Author: Adhara Phoenix
Archived: and so. Rating: G
Notes: Written for Akari, set between the first and second season.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, situation and words are. Don't sue me.

And for a moment it had felt good, really good. Tru's enthusiasm about having found at last - at last, she said - someone like her, that childish feeling. 'We're alike, now everything's OK'. 'At last'. She didn't like what he had to do. Or she did, but she didn't like doing it alone. Davis knew, Harrison knew, but none of them could understand her like Jack did.

So everything she wanted was someone who understood, that was clear. For those first hours Jack let himself dive happily in the illusion that they both shared a something that bonded them together, and enjoyed that feeling. It was a long waited day and watching her smile more than ever, wider than ever, man, he sure had to stop it but why not wait a little while? Time would come when she'd never want to see him again, once she discovered, but for that while it felt good. And to hell with the future.

What was the future, after all? What did future mean? It didn't happen everyday, it could never happen again if something went this way or another. Jack followed Tru somedays, from the Morgue to her house, and back again, and used to wonder whether the day would repeat and he'd be following her again, wishing she'd turn back. Harrison found him once, then someone somewhere killed her wife, Harrison didn't get to tell Tru and Jack didn't repeat his mistake the next-but-same-day. The wife lived and the destiny changed though, and that was wrong because he was its Guardian, but sometimes destiny meant only watching Tru do her shopping in the grocery and then taking her home without her noticing, and then wishing everything had gone different. Not by his part, of course. Jack was responsible and knew that his was the right thing to do. In the world he remembered, 'different' is read 'what if Tru had understood that messing around with the books of what's meant to be can't bring any good'.

Last night, momentarily turned into a fool, torn up by the need of thinking again about all that could have been, she waits until she falls asleep and the neighbourhood is silent. There were always a tiny space where Tru's window wouldn't completely close. The wood screeches when he puts it up and enters, and now there's a long line, a crack in the crystal that kept them apart. But she doesn't wake up and there's no noise after that, for Jack learned long ago to pass unnoticed, so when he sits on the floor by her bed everything's just as it would if he weren't there at all.

Don't touch, is the only rule he's following right then, right there. Is she a light sleeper? A sleepwalker? Would she talk to him - tell him what he'd like to know, answer his questions and forget it? But Jack hasn't any questions, at least none unanswered. He knows what she thinks about him. That he's evil, that she's some sort of Chosen One, chosen to stop him, to do good. That he's Death.

Death watches Life while she sleeps and can't help but wonder where's the anger and all the angst he knows she keeps inside. While Life dreams and Death keeps her dream there's no other world around them but the duvet he touches without moving it. If everything was just like that moment - the softness, the dim light of an early morning -, if everything, everytime, was like that, Jack knows the world wouldn't have to choose between Life and Destiny. Tru is wrong, and he's not Death. He wishes he was so they were closer, so Tru was heading straight to him. Life ends in Death, after all. Instead, Life and Destiny have different ways and sometimes run in different directions. He's not Death, he's Destiny, and so this fact will keep them apart.

Now, as long as the daybreak lasts, he's only Jack, and it feels weird. The part of him that still behaves like days didn't ever repeat has something to say about the past and their future. Watching her sleep he does wish he could just be fired, pass it on and wait every night for her to wake up. Nothing changes as he moves his fingers exactly over her face, her cheeks, the untidy hair that seems so much darker now. Don't touch, he repeats. But what are rules for, if not for bending them? And he allows himself to caress the lips, holding a breath in his palm. It's hot and heavy, her breath, and probaly easy to stop. If he was like her father this would be the greatest chance to win. Some minutes of her fighting against his hands and then Destiny would have a free pass until the next one appeared. And Tru would be gone, and probably whoever came later wouldn't make Jack's heart skip a beat even when asleep. Beauty hurts. You can't make Life stop breathing. Jack realizes that, and stands up before the pain makes him ask for forgiveness. Then he stays in the flat, trying not to look at her, breathing in and out until he gets his soul back. When Destiny leaves the building, Life doesn't notice anything.

About the window, she'll think it was a cat. And somewhere someone will kill anybody that'll ask for help, and if the night repeats Jack already has his own key, so the crystal will remain intact.