "But guess what. Yeah, guess what. It was your freak who wanted it. And believe me!" Torn forced his furious face into a vexatious and joyless smile. "I enjoyed ev'ry moment of it. Dark was just so great. Believe me, I enjoyed it so much I could do it again and again and again!" the faery turned and stampeded out of the outer doors.
"You fucking idiot! You're so, so, so – disgusting!" Jak rushed after the redhead to the alley to tell him how much he hated him, though the blonde faery hardly found words to express the furore he was feeling. "You idiot! You, you fucked Dark! You, you fucking idiot! You…. You chose him when you could have me!" As soon as Jak realised what he had said he froze.
So did Torn. "What?" he asked in a flabbergasted tone and turned. "What did you just say?"
Jak still felt angry, angry to himself too, but there was something disarming in the confused yet wishful look in Torn's eyes.
"I -… You heard it." Jak looked away.
Torn came closer. "Did you mean it?" he almost pleaded.
Jak stayed silent. Then, after a small eternity he took a few steps towards the redhead, undoing the gap between them. He raised his hand on the faery's tattooed face. "I did."
"Jak", Torn said, "I, I, didn't… It just… I'm sorry."
The younger faery stared into the older one's eyes. "It's okay now", he said finally and pulled Torn closer. The commander wrapped his arms around the other faery and they shared a kiss. Jak had been kissed before – once on the shore of Sandover by a girl called Nyeki (Keira ravaged her hair the next morning). And now, just like he had been blown away by a little snog on the sunny beach years before, Jak was blown away by Torn's mature kiss on the messy alley.
"Ha ha!" Dark Jak triumphed in Jak's head. "See! You had the chance and you took it. Have him!"
Dark, thank you. Jak concentrated on the voice in his head for a blink of an eye, before giving all his attention to Torn.
There were no more cold shoulders, wrath or uncertainty, just two faeries engaged in a kiss.
The end.