Author's note: If you don't care about my silly OCs, skip to the very end for the little Jak/Daxter epilogue with a special surprise. This appendix is mainly just for tying up a couple of loose threads.

Kleiver's underling is named after Scrabblesnorton, who made a great portrait of Zem, and sketches of him and Lev, on deviantArt. I'll put up links in my profile to all the fanart this fic has gotten. Mostly of Zem, actually!

Epilogue, Gift of Life

"Hey, did you hear? Do you remember Lev Haste?"

"Yeah, he was a great guy. What about him?"

"I heard all this time he was actually alive in the Wasteland. But he died just last month."

"What? That's…"

"What did you say? Lev was alive?"

"Hey, Ingen. What, you knew him too?"

"… yes."

"…"

As the sun rose above the horizon, Zem left his simple apartment and started up the main street of Spargus. It was a slow, hobbling walk, far from how he had once strode with long, angry – or sleepwalking – steps. But it was what he'd have to work with. People glanced at him as he moved along, but it ran off him – where anything like that would have pushed all his buttons once upon a time. If he took the time to think it over, the glances didn't mean much. They didn't linger. Spargus was at least not so cruel as to automatically equal "cripple" with "dead weight," as long as there was still some usefulness to be found.

Even with the green eco treatment it had taken almost a month to fully heal from the wounds Lorke had given him. Well, as fully healed as he could ever get. There was nothing that could be done for his left leg. He could move it a bit and support his weight a little, but that was about it. For the rest of his life it would take him twice as long as it had before to get anywhere, using a plain staff for support.

Gadd had been a support too, throughout the healing. And to help Zem return to work, he'd constructed a tool bag that Zem could hang on his belt, since he needed both hands for balance as he walked and therefore couldn't carry his old tool box anymore.

And more than that, Gadd had tersely claimed all the guilt for Lev's death. It didn't make Zem feel any less bad about it, but knowing they shared the burden made it easier – for both of them, surely. Neither one was comfortable enough with the other to discuss anything like that on a deeper level. But they could be gruff, silent aid to each other.

And then there was Jak.

Zem hadn't ever regarded himself as anything close to philosophical, but for those first days when he felt like a bundled up mummy trapped in bed, there wasn't much else to do than think. And it was hard to think of anything else than what had happened during the marauder attack, and the aftermath.

The torture chamber was a red blur in his head, and he didn't want to try sorting that out. But he remembered Jak, as that demon, hovering above him – raising those claws when he offered his throat… but cutting his chains instead.

It wasn't forgiving. What had been in the past could not be forgiven, Zem knew that.

It was rather "shut up, you moron!"

At least, that's what he took away from it.

Lying there under the watching eyes of the Spargus medics, his brain had taken that puzzle piece and put it together with what Lev had been trying to do – make him live.

His thoughts came to a halt as the gate to the car pit heaved open before him.

The smell of oil, rubber wheels and hot metal whiffed at him and he breathed deeply.

The doors had not even begun to close before a rough voice whipped through the blistering air.

"Yer bloody late! Git!"

It may have been the first time ever Kleiver actually caused a twitch of the lips. At least to the person he was aiming his attention at.

"Mornin'," Zem responded in an even tone.

Kleiver didn't even dignify that with a snort, even when it was Zem's first day back on the job. A meaty thumb jabbed at one of the vehicles lined up against the wall.

"Gunny's Stomper's been makin' funny noise a while, peek it," Kleiver said. "And then ask Scrabs for more work."

And with that he turned away from Zem and started shouting at somebody else.

Zem didn't even shrug or shake his head, he only limped over to the offending vehicle and leaned the staff against its frame. Supporting himself on the car with one hand, he managed to wrench the hood open.

Not allowed to die. Not even allowed a normal greeting. All day ahead and the sun already trying to scorch his back as he bent over a car he knew broke down every second week because the driver was a friggin' lunatic. Sore and looking forwards to a life of never being able to walk properly again.

He felt better than he had done in years.

He wasn't happy. He wasn't sure he had ever been happy, apart from snatches of moments during boot camp… before he'd punched that metal head, and everything went to shit.

But…

He would try to live with himself, since Jak had refused to kill him. And for Lev's sake.

Picking out a wrench from his tool bag, he started with the usual suspects of the engine.

A little while later, as he had been forced to spread his search even wider, there were soft footsteps behind him. He didn't think about them until they stopped and a feminine voice spoke up.

"Mr. Tower?"

The voice made him wince and he glanced around, heart dropping at the sight of Vida Durann. She regarded him with a strange spark in her eye, her arms neatly folded – she seemed to do everything neatly, and even that had always frightened him because it made him feel even more like the big dumb oaf she must see him as.

"Ma'am."

He never knew what to say to her. Unsteadily, he turned around and leaned his back against the car for support.

"I'm… sorry about Lev…" he tried.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"So am I," she murmured.

He made an awkward agreeing sound, wondering why she had approached. For the life of him he couldn't figure out what she could possibly want from him.

"I heard what happened to you," she said. There was real sympathy in her voice now, but for a moment her tone was so alike her son's that it made Zem's throat tighten. "I can't even imagine…"

She trailed off.

It took a few seconds for Zem to gather himself enough to speak again.

"I don't remember much," he said, more brusque than he had intended. He internally winced, but she didn't seem to mind.

"It's a coping mechanism," she said in a matter-of-fact way.

He made the agreeing noise again. She was a shrink, so she ought to know.

"Are you going to be working here all day?" she suddenly asked.

The question was so out of left field that he stared at her for a second.

"… yeah," he finally said. "Got lots of catching up to do."

"I'll leave you to it, then," she said. A peculiar smile touched her lips. "I'm just waiting for the air train."

"Going somewhere?" he wondered, mostly out of surprise. Not that he had anything to do with her personal business, but Lev had at some point mentioned that she had no ties with Haven anymore. Like most of them.

"No, no," Vida said, shaking her head. She looked at him, that smile briefly returning again. "Good day, Mr. Tower."

"Bye?" he said, watching her walk off. Still completely lost on what she had wanted.

Despite the strangeness of the conversation, he quickly shook it off and returned to work. Eventually he managed to figure out the Stomper's hiccups and did what he could for it, though the damage was piling up so bad that the thing would end up as scrap any day now. Finishing that he was assigned a faulty Ram Rod, which to his dismay he was informed he'd have to crawl under to check on.

Complaining was never a good idea even for a cripple, though, and he just clenched his teeth and hoped that he'd be able to get back up without help. After getting a board with wheels he went over to his next project. There he set the board down and carefully sunk down so that he could lie on it, scooting in under the broken car. At least there was shadow here, but the air was heavy to breathe.

As he set about his work, he heard the distant whoosh and hum of the approaching air train. Well, whatever business Vida had with it, it should be over soon. He felt a bit relieved thinking that she probably would have left the pit when he was done with the Ram Rod.

Minutes passed by at their own pace, as he wrenched at bolts, pulled at pipes to make sure they sat right, and squinted at the shadows beneath the car.

"Zem! Where the hell ya hidin'?" Kleiver suddenly snarled from a distance.

Zem grunted and shuffled a little closer to the side of the car.

"Under Coina's Ram! What?" he called.

"You're still there? Move yer butchered ass!"

Zem let out a puff of air, blowing up his cheeks slightly as he did so. Wiping his sweaty forehead he felt a gooey smudge spread over his skin. Oil. Great. He suppressed a sigh. But leaving Kleiver unanswered for more than two seconds always meant pain, so he didn't spend too much time on his own little mistakes.

"I'll be there in ten, tops!" he called.

"Whutever!"

Allowing himself another sigh Zem made an attempt to wipe the worst of the oil off his face with the back of his glove, before returning to the job at hand. He worked as quick as he could, but the sound of approaching steps made him tense up.

Ten minutes couldn't have passed that quickly. Could they?

"I'm on my way, dammit!" he called, seeing a shadow pass by outside.

The shadow stopped.

Aw shit. But Kleiver never cared much about swearing as long as things got done. Zem tried to decide if his tone had been too annoyed.

Silence.

This would hurt, wouldn't it?

"Hey," a man said.

It did hurt. Because that voice sent shock coiling through Zem's body and without thinking he tried to bolt up.

Thunk!

"Ow! Fu–– shi–– wha––?"

Somebody grabbed his ankle and yanked him out from under the car. The only reason he didn't fall off the board was due to his sweaty shirt plastering him to the wood – luckily so since from the strength of the pull he may have been dragged over the sand just as easily, even if he had slid off. Zem was in no situation to either protest nor help, holding one hand to his pounding forehead and the other to his bleeding nose.

The brightness of the sky was blinding after spending such a long time staring at the dark underside of a car. Zem squinted at the silhouette crouching above him, blood streaming from his nose over his oil stained glove. The broken swear words were the only thing he seemed able to form.

"Am I gonna have to wash your mouth with soap?" the same voice asked. And the silhouette drifted into clarity.

Red hair in a loose pony tail over his shoulder. Tattoos on warmly dark skin. Grey, kind eyes.

Oh gods.

Zem's mouth snapped shut and he sat straight up – or rather, made an attempt at it. He got halfway before his body decided that such things weren't allowed, and he almost fell back down. In the last moment he got his hands on the ground for support and tried to push himself into a sitting position.

Warm red drops kept pouring from his nose, tickling his lips and their taste was in his throat too, metallic sweetness almost choking him. He coughed, curling forwards to cradle his nose again. A tiny part of him was still sane enough to realize that he must make a horrible sight – but the rest of him laid in pieces on the ground.

A finger nudged his arm and he looked up, panicked, only to find a folded up paper tissue being offered. Judging by its worn and by age yellowed corners it must have been lying forgotten in its pack for quite a while. Or just lying in its pack, moved from pair of pants to pair of pants in the wait of being needed.

The latter sounded the most plausible, knowing the owner.

Zem took the tissue without a word and pressed it to his nostrils, still bent over and trying not to let the dizziness turn into nausea. He couldn't even remember how to speak.

"Maybe you should lean your head back."

"Ugh," Zem grunted. The tissue was already soaked through, but as soon as he looked up he was offered another. He let the first drop from his shaking fingers and took the new one, leaning back against the hot metal frame of the Ram Rod. Because following an order was easier than thinking of any action of his own. Closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make the world make sense again.

He kept his eyes closed for a couple of seconds, for as long as he dared to. Breathing through his mouth, he finally had to look, terrified that the mirage would be gone.

It wasn't. Grey eyes watched him steadily, gently, worried. Eyelids slightly lowered. Always slightly lowered, always, giving the eyes a soft, sleepy look.

He couldn't look at anything else until the voice spoke again.

"Zem?"

He raised a shaking hand, the one that hadn't been trying to dam the nosebleed, and touched the face before him. He should have taken off his glove, but he couldn't recall how. Fingertips first, touching lightly, airy, ready to flee – then suddenly the entire hand pressed to the warm, real cheek, when the skin did not turn into mist upon the touch.

Only then did Zem's eyes turn from wide open to thin.

"Where have you been?" he croaked, his voice cracked, the nosebleed making his words nasal. "Where have you been, Junn?"

The grey eyes' lids twitched, kindness becoming guilt.

"I'm sorry," the redhead said, his voice low. "Did you need me?"

Zem felt as if those six words shattered what was left of his mind, frozen for an excruciating moment. Then he crumbled, would have tumbled onto the ground if Junn had not caught him by the shoulders.

"Oh gods, you moron. You stupid idiot…" Zem's hands clenched in Junn's shirt, clawing for support to hold himself, smearing oil and blood into the cloth.

The hands moved from his shoulders, arms wrapping around his back and he felt Junn tremble as much as he did, whispering Zem's name mixed with broken apologies.

It ended too soon, far too soon. Junn cut himself off in the middle of another "I'm sorry" and started to stand. Zem scratched for him, panicked thoughts of oh gods don't go not again racing through his head and yet he couldn't speak a word of it. But Junn hooked an arm under Zem's armpit and helped him stand. Automatically, the mechanic grabbed his staff on the way up, dropping the blood soaked tissue. Thick crimson drops still dribbled from his nose, but less than before.

"Come on, let's talk over here…" Junn muttered.

Zem hadn't even remembered where they were, but when Junn clumsily half-dragged him into the shadows between the Ram Rod and another car, he became acutely aware of the show that had been put on in plain sight. Luckily this part of the car pit was pretty deserted. When he looked about he spotted Kleiver in a distance, talking with the armored guy Zem knew was called Sig. Vida was there too, also in on the conversation.

Were she and Sig actually distracting Kleiver?

He didn't have the brain power to elaborate on that idea. Just let Junn bring him out of sight, letting him sink down with his back to the somewhat cool wall.

Zem needed to speak, needed to ask, needed to know but he didn't know where to start, didn't even dare because one question would lead to another being posed to him and then he'd have to talk and and and oh GODS NO I CAN'T TELL HIM

Panic rose in a choking, crippling grip through his chest and throat, making it impossible to speak even if his brain had been able to function.

At first, Junn didn't seem to know what to say either, his gaze searching Zem frantically, seeing all the scars, staring at the near-useless leg. Zem couldn't take it for more than a couple of seconds before his head dropped, shoulders rising as he pressed a hand to his bleeding nose.

"Mum… said you were tortured," Junn finally said, his voice nearly cracking as he had to force the final word over his tongue.

Zem grit his teeth. So it had to turn in that direction at once, towards Lorke, towards the why, towards the prison. If he had to be damned again, he'd rather get it over with.

"Can't say I didn't deserve it," he grunted, staring at his knees.

"No!"

Junn snapped it, his voice high-pitched with pain, disbelief. Of course.

"You don't even know what I've done." Zem wanted to snarl it, scream it, hide behind anger because that made things easier to bear. But he couldn't. He could only whisper.

"Zem. Listen close." He had to look up then, because Junn's voice was tight and controlled. But he could still not keep a tremble out of it. Junn tried to smile, but it was just a twitch of his lips that wasn't even a mile away from his eyes. "Small words so you get it."

They both flinched at the phrase, which was ridiculous because Junn himself chose to use the words… didn't matter, because it was an echo that tied them together with that one person who had never stopped smiling.

"If you can't use normal words then shut the hell up!"

"Ooh, listen to the Bignasty! Does my superior vocabulary upset your delicate sensibilities?"

"Junn," Zem interrupted, "Lev… Lev's…"

"I know."

Zem blinked, even though the flinch a second ago should have clued him in. But he was hardly in a state of mind to take in subtle clues.

"That's why I'm here," Junn said, causing another blink. He managed to smile a little this time, though sadly. "The rumor spread. Then because it turned out I had known one guy in the Wasteland, I was told that a Wastelander had been asking for me."

The smile died.

"But Zem, listen. I stayed in the KG for too long."

"No. No, no, no…" Zem trailed off mindlessly, shaking his head as he leaned forwards, refusing to understand.

A joyless laugh, almost a sob, broke out of Junn and he reached across Zem's chest to grasp his shoulder, putting his other hand at the back of Zem's head in an awkward half embrace.

"I don't want to tell," Junn mumbled in a hoarse voice. "I don't want to know, Zem. Not right now."

Mute, Zem could just hold on to the arm against his chest, pressing it closer, feeling the warmth. But the danger had blown off, at least for the time being. The worst terror uncoiled in his chest.

"Junn!" came Vida's voice, a note of warning in it.

Looking up and craning his neck, Zem saw Kleiver lumber away from the two people that had kept him busy so that the two men could have a brief, private talk. Zem's stomach dropped. Reality demanded he returned.

"Coming, mum!" Junn called back. But he didn't look away from Zem, who grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.

Holding his gaze, Junn put his own hand over the mechanic's.

"When do you quit work?" Junn softly asked.

It took a moment for Zem to find his voice, and even then it was just a croak.

"Six."

Junn nodded.

"I'll come back here then," he said.

Though still reluctant, Zem unclenched his grip and let Junn stand up, watching him start to leave.

"By the way…" Junn looked over his shoulder, and he finally smiled for real. "I like your long hair."

A hoarse chuckle broke out of Zem before he even knew what happened. He had no idea when he'd last laughed. But it was the only thing he could do, gazing at Junn as he walked away, still smiling. The redhead walked off, towards his waiting mother – and that was okay, because he would come back. Vida glanced past her approaching son, meeting Zem's gaze. She smiled, too.

For the first time in his life, Zem felt that everything could become alright.

Towards the end of the day, Sig walked down towards the cliffs. It was a routine he had whenever there was enough time for it, as the temperature began to slip towards bearable and the cooling winds from the oceans helped to wash away the past hours. It made it easier to sleep after a long, hot day.

The cavern area opened up before him and he stepped out into the final blasts of sunrays, as the sun sunk and colored the sky a pale blue that would soon tone towards yellow. Birds chattered in the palm trees, and bright bronze-colored lizard rats skittered about trying to avoid being spotted by the sleepy leaper lizards lounging in the shadows.

People were gathering for the reconstruction work. Most of the grunt work was done by now, and new houses stood where the assault by the Dark Makers had tore old ones down, but there were still things to be done. The hard labor was easier to get through when the air was cooler, hence why it was restarting for the day at this hour.

There was a new sense of optimism in the air, even with the cracks in the buildings and the remaining shadows of eco burns on the rocks. Of course, the air in Spargus had always felt worlds better to Sig than the claustrophobic atmosphere of Haven City, but even there life went about at an easier pace to the sound of hammers and saws. It was the optimism of surviving a great threat.

Of course, there was sorrow for lives lost in the battles, but those who lived on at least knew that there was a future to be had. It was less surprising in Spargus, but no less heartening. The two cities felt closer too, all of a sudden – things would always be terse, that was the nature of Spargus, being built by outcasts, but there were those that could finally bridge that gap.

Sig smiled a little, thinking about Vida smiling even as tears ran down her face as her son rushed past him through the gate and hoisted her up in a bear hug. He wasn't quite sure about what had happened after that, but he'd helped her deal with Kleiver – both with convincing him to call for somebody she wanted her son to see, and then keep the big oaf's attention away. It wasn't that Kleiver was snoopy, but he had an everyday-sadistic sense of humor and would gladly muddle a happy reunion just to be an arse.

Vida would have none of that for her son, and that was enough for Sig.

Theirs was definitely not the last family reunion. Sig's lips twitched at that thought.

Even after finishing one difficult task, he'd given an even more nerve-wracking one.

"We can't let this out. People would take any chance to protest that I give him special treatment, even with what he's already done for Spargus. And you, don't hesitate to stop me if I start pushing him too hard just because he's my son."

That was a tall order to fulfill, but Sig could see the logic. He'd do his best, though it might take every bit of courage in him if it came to that. But it was probably just a safeguard. He was not the only one could raise a protest.

He owed Tess a lifetime of drinks and help carrying stuff. Maybe he'd even give in and let her pick his peace maker apart, like she'd asked for many times in the past. Allowing that would take a good deal of courage too, though. And swallowed pride. But it was the least he could do as thanks for her help.

Getting closer to the ocean, he shook those wandering thoughts off and focused on the moment. A salty breeze stroke against his weather bitten face and he just stood there for a while, listening to the waves crash into the cliffs. A little ways away, a group of small children were play fighting, using broken off salt water reeds as makeshift swords.

Foragers were climbing down the rocky walls with their final hauls for the day, calling out and chatting with each other. The kids who had guarded the big gathering baskets on the ground got their payment in fruit and scurried over to the smaller children who had been playing, to share the haul.

Turning his head, Sig spotted a pair of young men sitting on a bench in the shadow of a building. One of them was just leaning back, eyes closed, while the thinner one was chatting away, waving his hands about excitedly to make the tall tale even more colorful. Even when the audience wasn't looking, the more muscular of the two had his head slightly turned, and somehow one just knew that he was listening to every word.

Sig headed towards them, and as he approached, Daxter poked at Jak's arm. The blond hero opened his eyes and straightened, stretching. They both stood up as Sig got closer, waving back at his greeting.

"Are you lettin' me catch ya lazing about?" Sig asked, giving them a slanted smirk and mock-stern glare.

"Oh put a cork in it," Daxter said with a theatrical wave of his hand. "An' just try to make an argument that we don't deserve a lil' vacationing."

"I'll let it slip this time," Sig said with a chuckle.

He wouldn't even have made an argument against that if he'd wanted to. It really was difficult to justify anything else. It didn't matter that Jak was as restless as ever, out there hunting marauders and stray metal heads with a complaining Daxter at his side. If they wanted a rest, they'd deserved it, and they even had approval from the gods themselves.

Oh, Sig hoped Daxter wouldn't start ranting about being a god again…

Almost as if he'd felt something like that approaching, Jak spoke up.

"Something weird happened just before we left Haven the other day," he said.

"Yeah!" Daxter cut in before Sig could even comment. "We had some people coming from this Kras place asking the council about a racing championship. I didn't even know there was another city!"

Sig turned and gazed off in a distance, frowning slightly.

"Hn, I reckon they oughta be real tired of eating fish," he muttered.

"What's that championship, anyway?" Jak asked.

"Combat racing. Real ugly, lemme tell you that." Sig caught the blond's eye and smirked. "You'd like it."

Both of them chose to ignore Daxter's very loud groan in the background. Sig looked up at the signal tower, thoughtfully.

"If they wanna hook that up again, they'll probably come here too and want space for racing," he said.

"Think Damas will allow it?"

"Depends on whether he's in a good mood, I suppose."

Sig grinned at Jak and gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder.

Jak did not flinch.

Even Daxter's groan ceased.

"'Course," Sig said. "The top dog's been stuck in a good mood for a long time now."

Cackling, Daxter flung his arms over Jak's shoulders and leaned against his back, grinning from ear to ear as he knocked his head against Jak's.

"You got that right, big guy," Daxter said. He gave the sky – the amazingly Daystar-free sky – a mock-thoughtful look. "I just can't imagine why, though."

Jak reached up to tug at Daxter's fingers, enclosing several of them with his own hand. A light, gentle squeeze answered him. Breathing hot, sandy air and gazing across the baking city with its mix of rough, brave people, and feeling Daxter's relaxed body against his, and…

He glanced up at the tower, knowing who sat up there ruling his city of forsaken survivors.

Life was beautiful.

The end.

Author's note: And HEY, all it took was for Erol to set up a trap in a cave and toss Daxter off a cliff! EVERYTHING turned out better! Everybody say thank you to the nice tin can man. And then run like hell.

Final thoughts? Eh… what else can I say? This thing took almost ten years to be completed. It's the longest fanfic I've ever written, and it sure took its time. And yet I finished it in less than a year once I finally got my behind in gear again. So if some things seem a bit disjointed, well, that's because of the long process it took. I might at some point make some edits to fix things up better, but for now I am done with this story. Phew!

This story was an experiment from the start, with the introspections. People liked them and I liked writing them, for the most part. Sometimes they gave me a lot of trouble though, mainly towards the end because I had just run out of world building things for characters to discuss. So there were times when I cheated a bit and made super short ones. Other times, I didn't want to ruin the mood by having somebody chatter away after a cliffhanger or otherwise neat ending to a chapter, so they were short for those reasons too. Still, I'm glad I had them, because it let me play around a lot with characters and scenarios.

It was also an experiment because it was the first shounen ai/boy love/slash/yaoi/whathaveyou story that I ever wrote. In the intervening time, there have been several more, so I'm not so nervous about it anymore. Which is funny because there may or may not be an angry anti-yaoi-fanfic rant I wrote many many years ago still drifting around deep down in the 'net. You'll have to forgive me (though I'm not sure I've forgiven me). I had only been exposed to absolute dreck at that point and didn't know such stories could be good, and interesting character experiments. Many thanks to my best friend, who set me on the right path.

(I remember Demyrie finding that rant and telling me she felt like she had gazed into an alternate universe. Oh God the shame.)

I came back to a different place, too. Most of the old guard in the fandom – with that I mean those who were around when I started this story – have long since moved on, but there are so many new, awesome people in their place.

Many old readers probably don't even know I picked this story up again, or they don't remember it. To those people, even if you're unlikely to read this I'm so sorry for taking so long – well, I'm sorry regardless for leaving everyone hanging for over six freakin' years. To all of you who kept hoping and was rewarded for that, and all the new readers, thank you so, so much for your support. Once again special thanks to RococoSpade/Kurotorasempai who managed to kick-start me back into gear. And I'd list every last one of you other wonderful people but I'm terrified of forgetting somebody... so just, know that I love y'all.

Coming back here from writing World of Warcraft fanfiction, I can conclude that it's a big relief to write for something that's finished because the canon won't change on you and ruin your plans – sad as it is that Jak and crew's story is long done. But we've got our good memories, as long as we ignore The Lost Frontier.

It was a blast writing fanfiction again after a long draught. Here's to many more, even as I struggle with my original projects.

… also, Tess and Jinx being siblings is now firmly head canon to me. You cannot unsee it! Ha!

… and don't even start asking me about a sequel. This thing took me almost a decade to finish. 'Nuff said.