Disclaimer: Jak and Daxter (c) Naughty Dog.

JKA: Well, I'd promised this to marneus90 as a birthday gift of sorts about a month ago, but then life got in the way and this kinda got put on the backburner. But it's finished now, and that's gotta count for something, right? ^^; Sorry about the long wait, Marn, but I hope this ended up being humorous enough to make up for it. :D Happy very belated birthday~

And to everyone else, read, review, you know the drill. :)

He should have known better than to leave Daxter alone.

Well, in truth, it wasn't really Jak's fault that his sidekick had ended up with an undefined stretch of free time in which he could do whatever he wanted. If anyone was to blame, it was Torn, for he'd kept Jak out on Metal Head extermination missions until the wee hours of the morning; the unfortunate renegade had been practically dead on his feet when he finally returned to the Underground hideout. It was no surprise that Jak had gone straight to his quarters the instant he'd dragged himself through the bunker entrance, and he was out within minutes.

And so, a certain ottsel was left with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

Currently, Daxter was perched on the edge of his best friend's makeshift cot, arms folded over his furry chest. He shifted his weight unconsciously, deliberating whether it was safe to go explore the headquarters and leave Jak by himself. After all, the dark warrior often experienced horrific nightmares — things that his partner-in-crime didn't even want to imagine — whenever he managed to catch some sleep, and Daxter usually stuck around to make sure Jak was alright.

But the blonde seemed quiet for now. In fact, he looked more at-peace than he ever had since he'd broken out of prison.

Surely Jak would be fine if Daxter just stepped out to get a little fresh air — or as fresh as he could get when considering he was confined to a building made of stone and metal that was falling apart at its hinges, anyway.

Satisfied with his logic, the orange rodent bounced onto the floor and tiptoed as softly as he could — quite a feat for him, really — across the room. He cast a fleeting glance at Jak over his shoulder to make sure the elf hadn't woken, and then slipped out into the hallway, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

With no particular destination in mind, Daxter set off along the corridor, keeping an eye out for any approaching Underground agents so as not to risk getting stepped on. It'd happened on more than one occasion, after all, and it was not a pleasant experience; whether they did it on accident or they merely enjoyed bringing him pain was debatable.

He rounded a random corner and, by a stroke of fate, found himself in a much shorter passage that he knew lead to the briefing room; the large chamber was hidden behind a sliding wall that protected the rest of the bunker should any KG come knocking.

Hmm… all of ink-face's maps are in there… he mused wickedly, a sly grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Perhaps they could use a little… redecorating.

Smirking to himself, Daxter padded up to the deceivingly solid barrier separating him from his determined prey and pricked his ears. He could just barely make out Torn's voice on the other side, no doubt muttering to himself as he poured over endless stacks of paperwork.

For an instant Daxter hesitated, considering the possible outcomes of his course of action. With Torn around, there was a highly possible chance that he could be strung from the ceiling by his tail; pinned to the wall by means of a curved, very sharp dagger; skinned alive by that same weapon and end up a nice throw rug in Torn's personal residence; find himself staring straight into the barrel of a large gun; wake up bound and gagged in a dark alley; fed to Krew by means of the Underground's next payment to that floating blimp of a man; or some horrible combination of the six.

Then again, he reasoned with himself, Torn would never actually do anything too physically and/or emotionally damaging to him. Even the Tattooed Wonder wasn't bold enough to risk having a raging, extremely lethal, and incredibly pissed-off Dark Demon out for his hide.

Besides, if there was one thing Daxter loved even more than women, it was screwing with a certain ill-tempered resistance commander.

Well… maybe not more than women, but it was definitely a close second.

Nodding decisively as if confirming his own train of thought, Daxter sucked in a lengthy breath of air, his chest puffing out haughtily with the motion. Chin tilted upwards in a pompous manner that would make even Erol green with envy, the diminutive ottsel strode confidently up to the end of the passage and rapped it with his knuckles. The weathered stone instantly sprung to life, slipping out of his way and disappearing into a veiled slot within the wall beside it.

Without missing a beat, Daxter marched into the room and hopped up onto the broad table that dominated its center, scattering several important-looking documents in the process.

"Hey, ol' walking work of art, need any — GAH!"

His prepared sarcastic greeting abruptly morphed into an earsplitting cry of shock, his voice cracking through several octaves that no male should ever reach. His jaw dropped until it nearly smacked against the desk he'd perched himself atop, cobalt eyes widening until they'd consumed the entire upper half of his face.

Only a few particular details managed to register in Daxter's mind at that precise moment.

The first was the pile of miscellaneous clothing strewn haphazardly across the floor.

The second was a shirtless Torn pinning an equally-as-exposed Ashelin between himself and the closest wall, bodies pressed tightly together, identical fiery glares practically setting his fur ablaze.

The third was that he was about to die a horrifically slow and excruciating death.

As soon as that realization flashed through Daxter's head, his hands flew up to clamp themselves over his eyes, struggling to block out the image that he'd just witnessed — and would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his days.

"Sweet mother of Mar, I'll never be right again!" he screeched, whipping around on one heel and dashing back the way he had come. He accidentally catapulted himself off of the edge of the table in his haste, but managed to right himself almost instantly once back on firm ground. Without turning back, he tore out of the room as fast as his little legs would carry him, thanking whatever higher power may be listening that he miraculously avoided any collisions with walls.

Icy dread slithered its way down the rodent's spine as an outraged bellow chased after his retreating form, echoing throughout the entire Underground base and spelling out the gruesome demise of one unlucky fur ball.

"I'M GOING TO KILL THAT RAT!"

Well, I can say I lived a full life, can't I? Daxter pondered as he sprinted down random hallways, arms now swinging spastically at his sides so that his vision was clear. I grew up in a lovely little village that I'm proud to say was far less shitty than this place, have my devilish, sexy looks, and I helped save the planet. Not so bad in retrospect.

Skidding around a bend in the walkway, Daxter slowed to a graceless stop and leaned heavily up against the nearest wall. He doubled over, placing his palms on his knees and gasping for air.

A sudden comprehension struck him as he fought to regain his breath, and he slapped a hand to his forehead miserably, an exhausted groan rumbling in his throat.

Dammit, Torn's gonna chop me up into tiny bite-sized pieces and scatter my remains across the wasteland, and I've never even gotten laid! Orange Lightning can't die a virgin! That is just plain wrong! What the hell did I ever do to make the Precursors hate me so much?

Daxter's internal monologue was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps, their rhythmic drumming on the sandstone floor quick and resolute.

Unsure whether the ominous tread of combat boots was an irate Torn, — and having no desire to bet on the slim chance that it wasn't — Daxter straightened up and bolted, leaving nothing behind but a few stray orange hairs where he'd previously been standing.

Gotta run, gotta run, gotta save my ass. Ok, I just need to stay alive long enough to find Jak. Then I can sit back and watch the massacre that'll follow, courtesy of good ol' tall, dark, and gruesome.

Panting laboriously with each stride he took, the terrified ottsel continued to navigate the confusing maze that was the Underground bunker, paying absolutely no attention to his course whatsoever. His every sense was trained on the area in the rear of him, on constant alert in case Torn was gaining on his tail.

After all, he couldn't exactly trust his skinny rodent body to outpace a six-foot-tall, seasoned army commander who just so happened to be out for his blood.

His panicked flight was brought to an unexpected halt when he collided with something distinctly hard, ricocheting off whatever it was and landing flat on his back with a pained grunt.

"Holy Precursors, are you alright, Daxter?" a concerned, highly welcome voice gasped from somewhere high above him. A heartbeat later Daxter found his line of sight suddenly obscured by a pair of familiar azure eyes.

"Tess?" Daxter questioned dazedly, blinking several times in an attempt to disperse the colorful stars dancing across his vision.

"You look like you've just had a run-in with the Metal Head leader," the named she-elf commented, scooping Daxter up in her arms and cradling him with tremendous care. Daxter's head spun sickeningly at the shift in equilibrium, but the way Tess was holding him had him pressing securely against her cleavage, so really he couldn't say he minded.

"No, it was worse," Daxter moaned, burying his face against her shoulder and shuddering at the mere thought of what he'd just witnessed. "Much, much worse."

Before Tess could ask him to elaborate on what had shaken him up so badly, the measured tempo of leather hitting concrete reached their ears, rapidly increasing in volume. Every hair on Daxter's pelt bristled upon hearing the noise, and he scrambled out of Tess' arms, tucking himself behind her head and peering around her neck warily.

"Don't let him see me!" he begged her in a whisper, tail bushed out to twice its normal size as he cowered within her blonde tresses.

"Daxter, what in Mar's name are you talking about?" Tess demanded, her tone split somewhere between worry and exasperation. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, one eyebrow quirked cynically; although no one would have guessed it, even she had to admit that Daxter's antics tweaked her nerves a bit when she had more important things to deal with.

Not that she had something more important to do at the moment, but it was the principle of the thing. Really the only reason she was even at the hideout was she'd just wanted some time off from trying to work under Krew's beady little stare and vomit-inducing stench. It was beginning to give her nightmares.

"Torn!" Daxter squeaked fearfully, attempting to shrink further into the curtain of Tess' hair as the thrumming of purposeful strides grew nearer and nearer. "I just caught him in the briefing room, gettin' all touchy-feely with —"

"Ashelin!" Tess called cheerfully as none other than the tattooed redhead herself appeared at the end of the corridor. The latter had donned a shirt since Daxter had last seen her, but that was not a detail of her appearance that troubled him. No, it was her expression that set his pulse hammering against his ribcage and made his breathing slowly creep towards hyperventilation.

Ashelin's features were smoothed into a perfect, deceivingly casual smile, her jade irises cool and unreadable. It was as if a certain orange rat — who happened to be clearly within her firing range — hadn't just been bystander to a very unprofessional and very heated… "meeting" between herself and the Underground's second-in-command.

"Morning, Tess," Ashelin answered her enthusiastic comrade warmly — an inflection that instantly hurled a jolt of panic straight into Daxter's stomach. If there was one person who never spoke kindly to anyone, it was Ashelin. His whiskers twitched as he sensed the double-agent's uncharacteristic attitude forecasting his demise.

"I'm going to need to borrow Daxter for a while," the redhead continued as though nothing were out of the ordinary, each word tying another knot in Daxter's noose. "I have a few things I need to discuss with him."

Her gaze flickered to where Daxter trembled atop Tess' shoulders, those dark green orbs flashing with the promise of a thousand painful deaths to one unfortunate ottsel. It was all he could do to restrain from falling to his knees before her and pleading for mercy. Or just simply passing out and letting her do what she wished with his unconscious body. He was feeling fairly open-minded at present.

"Of course," Tess conceded without hesitating, unknowingly sealing Daxter's fate. "Maybe you can figure out what's bothering him. He seems a little high-strung today."

If only you knew, angel cheeks, Daxter grumbled to himself, clinging determinedly to his perch in the hopes that Jak would miraculously arrive to save the day before Ashelin had the chance to torture him. Try walking in on Sweet Stripes over there and mister sick-up-the-ass himself in the middle of a tongue war and see if you're not just a tad jumpy.

Unaware of Daxter's mental rant, Tess beamed lightheartedly at Ashelin, reaching up and removing the doomed rodent's claws from where they'd hooked themselves in her sleeves. Daxter struggled wildly as Tess passed him over to Ashelin, but once the dreadlocked woman had him in her iron grip, he slumped against her hands, defeated.

"Thanks, Tess," Ashelin remarked, her mouth stretched upwards in a wide grin. To the careless observer, it was a voicing of gratitude. To Daxter, it was the signature on the bottom line of his verbal death warrant.

With a wave in Daxter's direction and a nod to Ashelin, Tess headed off to wherever she'd been going before having bumped into the former, leaving Daxter trapped in the arms of the tattooed she-elf.

As soon as the blonde had vanished, Daxter shifted his attention to Ashelin, swallowing nervously when he met those cold jade eyes.

"So is there any way I could convince you not to tie me up and feed me to a horde of Metal Heads?" he laughed shakily, the sentence coming out far more hysterical than he'd intended.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," Ashelin stated matter-of-factly, shrugging as if they were discussing something as insignificant as the weather. Nice to know that Daxter's life meant so much to her.

"Really?" the aforementioned ottsel questioned in disbelief, his ears pricking up hopefully and his heart rate kicking into overdrive all over again.

"Nope," Ashelin confirmed, sounding almost bored with the prospect. Before Daxter had the opportunity to let this information sink in, however, the double-agent's eyes narrowed in a glare that had her captive positively quaking in her grasp. "I've got something… different planned for you, you scrawny little eavesdropper."

If there was ever a time when Daxter wished he could have spontaneously imploded on the spot, it was now.

Ok, it's official. Karma has screwed me.

Jak's eyelids fluttered lazily, sliding open to expose dark cerulean irises, their ocean depths forever swirling with a constant storm. He sat up on his poor excuse for a cot and stretched, more well-rested than he'd been in longer than he cared to remember. For once, his dreams had not been plagued by shadows and violence, but instead embraced by the tranquility of a world long gone, memories that had begun to fade in the wake of hatred.

It was safe to say that the welcome change had left him in a considerably good mood — an occurrence that was even rarer than catching a glimpse of one of Torn's halfhearted smiles.

Stifling a yawn, Jak surveyed his quarters routinely, searching for Daxter. His partner-in-crime never strayed far whenever he tried to catch up on his rest, and so he assumed that Daxter would still be in the room, waiting for him to awaken.

So it was no surprise that a pang of anxiety lashed at the dark elf when he realized, apart from him and a few dust bunnies, the chamber was completely vacant.

Well, knowing Dax, he's probably gotten himself into trouble, Jak noted exasperatedly, heaving a sigh and hauling himself to his feet. Better go make sure he's alright.

Treading lightly across the floor, Jak stepped out into the long hallway adjacent to his temporary residence, shutting the door behind him. He glanced from left to right, expecting to catch a glimpse of a familiar streak of orange, and finding none.

What he did discover, however, was probably the only person who was almost always as certain of Daxter's whereabouts as he was.

"Hey, Tess," Jak acknowledged the bubbly woman as she rounded the bend at the far side of the corridor. She spotted him immediately, a friendly smile gracing her features as she strode over to join him.

"Hi, Jak!" she returned the greeting merrily, sky-blue orbs sparkling with delight as they always did. "Looking for Daxter?"

"Yeah," Jak confirmed shortly, never one to beat around the bush. He didn't ask how Tess knew what he was thinking; anyone who'd ever been around the Demolition Duo for more than two seconds would find it odd if they came across one without the other.

"He was with Ashelin the last time I saw him," Tess replied nonchalantly, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the passage that led to the Underground's main entrance. "She said she had to talk to him about something."

Probably to figure out the best way to take care of the 'pest' problem, Jak chuckled silently, unperturbed by this information. Ashelin would never willingly speak to Daxter alone, that much was certain; he must have managed to really piss her off. No doubt she'd actually drug him off somewhere isolated so that no one would be able to hear his screams.

Not that Daxter's voice wouldn't be heard for miles around anyway, regardless of his location. It wasn't exactly easy to miss, what with its earsplitting volume that seemed to defy the laws of nature when coming from such a small mammal.

Besides, Jak wouldn't let it get far enough to where his best friend was in serious danger, anyhow. If Ashelin really was out for Daxter's blood, then she'd find herself pinned in a corner with a certain enraged Eco demon's claws at her throat faster than she could swear.

But of course, that was just Jak.

With a quick nod of thanks to Tess, the renegade brushed past her and followed the pathway from which she'd appeared, his legs automatically leading him to the briefing room. If there was one place Ashelin would take Daxter in order to torment and/or murder him, it would be there. Why, Jak had no idea, but he always managed to locate both Torn and Ashelin there, as if the room had some sort of magnetic pull for them.

He didn't pretend to understand it, and frankly he didn't care enough to try.

Not entirely sure what he was about to walk into, — but mentally preparing himself in case his speculations were true — Jak tapped on the disguised barrier that divided him from his destination. He waited semi-patiently as the passage opened for him, arms folded over his chest and eyebrows furrowed in his trademark scowl.

Finally, Jak was granted access to the expansive room beyond the hall in which he stood. He studied the space about him warily, his abrasive stance slackening and his eyes widening minutely upon taking in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was Torn, positioned ever-diligently beside the table strewn with maps and strategic plans. His clothes seemed a bit ruffled, and strands of auburn hair hung loose from the dreadlocks that were always kept in perfect order. A sly grin was tugging at the edges of the normally stone-faced commander's mouth, almost as if he were enjoying some private joke.

As if that weren't strange enough, Jak observed that several sheets of paper littered the floor, and a few sparse pieces of furniture had been knocked out of place, as though something heavy had crashed into them.

Despite all this oddity, the most alarming — though not entirely unexpected — detail that really caught and held Jak's attention was Daxter. The poor rodent was currently dangling from the ceiling by his tail, suspended by what looked like a bandana wrapped around his extra appendage. A curved dagger that was obviously Torn's had been jammed into the roof, nailing the piece of cloth to its concrete surface.

"What the hell happened here?" Jak demanded, more out of astonishment than anger. He watched as Daxter slowly revolved above the center of the chamber, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

"The horrors…" Daxter muttered dazedly, his cobalt gaze wide and staring at nothing. His words elicited a muffled snort from Torn, who merely continued to pour over his paperwork, what had been the hints of a smile now a full-blown smirk stretching across his face.

Jak blinked at the pair of them for a heartbeat, and then held up his hands, shaking his head wearily.

"On second thought, I don't even want to know."

JKA: Aww, poor Daxter, everyone just seems to have it out for him. XD I'm considering adding onto this if I ever come up with another funny oneshot centering around Daxter and his antics, so that would make this a collection of sorts, I suppose. We'll just have to see how things go. But in the meantime, reviews are much loved, but not required, so if you've got time, I'd appreciate some feedback! Thanks! :D