A/N: So I sympathise with Jack way too much, but I think underneath all that self-justification, he really is a lost soul. This is just a little piece of how I see Jack. Enjoy!

I don't own Tru Calling, nor do I profit off this in any way. All for fun, I promise!

In the old movies, Death twirled his moustache with a single finger, or grinned to show yellow teeth. Death would raise his scythe, his hooded face smiling in secret glee. In Scripture, Death curled around Hell and lay in waiting.

But really, Death serves a purpose and we all bow to it; it's our master in the end, and should not be feared for Death is gentle, Death is kind. Death offers peace to a chaotic world, to our ravished selves that find salvation in Death that was elusive in life.

Jack Harper goes to funerals for clarity. He sees in the faces of the dead the eternal happiness Death has found for them, their skin plump and slack and their eyes no longer seeing, never more worrying about what's before them.

Death is inevitable, Death is part of life.

Jack Harper is Death, and Hell doesn't follow with him—Hell exists for those whose punishment is to suffer, but Death is a gift to end the suffering of those who endure it in life.

The funerals vary from time to time, all of them different yes, but are much the same in their witnesses. Everybody grieves, everybody mourns a life lost and in their faces Jack studies the intricate designs of secret relief and a pained longing. Jack knows this well, knows it intimately, and he too secretly longs to be set free. But the clarity must come, for Fate is a strict cycle of inevitabilities and Death sparkles in the stars on the horizon just as it needs to.

Jack Harper speaks to those he meets, makes it his role to offer words of comfort to the strangers he grasps to him like the closest of friends. He does this for himself but also for them, that they may see the true need for Death, no matter how cruel or unfair it can be.

Death is not the Man in Black, who stalks his prey at night and cuts them down with a blade forged in Tartarus. Death is not the slinky assailant, prancing like a gazelle before pouncing like a lion, nor is he the cowboy with a black hat and black gun. Death is human, Death is life's greatest achievement.

Jack Harper thinks about this as he wanders between his fellow lost travellers, as he comforts the grieving and preaches to the eager. He believes himself to be a mediator, a saviour for the lost.

Until he sees the face of Tru Davies, and in her eyes there is the absolute thing Jack hates most of all: disgust. Because for as much clarity he gains from a funeral, he becomes ever more confused when Tru looks at him, confused not in understanding why she looks at him thus, but rather confused because he knows she is right, and any sense of clarity becomes lost to him in those moments.

Jack Harper loses himself in Tru's eyes, and it's a dangerous thing. What then will become of Death and his benign crusade? Jack doesn't know, and that scares him.

For every funeral, Jack only has to look at Tru to lose himself, and Death forgets what it is he's supposed to be doing, and what he's done all along.