Tru Calling: From It All

Written by Cherrygurl1225

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I only wish I owned the Tru Calling characters…but I don't. So I guess I'm going to have to learn to deal with it! But I can still wish, can't I?

Summary: Only one person can save her…

Author's Note: The inspiration for this story came from a book I recently finished reading by Sylvia Plath entitled The Bell Jar. Throughout the novel, the main character, Esther, makes several attempts to commit suicide with a failed attempt each time she tries. For those of you who have not read it, the book is very deep, dark, deeply psychological and harrowing. So the basic idea for this story came from this novel. Even though this will be an intense story, I hope I have not deterred you from reading it and that you like it. PLEASE REVIEW!

Story Notes: This story takes place after "'Twas the Night before Christmas…Again, although it does not contain any spoilers from the episode. (I haven't even seen it yet anyway). I took some creative license of my own in this story in order to make all of this work. So, in this story, Jensen has died for the second and last time. I didn't feel it was necessary to explain how he died because I wanted to focus on how Tru deals with the repercussions of his death for a final time. Some parts might be a little vague, but it was meant to be that way.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The rhythmic ticking was reminiscent of two beating hearts. The two beating hearts that belonged to two vastly different people. Vastly different…

Yet it almost seemed like they were one. They were like one whole entity separated by the cosmic balance of the universe. It was the cosmic balance that held them together and tore them apart. Standing side by side and still being so far apart. The fabric of the universe was delicate. Too delicate. And any moment…

Fate had ordained it to be this way. He knew it. This was how it should be. Jensen had merely been living on borrowed time…until the day had come when his time was up once more and she could do nothing in her power to stop it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Jensen would never ask for help. And suddenly, Tru Davies found herself face-to-face with that very detrimental reality. The reality that churned a plethora of deep emotions from within her. Emotions in varying degrees of sadness, resentment and fear.

A sense of hopelessness seemed to have overtaken her as she became awash in a turbulent sea of denial and despair. But she had to keep living, didn't she? She couldn't abandon her calling. Not now. Not after how far she had come. Not now…

The morgue – 5:27 p.m.

Davis had left her alone. Alone in a crypt filled with dead bodies.

Ask me.

Not a sound.

Tru longed for some sort of escape. Escape nothing. Escape everything. Escape from it all…

The silver metal shimmered against the bare white of her open palm.

Just a quick swipe as scalpel met skin. The blood emerged, sliding slowly down her arm. Tru just watched, enveloped in a trance-like state and overcome with a sort of revolted fascination. It was so easy.

She sliced her other palm; it was a quick swipe just like before. And, like before, the blood was slow as it trickled down her arm like misty rain. Entranced again by the sight, she watched…

Silhouetted by the blue-gray blackness of the morgue, a tall figure stood observing Tru in the distance. His focused gaze flickered from her face to her arms and body. As she exited the main crypt of the morgue, his dark eyes burned with bright concern and he fell into step several feet behind her.

A club – 6:15 p.m.

Tru needed to get these feelings out of her system. So why not dance them out? She reasoned that it would be a lot better than some other alternatives. At least for now anyway. Cutting herself hadn't worked and there had to be another way.

Her hands had stopped bleeding. She had even tried to find ways to camouflage the deep gashes that now marred the palms of her hands. But all she could do for now was tuck her palms inward towards her body as an attempt to hide them from the world around her.

She stepped out onto the dance floor amidst a crowd of people. The beat and rhythm of the music pounded and pulsated through every fiber of her being. She could feel the music and she craved that feeling and went along with it.

Suddenly, Tru felt a pair of hands wrap around her middle. She went along with it, not bothering to turn around and see who it was. Two bodies danced in rhythmic movements to the music that filled the air.

His hands slid down the length of her torso, stopping at her waist; he felt the wild gyrations of her hips, his hands gently caressing her curvaceous figure.

They both seemed momentarily lost within themselves. They were lost in-between eternity and time; they were lost in-between the fabric of reality and disillusionment; and they were lost in-between Destiny and Fate.

Tru's eyes had been closed as she become lost in a whirlwind of frenzied dancing. When she finally opened her eyes, she was surprised to find herself off the dance floor and in a more secluded area of the club.

"What…"

But before she could do or say anything more, a chloroform soaked cloth covered her nose and mouth. Her assailant kept a firm grip on her, holding the cloth in place whilst turning her at the waist to face him.

Her eyes went wide as she recognized her assailant to be none other than Jack Harper. She struggled frantically in his firm grip for a few seconds, but he held her there. The drugs quickly took effect coursing through her bloodstream causing her to become increasingly tired and dizzy.

"I'm so sorry." The soft whisper barely registered as she surrendered into the abyss of darkness that greedily welcomed her.

Jack's apartment – 9:45 p.m.

A room slowly swam into view as Tru awoke with a throbbing headache.

She had to force her still-tired eyes to open and she found herself in a bed with blankets covering her up to her shoulders.

Where the hell am I?

She ached all over and an intense wave of nausea coursed through her entire body.

Tru carefully began to sit up using her arms as her sole support. She winced in pain as she pressed down on the soft bed with her hands instantly reminded of her self-inflicted wounds and she found both of her hands covered in thick bandages.

"Hey," a strong male voice said. "I would be careful as hell if I were you."

Tru focused on the tall figure that was now looming over her. It was then she realized where she was – Jack's apartment.

"You," she spat angrily. "You son of a bitch!"

Her eyes burned with a flaming anger and heated frustration. Jack was now standing casually by the bed. He was no longer in her face like he had been moments ago; however, he looked down intently at her as she almost willingly glared back at him. Almost.

He took a moment to study every part of her pale face. Her pale face…

Oh my God.

A thought suddenly dawned upon him.

The chloroform made her sick.

He looked away from her momentarily.

"I'm so sorry," he said again.

"Bastard," she said; her voice remained low and even. "Sorry isn't good enough."

She then threw off the covers, scooting to the edge of the bed and stood up on her shaky legs, stumbling into the bathroom. The door slammed behind her and moments later Tru was coughing and throwing up.

Jack just stood watching, completely numb and motionless as regret glowed in his eyes.

The door opened and a still-pale Tru stood in the doorway.

All of the sudden, she gasped, "Jack!" and almost instantly plunged into the darkness once more.

Jack's apartment – 11:52 p.m.

The dizziness and nausea was gone the next time Tru awoke. Although she felt extremely overcome by an enormous amount of fatigue.

She instantly remembered where she was. But she couldn't even begin to fathom why Jack – of all people – had taken her in.

Tru was the first to speak this time.

"Why did you bring me here, Jack?"

Jack was sitting on a makeshift couch a few feet away reading the paper and startled at the sound of Tru's tired sounding voice.

"You sound surprised, Tru," Jack replied. "Isn't someone allowed to show a little concern?"

"Coming from you that sounds more like a death wish."

"I'm not Death, Tru. I've told you that before. You're a smart girl; I thought you would have already realized that."

"I save people who are supposed to live. If your job is to make sure they die again, then why are you saving me?"

"You never asked for my help; you never even died in the first place. You're not supposed to die; you're simply choosing not to live."

"What are you, my father now?" Tru retorted.

"Don't deny it, Tru," Jack said evenly. "You and I both know what you were trying to do. You were trying to kill yourself."

"So now Death himself has taken a sudden interest in me? Are you looking for redemption?"

"No, I just don't think what you're doing is right. You can't escape like that. It's not your time. Each of our respective sides has its rules. You're not even playing by your own rules now; therefore, it's not your time."

Tru listened carefully to Jack's every word. She knew quite well that he was right. It wasn't her time. Not yet. Not now…

Escape was all she wanted. That's why she did what she did. She longed for some sort of escape. Some sort of escape from misery, pain, denial and discomfort…an escape from it all.

Tears began to pool in her eyes. "I know," she said slowly. "I know."

The tears came streaming faster down her face and she broke into a series of choked sobs.

Jack sat on the bed close to her and Tru let herself go limp and fall into his open arms, her head pressed softly against his right shoulder.

Unbeknownst to Tru, Jack wanted it too. He knew what it was like to want something that felt almost impossible to obtain.

Richard could never know about this. He too longed for some sort of escape.

Escape nothing. Escape everything. Escape from it all…

Author's Note: I hope you all understood the story and liked it. Don't forget to leave me a review!