Note: This is placed after Two Weddings and a Funeral. I really couldn't say what my inspiration was - it just came to me as I watched that last sequence with Jack and Tru walking their separate ways, with that fantastic song playing in the background. It got me thinking - what did Richard say to Jack? I have to stress that I like the idea of Jack and Tru together (Tru's mom and dad did it, after all. Tantalizing, isn't it?) However, this is not a story about that. This is a story of...well, I wouldn't want to spoil it, but at least one aspect of this is exploring the someone who can actually have the mother of their own children murdered (Richard), someone who can sit by and watch their supposed 'friend' die (Jack). I just wanted to play around with that. Please forgive all errors. Characters belong to their creators, please don't sue me. Oh, BTW, this is my first Tru fic, so be gentle.
ON WITH THE SHOW!The morgue was dark. It was midnight after all; Davis must have left hours ago. She entered his office, flicking on the light and taking in its familiar scent, its familiar setting. As of late, her world had turned inside-out and upside down. After all she'd been through, she needed familiar things.
Slumping into a chair, she closed her eyes and tried not to think - but she couldn't help herself. Images sprang to mind in rapid succession. Harrison, turning to her, asking for her help from a cold operating table. Davis' concerned face. Lindsay in her wedding gown, looking radiant. And Luc...poor, unknowing Luc, lying dead, much too soon, in his casket. She whimpered slightly, turned her head and forced herself to think of Luc in happier times. Smiling at her, touching her hair, kissing her. In her mind's eye, she watched as he bent over her and gently pressed his lips to hers. All too abruptly, the scene changed and it wasn't Luc's face she was staring at - it was Jack's.
Her eyes flew open. A pair of eyes, set in a face that was the twin to that in her mind, were observing her with cool complacity. Jack Harper crowded the doorway with his massive frame, studying her like a predator about to pounce on its prey.
She willed herself to stay calm, mimicking his cool nonchalance, although inside, she longed to leap up and strangle him. "What are you doing here? I thought I made myself clear this afternoon at the funeral."
Staring calmly at her for a second longer, Jack stepped into the room and towards her. She was a pitiful thing, this Tru Davies. Caught up in circumstances far beyond her understanding. Jack couldn't help but feel a tiny prick of sympathy for her. But he never let his emotions get in the way of his work. Never.
"Oh, you made yourself clear today. Crystal clear. The game is on." He spoke unhurriedly, coming closer with each sentence.
At that, Tru did jump up. "Game? You think this is some kind of game? People's lives are at stake!"
He shrugged, unmoved by her sudden burst of emotion. "Call it whatever you want, Tru. Rest assured I understood you."
Slightly deflated by his words, perhaps confused, she sat back down and closed her eyes. He watched her silently for a few seconds, studying her. Sensing his continued presence, she blinked and glared at him. "If you're just going to stand there staring, I'm going to go home."
She stood, preparing to leave. He stopped her with a hand placed gently against her shoulder. "I'm going to ask you again, for the last time."
Exasperated, she sputtered, "It doesn't matter how many times you ask me. I'll never stop."
Jack continued, pretending she hadn't spoken. "Will you turn your back on your 'calling'?"
She shoved his hand away with more force than she'd ever imagined she had. "No. And you can go to hell."
Tru started past him for the door. Again, he stopped her, this time by holding her arm. "Let go of me."
"Tru," he said; sadly, it sounded like to her. "Poor, pathetic Tru."
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers. The sudden pressure surprised her and threw her off balance. She landed against Davis' desk, Jack's weight pressing down on her. His hands were at her throat, and for a second, she thought he'd read her mind and decided to do the strangling himself. But they were only there briefly before moving down and across her breasts. Enraged at the intimate contact, she put her hands on his chest and tried to push him away. He was too heavy for her.
Tru tried to protest against Jack's lips, but he was relentless. His kisses were rough, charged with an emotion somewhere between fury and (oh, God) rampant passion. She felt his tongue teasing hers, his lips kneading hers with immense vigor. Jack was enjoying this - humiliating her, frightening her. She struggled, but it was futile. His hands roamed over her body, moving under her blouse. She tried again in vain to push him off, but it was a waste of her energy.
Tru felt herself becoming hysterical and oddly, it was the strangeness of this unfamiliar feeling that actually calmed her.
You have to concentrate, she told herself. You can't fight him physically, but you can do something
Jack was still kissing her, his fingers dancing over the bare flesh of her belly. His groin was pressed against her thigh, and sickeningly, she felt his arousal begin. She clawed at his face, but he simply gathered her wrists together with one hand and held them above her head. His other hand he transported to her buttock, cupping it so that she was pressed even tighter against him. A low moan of satisfication from him spurred her into trying to find a way to escape.
Think, think! she admonished herself. In all likelihood, Jack was kissing her just to scare her. It wouldn't go any further if the ploy wasn't working.
Swiftly, although it took all of her inner strength to accomplish, Tru relaxed her body. She let herself go limp; all her tense muscles unclenched until she was little more than a rag doll. It took Jack a few moments to realize, but when he did, he abruptly stopped kissing her.
Score! she silently congratulated herself. Now Jack would see that it would take more than this idiotic bit of sexual harrassment to make her refuse her destiny. She stared defiantly at him, expecting to see defeat in his eyes. Instead, he had a smug, knowing look on his face.
"So you didn't enjoy the foreplay." He said, so softly she almost didn't hear.
"Foreplay?" she managed to ask before he pushed her forcefully to the floor. She fell, cracking her head against a bookshelf. A wave of red pain shot through her and she thought she might pass out.
Jack towered above her, working off his belt. "I wanted to make it easy for you, Tru. All of it. I like you. I didn't want you to have to suffer needlessly."
Her eyes were blurry and her vision swam. A throbbing pain was beginning at the spot where she'd hit her head. It took everything she had to focus on what Jack was saying. She tried to sit up. Jack quickly straddled her, forcing her to lie back down. He pinned her arms above her head effortlessly with one hand. "The next time you decide to fool around with the universe's plan, I want you to remember this."
The cruel pressure of his mouth was on her again, but this time, the passion was gone. In its place was a quiet kind of rage, a righteousness, an overwhelming sense that this punishment was earned and deserved. He kissed the breath from her lungs before moving down to her neck, running his lips down to the valley of her breasts. His free hand was sliding up her skirt, forcing apart her thighs, pulling down her panties.
"No, oh God, please no!" she yelled, realization dawning on her. She kicked and flailed vainly, trying to escape. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes.
Jack watched as Tru struggled desperately to get free, but he knew she couldn't. He was engorged, ready for her. Hesitating only momentarily, he thrust himself inside her in one sure, solid movement. She didn't hear it, but he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Her cries escalated, her struggle intensified. Her wild bucking only served Jack's purpose. He moved in and out of her, slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed. Tru cried, she pleaded, she cursed, the words tumbling from her lips with mind-numbing ferocity. But Jack continued in silence, his hips dancing the timeless rhythm, invoking the age-old act that had bound men and women for millenia.
Slowly, the storm within him grew. In and out, in and out. Her soft feminine place enveloped him, even though he was uninvited.
He licked a trail along her neck, laving at her pulse. Her blood coursed furiously beneath his hot tongue. She was fighting him with every fiber of her being, but it was futile.
He reflected on the plight of womankind - no matter how much a woman opposed a man taking her, her body was physically unable to refuse him entry. Women like Tru - who was as strong as they came - even they were unable to fight off this simple weapon - his manhood.
He felt his climax begin. In a few moments, this task would be over.
"Jack, why are you doing this?" she murmured, too tired now even to raise her voice.
He ignored her, focusing on the orgasm that was about to break. "Yes," he whispered. Pounding against her, his voice rose to a crescendo, "Yes, yes, yes!"
He came violently, but without any overt fanfare, just like he did everything else in his life. He was utterly spent, but he fought the urge to flop down onto Tru; instead, he released her arms and stood.
She was lying on the floor, her skirt pulled up. The evidence of his recent assault glistened on the inside of one thigh. Her head was turned to one side, but her eyes were open, glassy, staring unseeingly ahead. He pulled up his pants and put his belt back into place. She didn't say anything.
He finished with his belt and turned his attention back to her. "Tru." he said. She didn't move. "Tru, get up."
She made no move to respond to his command. Sighing, he bent down and pulled her up, as effortlessly as he'd pushed her down. He smoothed down her skirt and her hair, wiping away a smudge of lipstick on her cheek. Her silence remained unbroken.
It was a little unnerving to say the least. Jack had a feeling that if he left her, she'd stand there all night. He sighed; he may have raped her, but he didn't want to torture her anymore. He propelled her out the door, turning off the lights in the morgue.
Out at his car, he manuevered her into the passenger seat. The drive to her apartment was uneventful. They sat together, locked in silence, each alone with their own thoughts. When they reached their destination, he turned to her and saw that she was sitting in a sort of catatonic state, staring straight ahead. "Tru. You're home."
No response. He reached around her and opened the door. Strangely, without knowing why he was doing it, he bent and tenderly kissed her on the lips. This awakened her.
Fury, pure naked fury appeared in her eyes and she slapped him with all her might before jumping out of the car and running to safety of her apartment.
Jack watched her, debating whether or not to follow her. He reached up and touched his face where she'd slapped him. There would definitely be a mark. Sighing, and reflecting once again on the things he hated about his job, he drove to the designated spot.
The black limo was there, the passenger sitting ramrod straight in the back seat. Jack turned off his car and exited. The window of the limo rolled down. Richard Davies said, without emotion, "Get in."
He did. "How did it go?" asked Richard; again, without any trace of emotion.
Jack took a breath, adjusting his shirt. "Fine."
"You got it done." Richard wasn't looking at him.
"I got it done."
"Good. I…didn't want it to have to come to this but..." Richard's voice petered off.
Jack nodded silently and got out. The black limo drove away. Jack stood watching it. He wasn't proud of what he'd done tonight, but it was all part of the work.
Tru was going to make him pay dearly for it, but he was just doing his job.
He was just doing what had to be done.