A/N: You know how it's like when your life falls apart? Or worse, when you think you've put the puzzle pieces back and are ready to start anew, only to find that the pieces decided to rearrange themselves of their own volition when you weren't looking? Well, I'm kind of feeling like that right now. I'll spare you all the details of my personal life, but you need to know that writing has kind of taken the backseat at the moment. I'm still on FF, reading, replying and reviewing – just not writing. So here's an idea I've had for a long time, finally getting brought to life. For the record, this also signifies that all other in-progress stories are being put on the "hiatus" board temporarily.

This will – rather, should be – be a three-part story. The chapters shouldn't be insanely long as per my usual, so this will just be a short, fun read. I hope you enjoy it!

This is dedicated to LeiaOrganicSolo, my awesome short buddy. If you're asking yourself whom that is, I would hit you over the head with a rock – if I weren't just communicating through typing (and had actual access to a decent rock for hitting people over the head with). She is one of the most talented authors on the whole site, no competition. Her stories are awesome, SHE is awesome, and you cannot be awesome until you have read her stories! DO IT NOW!

Anyway, this goes out to you, short and conditionally ambidextrous ninja buddy! I said I owed you for making me feel better the other day, and this is how I repay you. I had a shorter idea, but I think I'll save it for another time. I hope you'll like this one. I know you will. Two words, although it seems to be one: Jak and Keira. Oh, and Dark Jak. That too.

Happy now? I knew you would be.

Review, review, review! I'm not joking when I say I'm influenced by you guys to write the next chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own the title "Jak and Daxter." Naughty Dog does!

"Hey, Jak?" Daxter called, sounding reasonably sober. This was the first time he could remember being in the Naughty Ottsel – or any bar for that matter – where he was speaking sanely. Despite the fact that Daxter and Tess's bar had been given a racing twist, with a new bar in the center, circling a display case now deprived of a car and several televisions above that, it remained the only place Daxter would call home any longer – if Jak preferred Spargus, then great for him.

The ottsel needed a drink, but he felt suddenly inclined to inform Jak of his newest discovery. "I found somethin' interesting this morning. . . ."

Jak didn't look up. He was too busy taking a sip from his drink and admiring Keira, sitting in a redesigned booth nearest the door, chatting with Tess. All thoughts of the horrible weeks past in Kras City and the like as not equally horrible weeks to follow up on the competition were pushed to the back of his mind, and there was just Keira there in that moment. While he was watching, the blond ottsel informed Keira of something humorous, and she laughed. Jak could hear the beautiful sound even through the muted rumble of chatter in the bar. It was clear and innocent, as perfect as Keira herself. He didn't know why he was still sitting at the counter with Daxter when he could be over with her, especially now that the two were officially "together." Thirteen years was quite enough time wasted by withholding his feelings from her.

The lack of response was not lost on the ottsel, for he looked away from his search for something decent to drink and prodded his best friend with his leg. Jak could not have been so happy to be back at the Naughty Ottsel on their first night back in Haven that he was lost in daydream. "Are you listenin', Jak?"

"Yeah, Dax," Jak replied perfunctorily. "What?"

Daxter scrutinized his friend's cerulean eyes, following his distracted gaze until it landed upon the teal-haired mechanic. He would have continued with a snide remark, but instead rolled his eyes and persisted with his earlier comment. "Yeah, I was reading the dictionary this mornin', and . . . okay, now what?"

Daxter's story was interrupted yet again as he watched his best friend trying to recover from his abrupt choking episode. The bubbling liquid had caught in the blonde's throat midway through the high-pitched sentence, and he was now attempting to pound his oesophagus back into working order with a hard, rhythmic fist against his chest. Had it not been for the big guy's obvious discomfort, Daxter would have been close to tears due to the hilarity of the scene.

"Ah, Jak," Daxter sighed, unable to prevent himself this time from tossing out a sarcastic comment; it was his nature, his reflex. "You can fight – and win – against Metal Heads, Lurkers, Dark Makers, cyborgs and mercenary racers, who were all out for your blood, mind you, but you nearly choke to death on some beer. It would be sad if not for the pure, hilarious irony."

Jak had now recovered to a considerable extent, the coughing subdued. He shot Daxter a disparaging look and managed to ground out one word:

"Dictionary?"

"Yeah. You know that book with the words?" Daxter informed him.

Another look. "I mean, you read the dictionary? You?"

An amused smile of understanding played across the ottsel's face. "This knack for smooth-talkin' isn't exclusively inherited, Jakkie boy. You gotta study up if you wanna impress the ladies."

With that, Daxter slicked a hand over the fur of his head, letting the paw trail down his back in one suave motion. He winked at Tess, who was taking orders from customers despite her size – or at least, she was supposed to be taking orders. She caught the gesture intended for her out of her peripherals, turned to view her boyfriend more clearly, and giggled lightly.

"Of course, I understand your blondness detracts from your intellectuocity," Daxter said.

One of the corners of Jak's lips pulled into a slightly entertained grin, just enough for Daxter to notice. The former cocked one amused eyebrow, a skill not many could do. "Intellectuocity?" he inquired casually.

Daxter shrugged and pointed to his cranium. "Kidneys, Jak. Kidneys."

Jak could not suppress it anymore; he laughed gleefully. It was short-lived and quiet, but the sound still brought a relief to Daxter. A month of racing for their lives in the city of crime and combat was not the vacation Jak had deserved, but unfortunately, the cards were never dealt in Jak's favour. The poor adolescent had lived through two, three, four years of torture, no matter how literally one used that expression. And every time things began to look up, a new threat would appear, and who should answer the call but Jak and Daxter. This was the first time Jak had laughed in . . . too long to remember exactly. Best not to ruin the moment; in fact, he was going to revel in it himself.

Satisfied that he had done his one good deed for the week – or month – Daxter nodded to himself and deftly leaped off the counter and onto the well-stocked shelves of assorted drinks. It was his bar; he could take what he wanted. The only person paying was himself, and the drinks were ridiculously over-priced at any rate. He and Tess could spare one bottle.

His gaze fell upon a tall, purple glass and he plucked it from its spot among the other containers. Popping the cork out with his teeth, his took a deep swig and returned to Jak, who had resumed marvelling over Keira across the room.

Daxter gulped again and rolled his eyes pointedly, hoping Jak would catch the motion with his extra-sensitive senses. "You're drooling, Jak."

Jak briskly straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Daxter burst into hysterical laughter, giving a new meaning to the expression "Roll on floor laughing." Albeit, he was still on the counter. . . .

It took Jak a second to recognize the stunt that had been pulled. He glared at the giggling figure contemptuously. "Not funny," he growled.

Daxter peeled himself off the hard surface and brushed the tears from his eyes. "It was so funny, and you know it!" The ottsel then noticed Jak, who was no longer loaning his attention to his best friend when he could be focusing it all on his . . . girlfriend was the only word, but it still sounded odd on the mental tongue.

"For the love of the Precursors, Jak, just go talk to her! How can it hurt?"

Jak shook his head. "Nah, not right now, Dax."

"Why not?" Daxter cried incredulously. "You've had a crush on her since we were seven, and now that you're finally together, you won't even go talk to her?"

"You're not with Tess every living second," Jak reminded him.

Daxter lowered himself to the stool next to Jak, ensuring Jak's pair of cerulean orbs was following. "Much to my dismay, no. But I'd like to." He jumped onto the floor and indicated his intention to walk over to Tess. "And now, I am going to talk to my girlfriend, and I don't care if that limp noodle of a backbone stops you from following!"

The ottsel paused mid-step and whirled quite literally on his tail to face Jak. The teenager looked down. "Cold feet? I mean, you know, paws?"

"No," Daxter insisted. "I just remembered what I wanted to tell you. About the dictionary?"

Jak sighed in resignation. "Go ahead."

"Apparently, 'sidekick' means both equal parts of a team; two sidekicks. So if we're a team, and people call me the sidekick, technically that would make you –"

He was cut off as he flew to the floor, knocked over by Jak's goggles tossed offhandedly in the ottsel's direction. "Just go talk to Tess, Dax," Jak instructed, his tone uninterested. The goggles were thrown haphazardly back up to the bar, and Jak caught them before the precious accessory could suffer any damage. He had owned them since Sandover, and now that he had them again, he was not about to let this last piece of home slip away from him thanks to his carelessness. A shoe might have been more effective to knock his best friend's flimsy ottsel stature over, but there had only been so many options. . . .

Jak made no show of watching Daxter cross to the girls' booth, but could do nothing to prevent himself from hearing a smooth greeting, an accepting chuckle and greeting in return from each of the girls. He turned his head just enough to glance upon Keira once again, breath-taken by her beauty and happiness. It was everything he could do to not stand up and follow the ottsel, but one look at all the other patrons of the bar told him it would be better to wait.

Within half-an-hour, three-quarters of the Naughty Ottsel's customers had left, and those remaining had retired from the viewing spot in the center of the sports bar to their own booths. Jak took one last gulp out of his mug, emptying is contents, just for good measure. Unable to postpone it any longer, Jak prepared to rise and cross the bar. He was halted, however, by the sight of Keira approaching him with two ottsels in her wake, smiling kindly. He could not resist returning the grin that was melting his insides.

"Hey, Jak," she greeted happily, planting a light kiss on his cheek as she installed herself beside him. The couple of ottsels pulled themselves on to the bar, but Jak was oblivious to their movements as he smiled at Keira, wanting so much to kiss her in return but not knowing whether that would be appropriate.

"Hi," Jak acknowledged lamely. Her greeting had been so much better, in spite of the fact that it had only been marginally different from his. She was always so much better at this social stuff. . . .

"Having a good evening?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," he replied. He would have told her how it was getting infinitely better now that she was here, but could not seem to find the words. How could this one girl be so able to reduce him to a worthless pulp with a few simple words when people had tried to do exactly that in prison by means of large machinery and torture devices?

He shivered involuntarily. Just the thought was so frightening that he could not bear it. It had been two years ago, for Precursor's sake. Could he not have some relief?

Apparently not, for at that moment he felt a bolt of Dark Eco shoot through his body, tingling his nerves and enlivening his Darker Side. He stifled it just as quickly, but not quite quickly enough to avoid shivering in terror once more.

Whilst she had shifted her gaze to watch the loving pair of ottsels nearby, Keira immediately glanced back to Jak as her sharp green orbs captured the movement of a tremor and the shift in atmosphere. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Jak attempted a reassuring smile, but it was much harder now that the evening had been invaded by unpleasant thoughts and memories. "Fine," he warded off.

"You know you can tell me, right Jak?" she reminded him. It was time some sort of trust was administered into their relationship. "I'm here."

"I'm fine, Keir," Jak told her, although it was hard to maintain a collected expression when he registered her hand on his shoulder, the way her eyes watched him with such concern and care. He inwardly admonished himself, knowing it was he who was supposed to be comforting her, not vice versa. Nevertheless, Jak could not bring himself to shrug her hand off. "He's just been acting up lately."

Keira nodded in solemn understanding. She knew that Jak was happy to have found some extent of control over his elusive Dark Side, and she, too, was indescribably proud of him. But she was not a idiot, and knew he kept the worst of it a secret from her.

It's just for your own good, Keira. And she believed him, so she would push it no further. But she wished she could make a more educated hypothesis than Jak would simply have to 'go Dark' to release his Dark energy eventually". And when that happened. . . .

They would all just hope they were not around.

Nevertheless, the teal-haired mechanic sculpted her countenance back into a consoling grin. "Well, I hope he can keep quiet long enough for us to enjoy the rest of the evening."

Jak attempted a look to assure her that the comments had been quite helpful to his sanity, but it was hard even to listen to a harmless joke about that . . . thing. Especially when just the ulterior mention of Dark Jak could make such fear flicker across her beautiful face, no matter how briefly.

For your sake, Keira, I hope so too.

Daxter shot the uncomfortable pair a look, squirming out of Tess's grasp. "Wow. Do you two think you'll have time for a drink in the middle of this loquacious debate?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, thanks," they answered in tandem, and then looked at one another, chuckling awkwardly.

Pushing the thoughts of Daxter's audacity and Dark Eco to the back of his mind, so thankful for his self-control, he brought up a new subject of conversation. "So," he began, pulling her attention to him, "how's the stadium coming together?"

Her eyes lit up, just as they always did when she talked about racing. "Oh, well, construction had been finished before we got back, but they're doing test runs on it now. I'll get my garage back sometime next week."

Jak's eyebrows knitted together in concern as he realized something. "Your apartment is above your garage, right?" She nodded. "Then where are you staying for the next week?"

"Where I've been ever since the stadium was destroyed: Daddy's place."

Jak nodded in acquiescence. "Oh, okay." He wasn't sure what the intention of that question had been, so he resigned to accepting her answer.

"Where have you been?" she asked somewhat urgently, as though remembering just then that her boyfriend should not be obliged to stay in the war Headquarters any longer.

"Here with Daxter, just like before the war," Jak replied. He did not feel the need to inform her that he only spent a quarter of the nights in which he actually slept in the Naughty Ottsel's back storeroom. The rest he was outside, forlorn in Haven City. Haven Forest and the Port Towers were his prime residents for usual nights.

"I've signed up to be one of the testers, though," Keira stated. "I can't wait to get back on the track!"

Jak laughed. "I'm sure your father wouldn't be happy to hear that.

Keira shrugged nonchalantly. "I think he's okay with me racing after I didn't die in the championship."

Jak swallowed deeply. "I'm glad you didn't die in the championship, too."

"Thanks," she said gratefully, all too aware of the blood flowing to her cheeks. Apparently Jak was aware of it as well, for he chuckled at her slight embarrassment. She was so cute like that, lips pursed in a sheepish grin, eyes innocent and glowing.

"When can you and I race again? I can bring a guest . . ." Keira offered, letting the question hang in the air for a minute.

"Race?" Jak questioned half-absently, as if pulled from some reverie.

"Yeah, race," Keira repeated. Then she laughed, scrunching her little button nose in the way that Jak loved. "I'm looking forward to kicking your butt again."

Jak scoffed, genuinely offended to some extent. "Keira, you did not 'kick my butt'. Besides, I won that race."

"But my girl Keira did give you hell on that racing circuit. And I think she could do it again," Tess piped up, encouraging her girlfriend.

Keira smirked approvingly. "Not to mention all those racing trophies I have – well, had – in the garage," she boasted, laughing at Jak's intentionally blasé expression.

"Doesn't matter. I'm still the best."

"Yeah!" Daxter cheered, joining in the lover's minor altercation. "Don'tcha remember when I told ya we could outrace anybody in this city? Still true, babe."

With that, Daxter gave Jak a masculine high-five, immune to the angry sneers from the girls.

"No offense, Keir," Jak reassured, unconscious that his words were having the opposite effect desired. "But you should leave the racing to us guys. You're better in the garage."

"You sound like my Daddy," Keira muttered.

Tess turned on her indignant grimace, flaunting its power even on an ottsel's face before the two most sexist boys in the World. "So just because you're guys means you're better at the field stuff? You think I can't shoot a gun as well as you, Jak?" she asked rhetorically.

"Well, yeah," Jak said, brushing the comment off casually.

"Sorry, girls, but it's in our nature. This is why they never do girls against boys in school. We always win," Daxter followed up.

Keira was on the brink of snapping. "I resent that. A girl can do anything a guy can do."

"Just not as well," Daxter pointed out.

Tess punched him in the arm, lightly but deliberately. "Yes, just as well! And we can do it in nice shoes, too."

"Care to put that to a test?" Jak challenged.

"Yes, I do." Keira stood up, joining Jak on his feet. The few scattered people around the bar were focusing on the quarrel at the front counter, but none of the friends could find it in them to care. "I say we do four competitions – mechanics, gun building, gun shooting and racing."

"Fine," Jak countered threateningly, enjoying the fact that he could look down at her by a whole two inches now. His growth spurt had been well-overdue. "But I think you're turning the odds in your favour. Mechanics, gun course, an obstacle course and an NYFE race. And the race is with standard zoomers, not those pimped ones you design in your spare time. Think you can handle the heat?" he pressured.

Glowering, Keira stood on her tip-toes and got up in his face. "You're on," she finalized, poking his nose. If it weren't for the fact that they were locked in a verbal brawl, Jak would have found the gesture adorable and would have kissed her right there and then.

Instead, much to his dismay, he stepped back and offered an arm for Daxter, who used it as a bridge to clamber to the blonde's shoulder. The ottsel growled in anticipation of a chance of wining something so surely. "Here. Nine o'clock," Daxter instructed. "And wear those nice shoes you were talkin' 'bout."

With that, Jak marched out of the Naughty Ottsel, Daxter on his shoulder. They would bunk in the Headquarters that night. And the next day, when they were rested and ready, they were going to show the girls just how much better they could be at stuff men were clearly meant to do – not girls.

Keira went to work helping Tess clear the table. Three of the wall compartments were occupied. One held two tired and drunken Freedom League fighters, helmets removed. The second, three girls on a night out, dressed in outfits far too fancy for such a small sports bar.

The third held one man, sitting casually in the back corner of the booth, not even one empty glass in front of him. He had, however, been the patron most immersed in the dispute at the front.

He smiled. The action was foreboding only to himself. This was going to be the perfect set up; he could take out two birds with one stone. And if not, he would still be able to retain some sort of "trophy" from his exploits.

The man was anticipating the next day with an excitement he had not felt for years. He found himself thinking the same thing as the four quarrelling friends, although he was not aware of it:

Tomorrow is going to be perfect. . . .