Loser

Chapter 5: Trapped

Daxter dreamed that he was back in the Precursor pits, sitting on Jak's shoulder while they traversed one of the ubiquitous crumbling corridors. He felt strangely comforted by the place, as though deep in his belly he recognized where he belonged. This was his place. Home. He dug his claws into Jack's vest with familiarity, and buried his muzzle in Jak's hair, while Jak petted his fur. Jak was warm and his smell was pleasant and complex. Oh man, he missed this. He missed it so badly. It felt so good.

They reached a section where the floor gave out, but Dax felt no fear. He watched Jak transform with half an eye, not willing to remove his nose from the crook of Jak's neck. As Jak grew transparent, Dax could see the ruin through his body. He felt more than saw the wings appear on Jak's back. One, two, three strides and Jak leaped out over the precipice. They were flying. Flying. Together out into nothing.

The dream soured slowly with every flap of Jak's wings. Dax realized they should have reached some kind of ground by now, and with every wingbeat they dropped lower. Dax began to doubt Jak's ability fly his way out again. Panic seeded itself in his middle, and he tightened his claws on Jak's vest.

"Jak," whispered Dax. "Where are we going?"

But it was Light, not Jak, that replied in a oddly lilting whisper that sent shivers down Dax's spine. "Into the oubliette where no one will ever find us. Where we can be together always."

Dax felt a knife pang of terror and longed to run but he was already trapped. His world narrowed down to the space of Jak's shoulder. Horrified, he grieved for their apartment, for Haven city and all his friends, Tess, his work, his life, his choices, but it was too late. They'd flown too far and there was nothing left but Jak and a dark Precursor prison. Forever.


Daxter woke with a gasp and felt something wrong immediately. His skin tingled, and when he opened his eyes he could see a low blue light eddying around the room. He rolled over quickly and looked for Jak, but Jak was gone.

In his place, Light sat up in the bed staring back at him with glowing white eyes.

"Jak," Daxter's voice creaked. He coughed and tried again. "Light, why are you here?"

"I'm worried." Light's voice sounded eerie and unreal as always, as though he was speaking through a long metal tube.

"Are we in danger now, Light? Do I need to get the guns?" Daxter automatically sniffed the air for metalheads, then realized the futility of it. The old nose didn't work like it used to –- one more reason he'd be useless down in the ruins. His ears heard nothing but the ordinary pops and clangs of city life, and though he looked around the dimly lit room, there was nothing out of the ordinary but Light.

Light was freaky enough on his own. Deeply disturbing, in fact, because the dude didn't just casually come up (and a hearty thank the Makers for that) he had to be triggered in some way—danger, need, worry, eco, something. Was Jak really in such a state that his sleep would bring on of his alter-egos? That would be bad.

"You are safe," the hollow voice replied with little reassurance. It was hard to read Light's expression – the planes of his face were obscured by both his translucency and his aura, but Daxter thought he saw sadness.

"Light," said Daxter. "What do you need? I'm here for you, buddy. You just need a cuddle or something?" Dark sometimes needed a cuddle to soothe him back to sleep after a good hard fight. And that reminded Dax that things could always be worse. He gave a shudder of thanks that he hadn't woken up with an upset Dark in bed with him. Now that would be nightmare inducing.

Apparently a cuddle was exactly what Light was looking for, because the persona leaned forward and petted Dax's face and hair.

I get it, thought Dax, wryly. Time to do the cute furry thing. Awkwardly, he attempted imitate the pet he used to be, snuggling up to Light and gently butting his head under Light's chin. It used to be so easy, so natural, but now it just felt silly. He was a grown man, for crying out loud; it wasn't even cute. Nonetheless, Light seemed to like it, and really that's what counted. The persona stroked Dax's hair, then his arms wrapped around Dax, stilling him, holding him to his cool, unearthly chest with firm pressure. Dax smelled lightning and fresh grass and wet spring mornings.

"Did you miss me that much?" Dax asked. It seemed an absurd thought, but come to think of it, Dax hadn't seen Light or Dark since the change. Before that he saw them both on nearly a daily basis, in the regular course of adventuring. And thinking that way, it made sense.

"You went away," murmured Light. "You didn't come back. We worry you won't come back."

Dax felt his heart break. "Oh, Light, I'm not abandoning you. I've been here all this time. Right here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere. Jak knows, I'll be back on the job soon. I promised." Dax closed his eyes tightly and held this cool godly monster that was his best friend, and tried not to mourn his dreams. He didn't want to go back to those pits, but there was no getting away from the Precursors. There was no point in trying.

Dax broke the embrace long enough to see Light smiling down on him benevolently. "Sleep," Light ordered in the nicest of ways.

Oh thank you, lordship, can I really now? thought Daxter caustically, but he kept it off his face. Then he oofed out a breath as Light suddenly gathered him up and lowered him to bed as if he weighed no more than the ottsel he used to be. Daxter didn't fight it. The mattress did feel awfully good. And warm.

"You, too, Light," said Dax, lying on his back. "Let Jak back. He needs his rest."

"Yes." Light cuddled up to his side. Not quite what Dax meant, but he wasn't going to argue with it. He could sense that Light was willing to relinquish Jak's body again, and anything to speed the cause along was fine with Dax. He reached a hand over and stroked Light's hair. It felt soft and ghostly.

Oh, Jak, what are we going to do with our crazy, fucked up, co-dependant lives?

The blue light faded from the room, and Dax felt the warmth of Jak's body nestled against him. Jaks' breath blew slow and gentle across chest in a sleeping rhythm, and Dax the weight of his head against his shoulder. The pressure of the embrace eased, until it was nothing more than the loose weight of Jak's arm across his waist. Jak hadn't woken up.

Jak wouldn't remember this. He never did when one of his personas took over. Not unless Dax told him. The whole thing was like a conversation behind Jak's back, even though it was his body, his voice carrying on. And there was something just so wrong about that. If the shoe were on the other foot, Dax knew he'd be scared to death knowing that at any time, day or night, some other consciousness could take him over and do who knows what with his body and his life.

Suddenly, Dax felt like an incredibly shlub. For all his internal whining, Dax could have a normal job, normal relationships, his fate was his own to grab. That he hadn't was just his own damn laziness and lack of imagination.

Jak would never have a normal anything. Ever. And he hadn't done one damn thing to deserve it. He had been born with a mess of low level psychic powers that under almost any other circumstance would have landed him a cushy, predictable spot in the priesthood. But the Lurker war left Jak without much supervision, which lead to exploring those Precursor ruins, which lead to Dax being turned into an ottsel, which lead to exploring more precursor ruins to get his body back… and on and on through ever less likely chain of events that had come to a huge, hideous end with Jak's abduction.

Makers only knew what went on during the two years Jak was held by Baron Praxis' scientists. Experiments for sure. There had been a huge amount of nasty looking machinery in the building Dax had found Jak. Lots of straps and needles. Barred cages. Bodies. The only thing Dax ever got out of Jak about the ordeal was broody far away stares. That and Dark, and later Light.

Dax supposed, all things told, having Dark and Light wasn't too bad. His buddy could have become a veritable rainbow of Jaks, and who knew what kind of personality or talents "Blue" Jak would have. And most of the time, it was just ordinary Jak – a little older and a lot more world-weary than the dude Dax grew up with, but still the same basic nice guy.

Dax rubbed his face. It's all so complicated.

Next to him Jaks breath hitched and snuffled for a moment before settling back down. Dax lay still.

He should go by Tess and Mitch's and train himself up on guns, because one way or another he was going back into those damn pits and he better know how to defend himself when he did. Vacation was coming to an end. It was time to get to work.

Goodbye, safe and sane lifestyle. I hardly knew you.

Dax asked the question as soon as he got home the next day. "Hey, Jak, if you aren't too tired from your day or nothing, d'ya think you could come down to the range with me and teach me how to shoot?"

He knew it was the right decision the moment the words were out of his mouth, because for the first time in weeks Jak smiled. More than smiled, he got down right chatty, which for Jak was amazing.

"We'll start with the basics," said Jak pulling a rifle from the gun rack that filled the apartment's tiny closet. "Oh yeah, and we definitely want you up to speed with one of these," Jak tossed a handgun at Dax, who caught it before it sunk in what it was. He almost had the urge to drop the gun again. Damn it, Jak kept these things loaded and, what with his firm belief in his own invincibility, sometimes he left the safety off. Dax quickly fumbled to make sure the weapon was safe, then put it into Jak's backspack.

"I think a hand gun is more your speed anyway," Jak went on oblivious of Dax's skeptical look. "What do you think about grenades?"

"Grenades?" repeated Dax. "I think they are… boomy."

"Boomy," Jak nodded. "They're a synch. Just pull and toss hard in the right direction. Don't need to be too accurate. Good when you've got a pack of metalheads coming down on you and you don't have time to shoot them all before they start gnawing at your guts. Don't use them in the corridors though. Could take the ceiling down."

"Yeah, I kind of remember that, Jak," said Dax wryly. "In fact, I kind of remember reminding you of that a couple of times."

Jak's eyes narrowed and he suddenly turned and squared himself to Dax. Dax looked up questioningly into his eyes, wondering if his last remark had caused some kind of offense. As if to confirm his fear, both of Jak's hands come down hard on his shoulders and suddenly shook him. Dax rocked, then dug in his heels with a "Hey!"

Jak nodded as if this told him something important. "You'll probably do better with smaller caliber. Less kick." Jak returned to the gun cabinet and removed two more handguns. "This is going to be great."

Dax felt a guilty squirm in his gut. "Yeah, great. Gee, Jak, I hope you don't have high hopes for me, because, I'm not exactly a gun person. I could really suck."

"You've guided missiles." Jak stuffed several boxes of ammunition into the sack.

Heh, heh, yeah, time was when Torn could convince Dax to do anything. Crazy wars. Dax smiled at the memory. "Pshaw, but that's a totally different skill. And we all know my accuracy with that one."

"You got the target."

"Eventually, yes, after putting four of them into the lake first."

"The last one was all that counted." Jack went on his toes to retrieve a package of green eco balls, which he carefully stuffed into the side pouches.

"And a good thing it did because that's all the missiles we had."

Jak grabbed his shoulder again, this time with a gentle squeeze. "You'll do fine, you always do." He slung the heavy bag of guns and ammo over his shoulder, lifting it like it was nothing.

Dax felt a pang of inadequacy. "Hey, Jak, I can carry my share, let me get another bag."

But Jak just called out, "I got it," and walked out the door, leaving Dax empty handed and with a feeling like once again Jak was carrying him.

Dax scratched at his clothes out of irritation. He had a terrifying urge to put his thumb into his mouth and soothe away his nerves, and damn, he thought he'd laid that bad habit to rest. With all the other lapses, he was not going to concede on that one. So instead he straightened his collar, spit tamed an errant lock of hair, and followed Jak down to the little fenced off nook under the stairs where Jak stowed the zoomer.

Now came the real test of Dax's resolve: Off to Tess and Mitch's indoor firing range – and the inevitable awkward reconciliation attempt.

It had been more than a month since the last time he'd seen Tess. He hadn't had any reason to go with Jak to buy ammo, and Tess hadn't come by the Naughty Ottsel. As horrible as it was, Dax was actually relieved that she'd avoided him. What with everything else going on the last thing he needed was another reminder of what a failure in life he was. As long as he avoided Tess, he could pretend that their last encounter was a fluke, that there was some way to save their relationship, and as soon as Dax just came up with the right words, the right argument, it would all fall together.

Yeah maybe. Sounds good. Still in all the weeks since that horrible afternoon, he hadn't think been able to think of any better reasons for her to give up Precursorhood than those he'd already given: I love you. Life will be easier if you just let Jak turn you. Oh my god, are you nuts woman? Why would you want to stay an animal when you can be a hot babe? Those didn't go over then. They wouldn't now.

Maybe there was another solution. If Dax couldn't get her to change back into an elf, maybe he could convince Tess to sleep on Jak's chest – go with him on his missions. After all she could do all the things Dax no longer could. She was still cute and small and cuddly. And she was certainly brave enough. And she loved precursor stuff…

And oh yeah, that would fly – like a brick.

Jak didn't want Tess on his chest. He'd made that oh so amply clear during those painful months they'd all lived together. She'd have never moved out if she and Jak were a better fit.

What drove Dax nuts is that he couldn't figure out why they didn't fit. They were certainly friendly enough. They both loved guns. They both were fascinated by the Precursors. She was easy going, Jak was accepting. By all fucking rights they should have been best friends, but they weren't. It was such a subtle thing, too. You couldn't tell it from a casual glance, because sometimes they got on famously. But inevitably Jak would go one way and Tess another. And Dax would be there in the middle wondering which one to follow.

Jak looked over his shoulder at Dax as he started the engine, huge smile on his face. Happy to have his bud share his favorite hobby. Shooting shit up. Yea.

Dax slung his leg over the narrow seat of the zoomer, tucked his feet up on the runner boards and grabbed Jak's waist. He felt a slight thrill, when the zoomer leaped up fifteen feet in the air and zipped in and out of late afternoon traffic. Jak drove like he was the only one in the sky: twice as fast as he should, cutting tight corners with hard jerks, and swooping down to use the pedestrian space as a bypass lane. Dax once cautioned him about being a menace on the road but he'd long since given up that lost cause. Jak never hit anything or anyone, despite the constant close calls, and apparently he was convinced that laws didn't apply to him.

Actually, laws didn't apply to Jak. That was kinda the reason why the city treated him with kid gloves and all.

The view was crap. Dax was too short to see over Jak's shoulder, and had to content himself with pressing his cheek into Jak's back and watching a blur of buildings racing by to his side. And that's why they were fifteen minutes into the ride before Dax realized he had no idea where the hell they were going but it wasn't to Tess's.

"Hey aren't we going to the firing range?"

Dax thought he felt Jak stiffen, but then the whole zoomer shuddered, fell to pedestrian level, and whipped under the belly of a slow moving car. When he got back up to normal traffic height Jak risked both their lives by turning his head to look at Dax. "Thought you'd have more fun going free range."

At that point, Dax recognized the part of town they were in. One whiff of the air gave it away. All the stinkiest parts of the city came together in one lonely corner: The paper mill, the dye vats, the garbage incinerators, and as the piece de la resistance, the sewage processors. Jak slowed down and lowered the zoomer next to the enormous wall that circled Haven City. They were near the swamp – Lurker territory.

Well not actually Lurker territory. More like Lurker Metalheads. The Lurkers were just as curious as Elves when it came to Precursor junk, and just as likely as rats to touch those evil orbs. Once gotten, they inevitably followed their noses and got as close to Elvish establishments as they could. They'd set up something of permanent camp in the swamps. Every so often the Crimson Guard would come out and take pot shots at those they could find, thinning down the herd, but a week or two later there'd be another group setting up camp again, lured in by the heady stench of Elven waste.

Lurkers might be dumb compared to your average elf, but they were still sentient creatures. They used weapons. They could strategize.

"Jak," said Dax, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice. "Can't we start a bit simpler than hunting Lurkers? Maybe tin cans on a stump or something?"

Jak rolled his eyes, as though Dax was being entirely unreasonable in his fears. Then, ignoring Dax's continued objections, he confidently pressed his hand against the access panel to open a way out of the city. The machine read his palm, recognized who he was, and granted permission to leave. With a deep hollow boom, the enormous wheel of metal that comprised the inner door rolled into the recesses of the city wall. Jak and Dax stepped into the shallow room on the other side and waited for the wheel to roll back into place. A moment later the back of the room clanged, and a second disk of metal rolled back, revealing an expanse of coarse shrubs and long grass.

The sun was low in the sky, but Jak walked on ahead with confidence, Dax following his footsteps as exactly as he could to keep from accidentally stepping in a knee high pool of stagnant water. The air was thick with buzzes and glops, clicks and braps. Swarms of iridescent dragonflies took off around them as they passed, and small brightly colored wildflowers bloomed everywhere.

Actually, the swamp was kind of peaceful and pretty.

Jak came to an abrupt halt about a hundred feet out into the bog and pulled the empty shell of an ammo pack out of mud. He looked around for a moment then took a couple of paces to the side and propped the bit of garbage on a rock.

"Tin can." He crossed his arms and looked smug.

Dax laughed. "Good enough, buddy. Good enough."


Turns out, shooting shit up was a hell of a lot of fun, and they didn't see a single metalhead the entire time they were out there. Go figure.


Almost as if the guys at work sensed things were more peaceful at home, they began to ratchet the pressure on Dax. At first it was just little jibes and digs, all in good humor. Nothing that Dax couldn't take, and hell, he gave the verbal cracks back in equal measure. Dax knew he was short and skinny compared to the average construction worker -- it didn't really bother him. He also knew he was a lot more dexterous, his upper body strength belied his size, and he wasn't reluctant to put either to the test. A couple of the bigger guys seemed to think it funny to try wrestle him, but their balance was terrible and Dax took them down with embarrassing ease. He had to do it three times before his mates admitted it wasn't a fluke, but after that his esteem went up heaps.

He was popular, now. Which was awesome. But that in turn created it's own problem. When Dax was the new guy, no one really cared one way or another if he joined them at the bar. Now that he'd passed their test, and they'd accepted him as a comrade, they weren't taking "Thanks, but no thanks" nearly as well.

"I really would," said Dax regretfully. "But my girl's waiting for me."

"Bring her along," one of the guys suggested, which was followed by agreement and general curiosity about Dax's girl.

"She's… er… shy," said Dax uncomfortably. "Really, I'll ask. If she says yes, I'll be there." Oh, the lies, the lies.

This put the guys off for a couple of days, but by the end of the week they started putting on the screws.

"Don't we meet her standards?" Stanford asked. "Is she some kinda snob or something?"

"Of course not," sputtered Dax, waving his hands in denial. "My girl's just --"

"There's no girl," said Arne with cretinous certainty.

Dax flushed. "I do so have a girl!"

"I won't believe it until she shows up."

Before Dax could respond the rest of the guys leapt on the idea. "Put up! Put up!"

Dax waved them off and walked away, but he couldn't ignore the pressure. The guys weren't going to let this go until he produced a "girl."

The obvious answer was to take Tess, since after all, hey, she was his girl. But she was also an ottsel, and honestly, Dax wasn't sure he could pull off the interspecies romance thing as well as Tess did. Gender expectations weren't equal. A hot girl lavishing affection on a cute critter was kind of adorable. A funny looking dude calling a small animal his "girlfriend" was just sick.

No. Not possible. Even if Tess was still on speaking terms with him, Dax was sure his mates wouldn't be able to deal. So… that left… who?

Ashelin? Neck down, she was pretty hot and everyone knew she was important. Both were big pluses. And there was a good chance it stop the questions about his not joining them for a beer, because, whoo, Ashelin could whip the lot of these oafs with a glance.

On the negative side, he'd have to spend an evening being nice to Ashelin, and after their last encounter, Dax wasn't really sure he could do that. Plus there was no way in hell she'd actually agree to be his date. And that puts the kibosh on that.

There was always Keira. Except nah, that wouldn't work, either. Back when Dax had a crush on her, he'd taken every opportunity he could to proposition her. She in turn made it clear she was never going to date him. Ever. Even-if-he-was-the-last-man-on-the-planet kind of ever. There was no reason to think that a few years was going to make a difference in that, especially since she more or less blamed Dax for her break up with Jak.

What he wouldn't give for a bit of Jak's sexual mojo: to just be able to smile at a girl and have her swoon. Maybe if he asked… but, no, that was silly. Jak wasn't going to scrounge him a date so Dax could ditch him to hang with his work buds. And Dax wasn't going to insult his best friend by asking.

Dax sighed. At this rate he was going to alienate and annoy everyone he'd ever had anything to do with. Way to go Loser. Way to go.

Nevermind, I'll think of something. And I'll think of someway to get Tess back, and make Jak happy and please myself too. There's a solution to everything out there, if I just put my mind to it. It will all come to me tomorrow.

It didn't.

It still hadn't come to him four days later, and the guys were beginning to get on Dax's nerves. Somehow, someway, every conversation with his mates turned into a fishing expeditions for clues about his "girlfriend," what exactly Dax was doing with her every day after work, and why neither of them could sit down just once for a beer in the afternoon with Dax's good buddies. There had to be a really good reason. And by good reason, they apparently assumed raunchy wild sex.

"Ever done that to your girl, Dax?" Arne asked after describing a rather unsanitary act involving tongues and body parts Dax would rather not think about.

"None of your business," said Dax, which had turned into his standard answer for anything to do with sex. It was better than faking first hand knowledge he didn't have, or admitting the truth, which was that, smart mouth aside, he was as virginal as they came. "And cut it out, it's lunchtime. You are putting me off my food."

There was a bit of a hubbub on the other end of the site. Dax thought he heard his own name carrying over the general din, so he stood up, peering over the pile of wood and cinderblock to see what was up.

The Foreman was talking to a smartly dressed man with dark auburn dreads and a huge precursor symbol tattooed over his face. What the hell. Why is Torn here.

Dax scrambled past the various workplace detritus to stem the damage before Torn let too much of his past out of the bag. "Hey!" he called out. "What's up. You need me?"

Torn met his eyes and nodded. "There you are, Daxter."

The guys on the site weren't that interested in politics. Leaders came, made a lot of empty promises, then they disappeared again. Meanwhile, work was steady and everyone got by, more or less. Even so, they'd all recognize the bloody defense minister. Having a high ranking official seeking Dax out just invited speculation. And indeed all eyes were on him. No matter what, Dax was going to be fielding a lot of awkward questions after this. Best to find out what Torn wanted and get him the hell off the site as fast as possible.

Torn let Dax take his sleeve and guide him a few feet away across the narrow street to a small space where two buildings met at an odd angle. It wasn't much but at least they were out of casual earshot.

"Why are you here?" asked Dax a lot more churlishly than he intended.

Torn curled up a corner of his mouth. "Why so suspicious? I could just be paying you a friendly visit."

"You? Casually visiting me?" Dax raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh be real, you are way too busy keeping the city safe for that. What's so urgent you have to look me up at work. Is something up with Jak I don't know about?" Dax's heart suddenly hammered. He hoped that wasn't it.

It was. "Jak made it clear he doesn't want me pressuring you, but you really are the only one who can help him. I know you aren't ready to come back to the job --"

Oh god. Not this again. "--And I told Ashelin this was a temporary gig," Dax interrupted. "Listen, Jak is training me on weapons right now. Couple more weeks and I'll quit and be back on the job, if you guys are that desperate to have me. Though, honestly, I still don't get why you all think Jak needs me that much. The dude is a powerhouse, with or without me."

Torn's half smile faded. "You haven't watched him work. I don't think you understand how depressed he is. I took him off of metalhead hunting today. He's out patrolling for raiders in the desert with Ashelin."

Dax sighed. "Well, okay. Good temporary solution. A break from Precursor death traps is probably just what he needs. So, what do you need to bug me at work for?"

"Actually, what I came to see you about is something more… personal in nature." Torn looked a bit uncomfortable and Dax thought he saw just the faintest sign of redness in the little bit of untattooed skin left on his cheeks.

"Oh?"

"I'm thinking that Jak could use a bit of tension relief."

"You mean something other than shooting the crap out of things with me."

"Yeah."

"Like, what? You think he needs to get laid?"

Dax was being smart, but to his surprise, Torn nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

It actually was a thought. Jak's sex life had taken a nosedive after Dax's change. Sharing a small apartment with Dax sure wasn't helping. Of course, Dax had always shared an apartment with Jak, but the dynamic was a lot different when he was an ottsel. Back then, his presence didn't count. But now days if Jak wanted to bring home a girl, there really wasn't anywhere for Dax to be. Awk-ward.

"Yeah," said Dax, sighing. "Okay, I think I see the problem. Crap. Well, tell you what, I'll let him know that any time he's got a date, I'll make myself scarce. No problemo. I can find a place to hole up for the night –" I have no idea where, but I'll figure out something "—he just needs give the word."

Torn looked a bit exasperated. "I don't think that's the problem." Torn stared down at Dax with an intensity that made him squirm. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be willing to take a more active roll in the matter. For the good of your friend. For the good of everyone."

Dax raised an eyebrow. "You want me to find Jak a date? Me?. I can't even find myself a date, what makes you think I'd be able to set him up?"

Torn pinched the bridge of his nose. "You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you."

"I have no clue what you're getting at, Torn. Really, I don't."

"I'm talking about you taking an active role." Torn sucked in a breath and straightened up.

"Me? And Jak?" Dax's mouth dropped, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "Oh no, man, no! I don't know where you got that idea, but we aren't like that."

"I know you aren't like that. That's the problem. But Jak is never going to make the first move. It's got to be you."

"Why me? I mean, why would you even think me? I've got too little up here," Dax pointed at his chest, "And waaaay too much going on down here." He pointed to his groin. "You'd think if Jak was into dating guys, he'd date guys."

"Well, if you offer and he turns it down, then we'll know that's not what he wants. But if it turns out it is what he wants, then it could make a big difference on his readiness, and I can put him back on metalhead duty where he belongs."

Torn's words settled in Dax's mind and he finally realized that Torn was being earnest. Dax's face burned. He opened his mouth, but words just didn't form. The sheer audacity!

"Well?" prodded Torn after a moment, all trace of embarrassment gone. He looked for all the world like he was giving Dax another routine assignment.

"Makers, Torn, this is crazy," Dax hissed to keep himself from shouting. "You want me to give my best bud a pity fuck – so you can throw him back in the Precursor mines faster? Am I getting this right?"

"It doesn't have to be penetration. A hand job would do fine, I think."

"I -- No!" Dax's eyes bugged out. "No. Go order Ashelin to do it. She's the one who works for you."

"Ashelin already offered. He turned her down."

"Well then maybe Jak's not in the mood to get laid. And, man, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you." Dax smacked his face.

"I have a discretionary budget. If it would smooth matters down, I could pay you whatever sum you think right –"

"What?! You want to pay me for sex?!" Dax recoiled. "Oh man, who the fuck – I am not a whore! And I don't give out pity fucks, either!" His voice echoed off the concrete walls.

Dax froze as he realized just what he'd done. Oh… shit. Torn didn't move but his eyes slid sideways towards the deathly silent worksite. Dax didn't dare follow his gaze.

"I was really loud there, wasn't I," said Dax flatly.

"Yep." Torn nodded, cool and composed as ever.

"You think they heard me?"

"I think the whole block did."

Dax covered his face. "Great."

"At least they know you have high standards," Torn offered up, sympathetically. He had the gall to grin.

"Torn… Argh. Just get the hell out of here. I'll talk to you later." Dax turned his back and walked back to the site.

There wasn't a peep of conversation going on, and everyone watched as he went to his pack and pulled out his lunch. He could see the "oh, so that's how it is" look on their faces. There was no point in disabusing them – the real explanation for the conversation would be more humiliating than a simple gay lovers spat.

"Hey!" Dax suddenly yelled. "Don't you got better things to do than stare at me?" And things went back to normal.

That afternoon, when the whistle had blown and the daily wages handed out, Stanford came up to Dax. "Hey, man. You can bring your boyfriend to the bar. It's cool."

"Thanks," said Dax, feeling completely spent. "I still don't think it would work, but thanks."

Well, at least the girlfriend problem was resolved.