Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

-Chapter Fourteen-

Daxter! It was him. It had to be him. Jak would recognize him anywhere. But he was lying limp and still in Sig's hands and oh god, oh god, what happened to him? He immediately reached out to take his friend, but Sig stopped him with a shake of his head.

"Let the monk look at him," he said sternly. "That's his job and he's good at it." Shouldering past Jak, he set Daxter down on the nearest bed, then stepped back to allow the monk access. Jak was instantly at the bedside, anxiety demanding that he be there, as close to Daxter as possible. The monk shot him an irritated look, as he had all the other times Jak had tried to get a closer look at what he was doing, but this time he didn't try to shoo the boy away. That was just as well, because there was no way Jak was going to let himself be brushed aside. It was everything he could do not to start peeling off Daxter's filthy bandages himself.

With his attention fixated on what the monk was doing to his injured friend, Jak was only peripherally aware of Sig and Damas. He certainly didn't catch the look that passed between the two. However, when Damas spoke to him, he at least glanced up to look at him.

"I suppose this means you are not interested in being released from the infirmary," he said dryly.

Jak snorted. No. I'm not leaving Daxter. If Daxter hadn't been there, it would have been another story entirely, but his boredom and agitation at being cooped up were completely forgotten in the face of the ottsel's condition. Even the nightmares he'd had during the night felt dim and far away. None of that mattered now. Not when his friend was hurt and needed him.

The king nodded as though he had been expecting that answer. "Very well, then. My orders to remain here stand. I will return in the afternoon. Sig..." He trailed off. But whatever he was going to say didn't need to be said, because Sig just nodded while unbuckling his armor. Satisfied, Damas returned the gesture, then turned and left the room.

For a moment, Jak felt like he'd missed something important, but then a soft groan from the bed effectively banished the thought from his mind. Jak's eyes snapped back to his friend, who was wincing as the monk applied some sort of green paste to his wounds.

"Ow ow ow, watch the fur," Daxter protested weakly.

Relief flooded through Jak's mind. Without thinking, he reached out to touch Daxter's head, which, though matted with dirt and something oily, didn't seem to have any injury. The warmth and life he felt was reassuring and the feeble complaints were music to his ears. Daxter. You're all right.

The touch immediately drew the ottsel's attention, and when he saw who it was, his furry face immediately lit up. "Jak! You sand-brained son of a yakkow, where the hell have you been? Why weren't you- Ow!"

"Lie still!" the monk hissed, placing a hand on Daxter's back to keep him from sitting up.

Jak shook his head, backing up the monk on this one. Don't move, Daxter. He's a healer. He frowned, scratching the back of his head. I think? He was a little confused about that. Damas had said that the monks served Spargus, but somehow he hadn't sounded like he was talking about healing. Or not just healing. Maybe they just took turns treating injuries and there were other things they did.

"Oh, now that's reassuring," Daxter said sarcastically. "You want me to hold still for some quack with bad taste in clothes and you're not even sure he can heal?" He winced again, this time because the monk had started briskly swabbing muck from the wound in his thigh.

He can heal! Jak protested, pointing at his chest. Granted, he didn't think this monk had been the one to bandage the cut he'd gotten in the arena, but that detail didn't matter and it helped get his point across. Daxter was good at understanding his gestures, but Jak still had to make sure he was clear. The ottsel couldn't read his mind, after all. Besides, the man could heal. He'd seen him treat plenty of other people just this morning.

Daxter frowned, eyeing Jak's shirtless, bandaged chest as though finally noticing it for the first time. "Hey, what happened?" he asked. "You weren't in that temple, too, were you?"

It's... Jak hesitated, suddenly finding it easier to look at the bed. It's complicated.

"So uncomplicate it for me."

But it wasn't as simple as that. Jak didn't want to tell Daxter about the arena. He didn't want to talk about the blood or the fighting or what he had done. He didn't think Daxter would blame him or look at him any differently, but so long as he didn't know, then part of Jak could pretend that it had never happened. Besides, his thoughts and feelings were so bunched and twisted that he didn't know if he could pick them apart and put them into coherent words. He gave his friend a pleading look. Not now, Daxter.

Daxter continued to look at him, now clearly concerned, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he just reached a paw up and placed it on top of Jak's much larger hand. "It's okay, buddy. You'll tell me when you're ready."

Daxter understood. He always did. With a wan smile, Jak placed his other hand on top of the ottsel's. He'd never been so grateful to have a friend like him.

-o-

Watching Jak and Daxter communicate was both baffling and impressive and it made Sig appreciate just how much effort Jak had put into his attempts to talk to him and Damas. Where before he'd needed pictures and sometimes written words as well as exaggerated hand waving and body language, with Daxter his gestures were so subtle that sometimes Sig didn't even realize that he'd "said" anything. But Daxter picked them up immediately and clearly understood every nuance that Jak was expressing. Perhaps even more than Jak intended.

Right now, the ottsel was doing his best to distract the teen from what had turned out to be a touchy subject. Shaken, Damas had described the boy's reaction to fighting in the arena. Apparently shaken pretty badly. Sig wondered exactly what had happened.

"So there we were!" Daxter exclaimed dramatically. "With the biggest, nastiest monster you ever saw breathing down our necks! I'm talkin' teeth and claws the size of daggers, razor sharp spines all over its body, and a tail so long is was like a whip! But did I back down? No! I grabbed Kraven's gun and marched right up to that overgrown Lurker an' said 'Listen, buddy, you don't mess with my pals! Not if you don't want me to shove this gun up your butt and...'"

Sig snorted softly. With every breath that Daxter took, the story became even more outrageous. Still, he didn't bother to correct the ottsel. Jak was obviously entertained, grinning and laughing silently at his furry friend's antics. Of course, this only encouraged Daxter to further heights of fabrication.

Daxter waved his arms wildly. "It tried to eat me! I swear, I'm not kidding! It actually put me in its mouth and chomped down. Let me tell you, I had to do some pretty fast thinking to get out of that one. You wanna know what I did, Jak?" He barely waited for Jak's obliging nod before shouting, "I grabbed its tongue and made it bite down on that instead! It couldn't spit me out fast enough after that, and- hey, don't laugh at me like that. Monster spit in your fur ain't a laughing matter, Jak! Especially not this monster's spit. I think it had acid in it. Two more seconds and I would've been a puddle of ottsel goo. Then where would you be?"

"In a much quieter room," the monk muttered as he wrapped a final bandage around Sig's arm. His voice didn't carry to the two friends, though, and so the tall tale continued. Sig started tuning it out, turning his attention instead on the man beside him.

"Anything I need to worry about?" he asked, indicating his injuries.

The monk pursed his lips. "The wounds themselves are, for the most part, superficial - and I use that term only as a Wasteland warrior would. You have no doubt suffered far worse. But something has aggravated them, and through them the rest of your body. I would tell you to rest for a week to allow yourself to heal completely, but I know you will not. One or two days, however, is the absolute minimum that you need."

Sig grunted at the answer, but didn't volunteer the information about what had aggravated his injuries. If he couldn't handle a little brush with dark eco from time to time, he'd be pretty pathetic battling Metal Heads. Tomorrow, then. He felt confident that tomorrow he'd be able to go on whatever mission Damas picked.

His eyes went back to the duo on the next bed. Jak was sitting crosslegged, chin in hand with one elbow propped on his knee, and his attention was completely devoted to the freshly cleaned and bandaged ottsel sitting in front of him. Daxter's pack of lies seemed to be going strong, now focusing on their trip back to the temple entrance.

"Hey, doughboys," Sig interrupted. "You mind pipin' down? You two may be fresh as daisies, but I ain't slept since yesterday." Honestly, the pillow on his bed had never looked so inviting. Well, at least not since the last time he was dead on his feet.

The two boys exchanged sheepish glances, then Daxter spoke for them both. "Sorry," he said. His voice was much notably quieter. Then Jak added something, lifting his eyebrows in question. Before Sig could try to translate it, though, Daxter stepped in. "You all right?"

And just like that, the missing piece slid into place, the reason why Jak had managed to live this long without being able to speak. The answer sat right in front of him in the form of a loudmouthed animal who could sit on shoulders with ease, who talked enough for two people, and who could translate Jak's "words" so quickly they might as well have been his own. Daxter was Jak's voice.

Sig wasn't so sure he liked that. He narrowed his eyes as he considered the implications. Jak had a voice, Sig was certain of it. He'd heard the kid yell as he'd fallen from the sky, and again when he'd first seen Daxter. But if Daxter always spoke for him, he would have had no reason to try to learn to speak. Whatever was responsible for Jak's initial muteness, the problem wasn't being dealt with.

"I'll be fine," he said, answering Daxter's - Jak's - question. Internally, he filed the observation away. There wasn't anything to do with it now, but after he'd had some rest, he would think about what, if anything, he could do about it later. "No Metal Head's bad enough to keep me down. A little sleep's all I need and I'll be back on my feet." He gave the two a pointed look as he laid back and settled into his bed. Oh man, did that feel good.

It was an age old trick of seasoned warriors to be able to fall asleep anywhere and at any time, to take advantage of even a few quiet minutes because they never knew when the next opportunity would come up. Sig was nothing if not seasoned. He was out like a light within minutes.

-o-

It actually wasn't long after Sig fell asleep that Daxter started yawning, too. His excuse was that he'd been up late fighting monsters, then had had his sleep interrupted by Sig's crazy driving and people trying to shoot at them, not to mention the fact that he was wounded. Jak didn't mind when the ottsel curled up on the bed and fell silent, even though it left him with nothing to do but lay there beside him and watch as the monk put away his medical supplies. The inactivity that had driven him up the wall earlier didn't bother him so much now that he had Daxter.

Eventually, he got tired of staring at the monk and let his eyes wander over to Sig. The Wastelander looked different without his armor on, not as big or intimidating - although that false eye of his was still a little creepy, especially while he was sleeping. The man had very short, very blond hair, so pale it was almost white, making Jak second guess his original estimation of Sig's age. He didn't really have any wrinkles on his face, other than the one between his brows that he got from scowling, but if his hair was graying...

Or maybe it was just naturally that color. Jak shrugged, deciding it didn't matter. Sig was Sig either way.

After maybe an hour of this, Jak finally slid out of the bed and began to wander the room. Only one other bed was occupied now, by one of the same people as the day before. Jak avoided this bed, not wanting to disturb the man even by accident. He was obviously very badly injured. He hadn't woken once in all the time that Jak had been there.

He nearly jumped when the monk suddenly spoke. "If you need something to occupy yourself with," he said, "you can strip the sheets from the bed in the corner and replace them with clean ones. After that, I have some herbs that need to be crushed."

Jak blinked at the man, surprised at the offer. Since he'd woken up, the monk had been untalkative and frustratingly unhelpful beyond providing him with food and checking his bandages. Busy with the Wastelanders that came in to have injuries treated, the man had held no sympathy for Jak's boredom.

The man caught the look and shrugged indifferently. "If you have nothing to do, you may as well be useful."

It was an unconscious, probably unintentional echo of Damas' admonition about usefulness, but it still reminded Jak of the Wastelander king, and that didn't help his emotional turmoil at all. He was still unhappy with the man, even though maybe he could see where he thought he was coming from. But just because a system worked didn't mean it was right. Letting all those people die just so one person could join the city - letting anyone die, for that matter - screamed against everything Jak believed in. Lives were valuable. Just because someone made a mistake or couldn't fight didn't mean they couldn't be useful and it shouldn't mean that they should die. Jak wished he had the words to express all that.

For lack of anything else to do, Jak busied himself with the tasks that the monk had set for him. He soon found the chores to be a good distraction from his thoughts, and when the bed was changed and he'd finished turning the dried leaves into a fine powder, he looked to the man for another assignment.

The monk was more than happy to oblige.

People came and went, some more sick or hurt than others, and two more beds became occupied. Jak watched, this time from a distance, as the monk treated each person, sometimes with this jar, sometimes with that bottle, with bandages and thread and needle, and with very little green eco. It was quickly becoming obvious that the healing energy was not common around here, or that almost all of it was being funneled into that shield. The monk's work was skilled and efficient, though, and he soon had his patients back out the door.

Around midday, he was replaced, this time by an older, female monk whose features were made even more stern by the paint on her face. After exchanging a few words with the other monk, she eyed Jak for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Good," she said approvingly. "There's always more work to be done around here than we have time to do. You can help me scrub the bed pans next."

Oh joy. Jak's face fell into a grimace, but apparently it was too late to back out now. The older monk had already placed a hand on his shoulder and was leading him into a small side room with a tub, several baskets of dirty sheets, and, yes, a stack of bed pans waiting to be washed. A distinct odor wafted up from them, so sharp and acrid it made him want to gag. Ugh.

"There's soap and rags in the cabinet," the woman said with a thin smile. "The tub should already have water in it. When you're finished, come and get me, and I'll find something else for you to do." Then, not giving Jak any chance to protest or ask for something else, she turned and left, leaving the teen alone with his task.

Jak scowled at the monk's retreating back, then at the stack of bed pans that sat waiting for him. This was not how he had envisioned spending his time waiting for Daxter to wake up. Folding sheets and making beds was one thing, and grinding herbs had been kind of fun in a usefully destructive way, but cleaning up other people's waste went beyond unappealing.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he was being given a choice in the matter. Something about the monk's smile had made it clear that he would clean the bed pans - or else. Jak didn't know what that implied "or else" might be, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to find out. With another grimace of distaste, he reluctantly sat down to work.

-o-

When Damas finally made it back to the infirmary, he felt a moment of alarm when he did not see either Jak or his creature friend anywhere in the room. However, Sig looked up from his attempts to mend his armor and caught his eye, then jerked a thumb in the direction of the washroom. "Ashal's got them doin' laundry," he said, looking wickedly amused. "Apparently Jak got bored and started helpin' out, and she's taking full advantage of it. Daxter made the mistake of laughing."

"Ah." Damas tilted his head, listening, and sure enough, he could hear a stream of irritated grumbling mixed in with the soft splashing of water. A smile tugged at the corner of the king's lips as he glanced at the woman in question. "Up to your usual tricks again, I see."

The old monk smirked back as she folded freshly dried sheets. "It works to get people out of my infirmary who don't need to be here and it gets my chores done faster. I fail to see how either outcome is a bad thing."

"Indeed." He had to force the smile off his face as he headed for the washroom. "But I'm afraid I must steal your assistants now. There are things I must discuss with them. Sig, you too."

Sig nodded and set his tools down, then started putting his armor back on. The punctures that had been there were noticeably less visible.

Ashal just shrugged, completely unsurprised. "Whatever's left will wait until I can get to it."

Stepping into the doorway to the washroom, Damas found Jak up to his elbows in soapy water and the ottsel, Daxter, sitting perched on the boy's shoulder, wringing water out of his tail.

"I swear, that old hag's worse than Samos," the creature growled. "I mean, look at me! I'm injured! I shouldn't be getting my bandages wet scrubbin' other people's sheets!"

Jak blew a breath out in a short, soft laugh, then lifted a hand to flick a few drops of water onto the ottsel's nose. The expression on his face turned wry as he curled and uncurled his fingers. Daxter scowled at whatever he'd said.

"Whaddaya mean, goofing off? I'm workin' just as hard as you, Jak! Those soap bubbles were in my way, that's all. Unlike some people whose arms are still long, I can't just reach right through them. I was moving them so I could see! I- oh, hey, company." Cutting off in the middle of an obviously pathetic excuse, the ottsel blinked up at the Wasteland king curiously. "Somethin' we can help you with?"

Jak pulled his other hand out of the water and twisted around to see who his friend was talking to. When he saw Damas, though, his expression became suddenly closed off. Damas supposed he was still upset over the events of yesterday.

He'll get over it, he dismissed the thought curtly. For the ottsel's benefit, he said, "I am Damas, the ruler of Spargus. Jak." He turned his attention back on the boy. "I need to speak with you." He gestured for Jak to follow, then turned away. "But not here. Come with me back to the map room." Without looking back, he strode purposefully out of the infirmary. Sig quickly fell in behind him.

Obedience. It was but one of the many qualities Damas wanted to test Jak on. Would the boy do as he was told, or would he let personal feelings get in the way? His ears picked up a third set of footsteps behind his and Sig's and he nodded to himself. Good. That was a promising start.

"Wow," came Daxter's murmured voice as they emerged from the building. "And I thought Sandover had lots of sand. Sheesh, even Sentinel Beach had some green stuff."

The words earned the ottsel a glance from Damas. "So you support Jak's story of coming from a place called Sandover," he said. Jak had made himself more than clear at this point, but it was still good to have verbal confirmation. Hnn. Perhaps talking with this creature will reveal a clue to where this "Sandover" is located. He made a note to bring it up after dealing with the issue at hand.

"What, you've never heard of it?" Daxter answered blithely. His feet slid on Jak's bare shoulder, forcing him to latch onto the boy's goggle strap to steady himself. Jak put up with it without blinking an eye, apparently quite used to being used as transportation. "Huh, that Precursor ring must've taken us farther than I thought. I was thinkin' maybe we were somewhere near the Volcanic Crater, since it's so hot here. I bet the Red Sage would just love this place."

"Red Sage?" Sig asked, unconsciously echoing what Damas was thinking. His brows were furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at Daxter. "You mentioned sages before, back in the temple. What are they?"

The ottsel's ears laid back flat on his head. "Lazy old men with too much time on their hands, if you ask me," he said scornfully. "Not that that stops them from makin' us do all their dirty work. Isn't that right, Jak?" Jak rolled his eyes and poked a finger into his friend's belly, earning a swat on his ear from Daxter. "No, I am not bitter because they couldn't change me back. For your information, I've decided I like bein' short and furry. I think it'll help me pick up chicks. Chicks dig fuzz."

Jak looked like he could barely contain his laughter.

Damas, on the other hand, was this close to scowling. For all that Daxter talked, he seemed to have a difficult time actually answering questions. In fact, his answers only brought up more questions, distracting Damas from his original line of thought. He wondered if it was intentional. "The sages?" he pressed. The baffling reference to a change in Daxter's appearance could be returned to later.

"Oh, right." He scratched his head as though trying to figure out what to say. "Well, there's four of 'em. Used to be six, if you counted Gol and Maia, although I'm not sure if Maia was really a sage, per se. Each one studies one kind of eco and nothin' else." He shrugged. "Not much else to say."

That was when Jak chipped in, raising his eyebrows and making a complicated motion with his hands that ended with forming circles above his eyes. Daxter nodded without missing a beat. "Jak says he told you about Samos. He's the Sage of Green Eco."

A sage of eco. Damas had never heard of the like. But he also did not know many people who had such time on their hands, not in Haven and especially not here. The struggle to survive, both against the Metal Heads and the Wasteland itself, consumed far too much time and effort. The monks were the closest thing to scholars that they had in the desert and their studies focused mainly on the Precursors.

He might have considered pursuing the conversation, somewhat interested about who these sages were, but that was when they arrived at the door to the room that had all the maps he and Jak had been looking over. As soon as he had ushered them all in and they had taken their seats, he pulled out one map in particular and spread it out in front of them. His expression became utterly serious.

"My scouts have reported that Baron Praxis, the current ruler of Haven, has been moving large amounts of eco outside of the city. What they have not been able to determine is what is being done with that eco. The farthest they have been able to follow him undetected is here." He pointed to a forested area on the map just outside of Haven. He met Sig's eyes, then Jak's in turn, and said grimly, "I don't like not knowing what Praxis is up to. His methods for fighting the Metal Heads do not always align with others' best interests."

Sig frowned as he eyed the map. "You want me to tail him?" he asked. "I can do that, but..." He trailed off, giving Damas the opening he was looking for.

"But it would be better if you had someone with you to watch your back," Damas concluded for him. He gave the man a very slight nod, then turned his full attention on the startled blond beside him. "Which is where you come in, Jak. You may not be a Wastelander, but I have seen your skill and know that you can hold your own. What sets you apart from anyone else I could ask, though, is your ability to channel eco. Whatever Praxis is doing with the eco he is moving, if it becomes necessary to stop him, your ability could prove invaluable."

He gave the teen a penetrating look, then stated bluntly, "You are under no obligation to accept this, Jak, but I want you to go with Sig."

-End Chapter Fourteen-