Disclaimer: I do not own Jak and Daxter; Naughty Dog does! As always, a round of applause, please.

A/N: My sincerest apologies for the wait, to each and every single one of you. I've gotten caught up in other fandoms, family, life and other such things. Along the way I think I lost interest in this story, but upon a few nagging messages, stumbling upon BlueEcoFreak's drabble about Jak and Shae for my birthday last year, and one incredibly persistent person—Franco, without whom this chapter would never have been completed—I found my way again and remembered how much fun this is to write. Thank you all so, so, SO much. You have no idea how incredibly grateful I am for every bit of support you give me.

What this chapter lacks in size, it makes up for in action and angst. I had to split it into two chapters, because the transitions were too abrupt and it was getting too long. And personally, even I get annoyed with over-long chapters. On the bright side, this means you will get the next chapter much, much sooner than I originally anticipated. This is good news.

Happy reading!

Part 2: Chapter 13: Reality Check

Different people have different ways to achieve catharsis. Some write—which sounds like a perfectly tacky option to me. Some exercise—again, dull.

I race.

To me, there's nothing that compares to the feel of the air blasting past my ears, tangling in my hair, pressing my goggles against my face so tightly it hurts. Bearing down hard on the accelerator until everything is a blur to my eyes. Suspending time and pulling into a screeching turn at the very last possible instant. Gripping the handlebars that have moulded to the curve of my gloved hands in the last years. Getting lost in the cacophony of the crowd shouting and the engines running, applying hover mechanics so as to avoid scraping the metal ground, compensating and growing in volume when the vehicle soars higher above its typical limit.

In spite of everything, in spite of how angry and desperate and frustrated I was, in spite of the faces and words flashing through my brain, in spite of the tension thrumming through every inch of muscle in me, I felt free on the NYFE racer, catching the drift behind the racer immediately in front of me and scooping around them with a burst of speed. Any anxieties seemed to disappear, vanish in my wake.

I had to admit to myself: these racers were good. Skilled. None of them beginners, despite the open class of the race. The Class Three course was outrageous in its design, able to fool the most experienced of racers, intended to weed out the amateurs, but none of my opponents faltered, save those lagging far behind the rest.

I held a steady fourth place for the majority of the race, my favourite position since that very first day two years ago—not intimidating, but not too difficult to accelerate from and move up in the rankings. But by the time the fifth lap rolled around, I reckoned it was time to implicate some interesting manoeuvres. Merely racing felt good, but winning felt even better. I didn't need the trophy for bragging rights, though it was always satisfying to show off yet another gleaming cup to Lex, who had taken to simply rolling his eyes every time I showcased a new one.

A straightaway was around the corner, so I pulled into the turn earlier than I normally would have, gaining a fair bit of ground and applying the boost as soon as the clear track came into view. I planned the move perfectly, speeding ahead of the third place competitor and allowing me to take his place. By using the extra bit of speed before I had completely regained my balance from the precarious turn, I was able to recover control over the NYFE before launching into the tunnel.

The racer in second place was clearly adept, but he took his turns very sharply, swivelling to keep his vehicle from capsizing. I gauged the next few turns, mapping them in my head. Once I'd caught up to him, I jerked the handles and took the turn wide. As his vehicle wobbled, I launched mine in the opposite direction, cutting him off and giving myself ample space for the last turn before speeding out of the tunnel. I grinned wickedly as the stadium light flooded my vision again.

No one said anything about good sportsmanship in these races.

Scarcely twenty seconds on the clock and one more racer to pass. Tricky, but manageable. There were no more empty lengths, so I was going to have to be very careful. I lined myself up on the outside edge of the turn, but spun into it sharply, adding my last boost as I did so.

The finish line was fast approaching, and there was far too much distance between myself and the first place racer. I supposed second place was good enough, but for some inexplicable reason, I was driven to surpass this last opponent.

Two more turns, then straight on to the finish. No more boosts, no more fancy moves I could execute in less than ten seconds. As I matched my steering to the angles of the last corners, I noticed my adversary was drifting very close to the inside of the track, almost scraping it with the NYFE. In fact, I could hear the screech of metal-on-metal. Amateur mistake. Damn it! If only I'd noticed sooner, I might have been able to overtake the last racer. But my time was up, and we both skidded across the finish line, identified by flashing lights and a chequered line on the ground, myself a fraction of a second behind.

I let my faithful racer come to a complete stop and leaped off, tearing my goggles off my head and like as not taking a handful of hair along with it. The adrenaline still fuelled my movements, pouring through my veins with zeal, and yet something seemed off. All my troubles were temporarily pushed to the recesses of my head, and I still sensed something wrong, as if every step I took was deliberate and off-kilter at the same time.

I navigated the crowds of racers and team managers accumulated on the track with ease, and walked towards the exit. Automatically, my head inclined to the left, sparing a perfunctory glance at the scoreboard, seeing my face in the second place slot.

Seeing Jak's in the one above it.

Fire replaced the blood and adrenaline in my body, and I desperately tried to keep my brain from returning to the subject of my dream earlier. I could feel my face becoming as red as my hair and didn't give a damn. My fingers clenched into seemingly permanent fists, and if it had not been for the padded gloves valiantly protecting my palms, I surely would have drawn blood.

Jak. What in Mar's name was he doing here? Racing, winning, stealing my trophy from my hands? Red clouded my vision and all I could feel was rage.

Racing was mine. Mine. Jak could have whatever the hell he wanted, but not this. He could one-up me in sharpshooting, running, and gymnastics any day. But when it came to racing, it was all me. This was the one place I could think, the one place I could be alive, the one place feel something other than the all-encompassing anger I felt right then.

My legs felt fuelled and ready to buckle under me simultaneous, so I made them carry me out of the stadium as I muttered some words that certainly weren't in any school textbooks I had known over the years. I knew it was irrational, and decidedly unwise, but I was going to give Jak and piece of my mind. I was going to tell him he couldn't just burst in out of nowhere and become the latest sensation of Haven City, robbing me of everything that had ever been important to me, just because he had a prettier gun on his back.

At least, that was my intention before a pair of strong hands fell on my shoulders and stopped my internal tirade.

"Shae," Lex said pacifyingly, and I didn't want to freaking hear it.

"Move, Lex," I told him. Irritating brother that he was, he remained stationary.

His eyes looked into mine, mirrored in every way: colour, depth, intensity. Absently, I noted the lack of KG uniform, civvies in its place. "I know there's some crazy stuff going on right now, but you need to stop this."

"Stop what?"

"This!" he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely with one hand while keeping the other firmly locked around my upper arm. "You're freaking out, yelling and rearranging furniture and just going mad. I know you don't want help but if I'm what it takes to bring back my little sister, then so be it. What happened to the girl who raced for the thrill of it? Who joined the Underground because she felt it was the right thing to do no matter what the hardship or consequences? Who would work herself to the bone and still have energy for a game of cards or tag at the end of the day?"

I frowned. "She grew up."

Lex managed a strangled laugh. "Clearly you can grow up so much in one month. And for crying out loud, you're only sixteen years old! Come on, sis. I'm four years older than you and I still wouldn't turn down a round of hide and seek if you asked me. You, on the other hand, look like you might punch me if I suggest it."

I could feel myself begin to deflate. "Look, Lex, I'm sorry, it's just . . ." I groaned. This wasn't going to be easy to explain, and I didn't have the time. A flash of blond hair caught my eyes, and I realize I had to move fast before he left the area and I missed my chance. "You're right; there's a lot of crazy stuff going on right now and I can't cope, okay? I can't and I just don't want to drag you into it. So please . . . move?"

He blinked. "Do you realize you just apologized and told me I was right in one breath?"

I laughed and groaned again, making the sound longer this time. "Lex . . ."

He studied me for a long time, his brown eyes scrutinizing mine for any hidden pieces or untold secrets, and I tried not to fidget too much. I was tetchy and impatient and about to explode. But this was Lex. He'd never doubted me and he'd never let me down and he'd certainly never done anything to hurt me. He would never, and I couldn't even think of hurting him. So I forced my body to stand still as he continued his inspection. Hurting his feelings was something I could not do after everything he'd done for me.

Eventually, he straightened and spoke. "Your breath smells like a yakkow pen. Might want to grab a toothbrush before you head off to save the world again."

I punched him playfully in the arm, but he caught my fist a split-second before it made contact, pulling me into a hug instead. I sighed and hugged him back. It had been so long since I'd had any human contact. That was completely of my own doing, always pushing people away, but I was suddenly acutely aware of how comfortable, natural this felt. I wrapped my arms around his back and squeezed tightly before pulling back a moment later. "Thanks."

"Hey, hugs are my specialty," he replied with a grin I couldn't help but return. "So . . . do you think you're okay now?"

"No," I answered without thinking. The word suddenly registered. "I mean, yes! Yes, I'm fine. Can I go?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "You are such a terrible, terrible liar."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Lex laughed again. "Well," he began, "since everything's fine right now, would you care to take a walk with me?"

I frowned apologetically. Regretfully, my head shook in negation, and I could see his face fall. "I've got some . . . crazy stuff to sort out." With my fists, I added in my head. "But maybe later?"

His face brightened again. "I have patrol at 0400. Think you can meet me by our old house sometime around then?"

"Definitely." I checked my watch. No matter what happened in the next seven hours, I was going to accompany Lex on KG patrol like I used to and tell him every last thing that was bothering me. "I'll see you there. And I know how much you hate patrol, but since I'll be waiting for you, can you actually be there on time?" I recalled Lex's propensity for tardiness.

He was already walking away, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk to you later, hot-head."

I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back because it felt like the right thing to do.

Any and all forms of feedback are enormously appreciated. Next chapter, we'll pile on the drama, action and angst as we wrap up part two and move into the final stretch.

Thank you so much for reading! Drop a review!

~Fishyicon