Just A Good Night's Sleep

“Lesse if the lights are still working…”

    It wasn’t just the light Sig worried about, but when the bulb dangling from the ceiling flashed on things did look up. Even if everything had been fine just a few days ago when he last visited the small apartment, that was in no way a guarantee for anything. In this part of town you could never be sure about things like working electricity.

“I thought you lived by the Hip Hog,” Jak said behind him, voice echoing slightly in the empty stairwell.

    Sig looked over his shoulder, lips stretching a little as he stepped further inside.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s nice to have someplace closer by when you’ve been out.”

    A tired sound of agreement left Jak’s lips and he rolled his shoulders. The movement seemed to be a call for Daxter to hop off – whether or not it actually was one, he immediately obeyed.

“Wow, I’m amazed this place hasn’t been robbed,” the ottsel said as soon as he stood on the floor.

    He crossed the threshold and into the simple one-roomer, critically surveying the worn down armchairs, the table and the bed – the latter hardly more than a plank with a pair of blankets and a pillow.

“Peeps know I live here,” Sig said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

    Even Jak smiled a little at that, but Daxter hardly seemed to be listening. He had already bounded across the floor and onto the pale pillow of one of the arm chairs.

    Seeing that Jak still stood outside Sig waved at the blond to make himself at home. Not until that sign did the young warrior step inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. A moment later Jak sat down in the armchair Daxter had claimed, leaning back and letting a slow breath escape him while the orange fuzzball simply moved into his pal’s lap.

“I’ll see if there’s any grub,” Sig said and moved into the small kitchen, dropping his bag on the floor with a heavy clatter and unhooking the peace maker from his back to lean it against the wall.

    Jak simply let out a grateful grunt in reply.

    The kitchen was better than a pantry, but not much more. It was also perfectly clean, something that had gone surprisingly un-commented. Sig didn’t really care whether it was noticed or not, rather grateful for the lack of annoying questions about a possible “little lady”. The truth was simply that he paid a neighboring woman to look after the place when he wasn’t there. He couldn’t give her much for her trouble, but her gratitude assured that it was a sorely appreciated income.

    He never told her that he noticed that there always seemed to be less rations than he recalled restocking.

    No, the place was never robbed – pilfered, maybe, but nothing more. Even the slummers were smart enough not to cause trouble with a place belonging to a wastelander. Sig didn’t keep much to steal in the first place – this apartment was just a place closer by than the Hip Hog, as he had said. Good for times like these.

    Getting Jak to actually come along here had been a pure battle of wills. If it had been safe enough, Jak had probably camped outside the walls.  The kid could be stubborn as a yakow, unwilling to cause trouble and nervous of staying still. Especially now.

    He’d drawn too much attention to himself, lately. Just four days ago, Haven City had borne witness to one lonely renegade taking down a small army of heavily armed men in the water slums. The citizens were still trying to catch their breath and the KG was on red alert – actually, they needed something like “neon red alert” for this case. No telling what Praxis himself felt about it.

    Sig frowned slightly while he turned on the water tap, letting the water run for a few seconds before he reached for the old water boiler from its shelf.

    An insane victory, just the feat of surviving such a thing, would have made many others certain of their invulnerability. In Jak’s case however, it made him warier than ever, fully realizing how dangerous he was to anyone he met. From what Sig gathered, Jak had not stayed longer than a couple of minutes with any friend ever since the massive battle – taking orders only over communicator and refusing to see anybody unless it was absolutely necessary.

    One thing was certain; the Baron was more desperate than ever to catch him now, and might in numbers had proven ineffective. Jak wasn’t stupid enough not to expect other kinds of traps from here out. He always kept Daxter so close that the small best friend could not be made into a weak point, but he could not keep all his friends as safe. So he tried to make sure that he didn’t seem to have any, flitting about and wary of spying eyes.  

    Sig had gathered as much from Daxter and Tess, the two of them mentioning bits and pieces in hushed voices. The wastelander readily admitted being impressed, by the reaction and certainly by Jak making it out of such a grandiose battle in the first place.

    But at the same time, it showed that all of it – the battle and the rising feeling of danger – had started to seriously wear Jak down.

    Sig’s frown deepened even more as the line of thought continued. He tried to focus on filling the water boiler, but as soon as he had switched it on it offered no further help.

    At the crack of dawn this morning, Sig had met up with the destruction duo by the pumping station. It was the first time the wastelander had actually seen Jak ever since the water slums massacre.

    The three of them had spent all day tracking four metal head scouts for Krew. Hard to catch meant rare skull gems, and all four of those now lay secured and well in Sig’s bag on the floor.

    Unfortunately for everyone involved (except, of course, their oh so revered employer) “hard to catch” equals “rare” definitely equals “pain in the ass”.

    Jak kept up, but he kept sitting down on the ground whenever they took a break. An alarming first, that. Already by midday, Sig resolved to bring the young man “home” and let him rest as soon as they were done.

    To little surprise, Jak was not up to it at all. Daxter, while looking hopeful, never actually spoke up until, after a lot of assurances, there had been just the slightest sign of the blond giving in.

    In the end, it was probably the look at the narrow streets deep down in the slums, and the comment that “you know cherry, they won’t come at you in groups less than twelve” to make Jak actually climb the stair to the apartment.

    It was safe, for that very reason. Whatever the KG did in these parts, especially in large numbers, everyone within a hundred yard radius would know it within half a minute. Even if people here wouldn’t normally band together, they all shared the hatred for the military.

    He could keep Jak and Daxter safe here for at least a night. Any longer Jak would never dare to stay, no matter what.

    A sudden sound caught Sig’s attention, shaking him out of his thoughts. It was a familiar metallic clattering and snapping, a low and homely sound to his ears. Even knowing, he leant back and glanced into the main room.

    The loose parts of a morph gun were being placed on the small table, removed and released as Jak prepared to clean his weapon. Not feeling up to risk getting hit on his head the butt of a gun, Daxter had relocated to the blond’s neck, curling around it with the thick curtain of hair as a blanket.

    Sig smiled slightly. He had not much liked having to use a mistake of his own as an example during their very first hunt together, but the situation then had pretty much demanded it.

“See what happened there, cherry? Better keep your gun cleaned or it’ll get cranky in tight spots.”

    Despite the jammed peace maker, that mission had gone smoothly largely thanks to Jak – not like Sig couldn’t have made it on his own, but having somebody who could actually watch his back was a nice change of pace.

    And Jak had obviously taken the advice to heart. Heavily sitting back in the arm chair, dark rings around his eyes underlining his exhaust – and yet his fingers worked to make sure his weapon would be in working shape in case anything happened.

    Sig had taught a lot of youngsters to shoot, but not since he left Spargus had he actually felt that anybody was listening to him past the knowledge that “this thing will kill”.

    Still smiling, Sig rocked back into the kitchen and checked on the water. The heat was taking its sweet time, to be sure. Not much surprise there. With a shrug, Sig turned around and rummaged through the shelves.

    It took a while to bring the water to a boil, and another couple of minutes for the tea to brew. But eventually Sig emerged, placing a pair of old, un-matched tea cups on the table. Jak was still working at cleaning his gun, but he would soon be able to put everything back together by the looks of it. He still took the time to look up with a grateful expression.

    Sig’s lips stretched a little again. Ignoring Daxter’s cheerful “thanks, good missus!”, he took another turn to the smaller room. When he returned he carried a cup of his own and a small jar of biscuits. They were hard and dry, but a lot better than the ration bars the trio had already eaten. And not half bad dipped in tea.

    Sig put the jar and cup down, then stepped back and reached to find the straps holding his shoulder armor in place.

“Is it really okay to relax?” Jak asked, looking up when a big hand dropped the armor on an empty shelf on the wall.

    Still not willing to kick back. A healthy outlook which he would normally recommend, yet in that moment Sig found himself having to suppress a sigh. After all that convincing he had already done, he felt pretty sick of it. But he didn’t let it show, instead jabbing a big thumb at a dirty window.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We can be out in two minutes flat.”

    Jak craned his neck to see, almost causing Daxter to slide away.

    The emergency ladder stuck on the wall outside looked pretty rickety, that could not be denied. Despite that Jak simply nodded and turned back to his gun.

    Trust.

    Sig didn’t comment, but he caught himself smiling again when he turned to drop another piece of armor.

    He removed the helmet last, idly running a hand over his sweat matted head. A dark stubble had appeared; he would have to shave again soon. But it could wait for now. He sat down in the free armchair, rolling his shoulders in relief. Wearing the armor made him feel prepared to face whatever the world felt like throwing at him, but it was a weight he didn’t complain about removing in the evenings.

    As Sig grabbed his cup again, Jak finished snapping his last gunmod in place. He let the weapon fold up and put it on the floor, still within reach – just like the peace maker leaning against the wall. They were all ready for trouble, just in case.

    Daxter slipped onto the table while Jak started rubbing the worst dirt off his hands with the stained cloth he had used for cleaning the gun. When the ottsel landed beside the cups however, his tiny nose vibrated and he stood up straighter. Jak didn’t even seem to notice this, and Sig only watched with lazy interest until the animal spoke.

“Jak, check this out,” Daxter said, in the softest voice Sig had ever heard leaving the babbling mouth.

    Jak gave his friend a questioning look, but Daxter only pushed one of the cups closer. The cloth dropped to the morph gun as Jak reached out.

    A look of surprise crossed his face as he sniffed the tea, frown digging deeper before relaxing just as suddenly. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

“Heh!” Daxter said, hand on fuzzy hip. “I was right.”

“’bout what?” Sig asked, raising a naked brow.

    Daxter didn’t reply, only glanced up at Jak with an expectant look.

“My uncle used to make something like this,” the renegade finally murmured.

    His eyes remained closed for  a moment, then he looked up with that expression on his face – that one that didn’t belong in Haven.

“What is it?”

     In a mild way, it was bizarre to hear Jak wonder about something so simple.

“They make it from cacti flowers,” Sig said, turning his own cup in his hands. “Ain’t nowhere you can find it here. It’s from the wastelands.”

    Jak hummed, and said nothing more about it. The armchair creaked slightly as he sat back, sipping slowly from the cup.

    It didn’t take long before Daxter started talking, mainly complaining about the hunt they had spent most of the day on. It was true that it had been a pain, but still… at least none of them were wounded.

    Still, Jak was tired, and definitely not only from the hunt. He seemed to slouch rather than sit, and yet there was a frown that wouldn’t go away, a refusal to relax. Somewhat at ease, but he retained that look of rebellion which he had held up against Sig’s insistence earlier during the day. The one that had made the wastelander almost seriously consider shouting something along the lines of “I’ll keep you safe, stupid pipsqueak!” before knocking the lad unconscious and simply carrying him off.

   Except of course, Sig wouldn’t do that even if he was paid. He frowned slightly at that thought, reminding himself of the other reason he had wanted to bring Jak here. He needed to talk with the crazy duo, someplace where there wasn’t a risk that they would be interrupted by a drooling monster or a floating blob of fat which called itself their boss.

    Especially away from the second danger.

    Sig bided his time for a little while, until Daxter took a break to sip his own tea. That was a sight in itself, scrawny arms lifting the in compare huge cup to drink.

“Hey, Jak,” Sig said. The name sounded odd in his mouth after all the nicknames he normally used. And that fact roused attention immediately. Thinking about it briefly, he couldn’t even recall using either of their real names before. It wasn’t really his style.

“I jus’ wanna tell you, cherries,” Sig continued, glaring into his reflection in the tea. “Don’t get too rolled up in Krew’s business.”

    He had no intention of letting them know how long it had been on his mind, and how much.

    Jak straightened up, most sleepiness gone.

“I won’t,” he said. “I just need to get to Praxis.”

“I know, cherry, but-”

    Sig shook his head. The sweet scent of the tea tickled his nostrils, and he lowered the cup.

“Krew files everything up in that head of his. When he talked ‘bout the statue you let it slip that it was terrible, ‘bout his boys. I know he didn’t seem to care, but trust me, he did.”

    Jak said nothing, staring at his tea. Even Daxter remained silent for once. The small blue eyes remained turned towards the blond, however.

    For a few moments, Sig hesitated. But it had to be said.

“You’re a good pair of kids,” he finally let up. “People here don’t miss out on that kinda stuff. They’ll use it.”

    He watched Jak, who didn’t look up.

    They’ll use you, without looking back. An’ you deserve better.

“I don’t care.”

    It was a lie, and Jak wasn’t particularly good at lying. Daxter’s attempt to look stern didn’t help the act either.

    Sig debated with himself for a moment, but let it drop. There were other pressing matters.

“Alright,” he said. “But you gotta know, Krew loves pissing of the Baron almost as much as you do. But he’ll like you for it only as long as you’re useful. If you ever wanna quit you gotta be careful. He’ll sell you in a heartbeat.”

    His features tightened in old disgust at everything about the city he was currently in, and he added:

“An’ he’s not the only one ‘round this joint.”

“Don’t trust anyone, eh?” Jak said. He still didn’t straighten up, tilting his cup back and forth.

    Sig pursed his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Aw, come on, Siggy,” Daxter piped up. “You’re gonna make me nervous about the tea.”

    He met the sharp glare with a grin.

“I mean it, chili pepper,” Sig said, “you gotta watch your backs out here.”

“Sig.”

    They both turned to Jak, but he looked straight at the larger man with the same mutinous look from earlier. Then the renegade suddenly put his cup to his lips and drained it, sweeping down the hot liquid without even flinching. His gaze was back on Sig when he straightened, cup held tightly in both hands.

“If you wanted to off me you would’ve done it already,” Jak said.

    In face of that, Sig’s grimness didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah, and not with poison,” he agreed. He shook his head slightly. “I haven’t messed up one job Krew’s thrown my way,” he continued. “But I’m not coming after you. S’long as you watch my back in the field.”

    Jak smiled then, and it lit up his eyes in a far more pleasant way than his rare smirks and grins.

“Deal.”

    He reached forwards, and they half-jokingly, half-seriously shook hands.

“Got more tea?” Jak asked as he withdrew.

    Sig nodded at the kitchen.

“Go ahead.”

    He leant back, lazily watching Jak’s movements as the blond got up and went to refill his cup. Jak moved with more certainty again, roused from his tired state. But it would come back. Well, at least here he should be able to catch his breath for a little while, if he just let himself.

    Daxter was babbling about something again, but as per usual Sig wasn’t listening.

    For quite a while the wastelander had been aware that he was pretty lonely in the business of treating Jak as nothing else than another human being. It wasn’t difficult to get that impression.

    It baffled him, really. Learning to know the angry youth wasn’t hard as far as Sig’s experience went. And then, anybody could find how much more there was than just an “angry youth”.

    But then again, friendliness was an exclusive luxury few could afford in Haven. And Jak was dangerous, there was no denying that. But he wasn’t the berserker many seemed to fear.

    Jak was human, and he had weaknesses. Vulnerable spots that revealed themselves all too easily if he was cornered, because he had too much of an honest face. He must be aware of that.

    However, there wasn’t just the basic fear of putting his friends in danger. He flinched from being called freak. Feared not being strong enough.

    And this, while he had more than enough skills to act cocky. Yet he never bragged. Sig had never heard him talk about how many metal heads he had taken down, even when he must have broken a record for his age months ago.

    Jak knew – wanted to know, because few others acknowledged it – that he was just human.

    And he could mess up, he already had many times. Still, he always did manage to fight his way out. Even against Praxis himself and two hundred KGs.

    All packed up in a strong and lonely, aggressive and friendly young man with a handsome face.

    Sig fully understood his own privilege of having been allowed to come as close as he had.

    Something dangerous was stirring, something that went further than appreciating the friendship of a skilled youngster. And it had been stirring for a long time.

    But he wasn’t about to do anything about it.

    Anybody would use the kid in any way they could, squeezing every last drop of convenient skills out of him for as long as they could. Sig cared a lot more than that. And Jak trusted him, obviously.

    You didn’t risk something so precious.

    It was with a heavy thunk that Jak sat down again. Drooping already. His hair slouched around his shoulders as he leant back, dirty and dusty from their hunt. Head heavy against the back of the chair, he slowly sunk deeper as Sig watched.

    All three of them sunk into their own thoughts – or in Daxter’s case, he crawled into Jak’s lap and fell asleep, curled up with his chin on his tail.

    In the easy silence that followed, Jak’s eyelids too began to slip shut. But each time they fell he blinked, straightening up for a bit.

    Sig smirked slightly, deciding to give the persistence another minute before he did something about it. Out in the field, it would have been a concern, but in here it was pretty amusing watching Jak struggle against sleep, now that he was in a situation where he could actually afford slumber.

    Jak, however, perhaps sensing that he would be told to go to sleep soon, made a last stand against it. Shaking his head when his eyelids grew heavy again, he looked up and met Sig’s gaze. If Jak wondered why he was being watched, he didn’t show it.

“Sig?”

“Hmm?”

    Jak straightened up, forcing his eyes alert – even though he must have known that he would be sinking back soon enough.

“How’s the wasteland, really?” he asked.

    Sig scratched his chin, pondering what he could say. He had expected the question to come up sooner or later, but hadn’t really prepared a speech.

    Revealing the existence of Spargus was right out, of course. Even if he trusted Jak and Daxter far more than any other Havenites, it was a deeply rooted taboo which he could not break.

    Well, he didn’t have to get into that.

“It’s hotter than hell,” he said. “All sand and cliffs as far as you can see. Some cacti and a river if yer in the right place…”

    He paused, sipping his tea. That wasn’t really what he wanted to say.

“But ya know, you can breathe out there. It’s tougher to stay alive, but you can count’a other people helping out.”

    Leaning back, he peered at the dirty window. The lady who cleaned the place never touched the glass, in old fears of making it easier for spying eyes. Sig agreed.

“It ain’t nothing like this pitch.”

    Jak slowly nodded, proving that he was listening even as he idly kicked off his boots and curled up in the armchair. He seemed to have finally given up fighting off the exhaust. Daxter awoke as the movements started, climbing up to his friend’s neck in an only half-awake state.

    But even so…

“Why’re y’ here then?” Jak mumbled, eyes fast closed.

    Honest, sleepy curiosity. Sig had another brief, inner debate with himself.

“There’s something I gotta do here,” he finally said. He could tell, when Jak started to nod, that the vague answer was respected. So Sig wasn’t sure why he offered a clarification. “Friend o’ mine asked me to look for someone.”

    He had to be really damn tired himself to do something so idiotic. But it was said and he couldn’t take it back. He frowned to himself, quickly stepping back from the subject when Jak mumbled his question.

“Want help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it covered,” Sig said.

“Mm…”

    He found that he was not at all surprised by the offer. So much, in fact, the he realized that he would have been disappointed if Jak hadn’t offered.

    Leaning his cheek against a massive fist, Sig couldn’t help smiling as he watched the peacefully slumbering renegade and the ottsel hanging around his neck like a sack of sticks.

“Go to bed, bushboys,” the wastelander said, nodding aside at the simple bed.

    Jak sluggishly shook his head, not even opening his eyes.

“Nn. S’yours,” he mumbled.

“An’ I say who can use it.”

    Sig put his cup on the table and stood, ignoring the tired creaking of his muscles. He quickly plucked the empty cup from Jak’s numb fingers, putting that aside before bending down. Jak mumbled a wordless sound of protest as he was lifted from the chair. Despite this, an arm sluggishly crawled up around Sig’s neck for support. Daxter simply slipped down on the blond’s stomach.

    And it took a moment before Sig actually recalled that, normally, Jak flinched away when people got too close.

    Not too surprisingly, the youngster was heavier than he looked – all muscle pasted onto bone, even if the body was small. But at the same time he was warm, and a lot softer than he looked.

    Enough of that.

    It only took a step through the room to reach the destination. Sig sunk down and carefully rolled Jak onto the bed, unwilling to impose too much on the youth’s personal space.

    When he started to get up however, he didn’t get far. The arm slung around his neck wasn’t relenting, giving him a reminder of how strong Jak really was even when almost asleep.

    One blue eye cracked open, a spark of rebellion back.

“S’your bed, Sig.”

“Too late for that now, cherries.”

“Will the two of you just shut up and lie down already?” came Daxter’s voice from the curled up orange fluffball on the pillow, hoarse with sleepiness.

    Sig wasn’t quite sure how the ottsel had ended up there. He glanced back and forth between the two best friends a couple of times. Daxter seemed to only be interested in sleep and ignored the other two, but Jak was still looking up. And stubbornly holding on.

    Finally Sig shrugged and half kicked, half pulled off his boots.

    The bed was small, forcing Jak to roll closer to the wall when Sig moved in. His arm slipped away.

    He seemed satisfied with that, eye closing even as he moved as if finally letting himself fall asleep. However, when Sig’s bulk settled, Jak curled into the warmth.

    It was a bit startling. Then again, Sig’s practical brain reasoned, Jak probably didn’t often sleep in the most comfortable (disregarding that the bed was more like a plank) and warm places. Haven was hard and cold.

    Yep.

    He noticed how Jak kept one and hand under his head, the other arm wedged between them against his own chest. Not defensive, only relaxed.

“Thn’ks, Sig…”

    A soft snort, and Sig draped a strong arm over the younger man, bending it to lightly press his hand against the back of Jak’s head. The renegade didn’t flinch. Instead, his forehead brushed the wastelander’s chest as he took in a deep, slow breath.

    Safe.

“Anytime, golden boy.”