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Tru Calling: We Don't Fight Fair

Summary: In keeping the balance, it's never a fair fight between Life and Death. One-shot. Tru/Jack

The frosty night air bit at her low-cut jeans, threatening to seep through her warm fleece sweatshirt and crawl underneath the dark crimson of her knitted scarf.

But she kept walking, quickening her pace in a futile attempt to ward off the bitter cold.

Then she stopped.

The long, dark alleyway had finally reached its end. Here was the point of no return.

She stood frozen, her back erect.

And she waited.



Everything that spun around her in a chaotic maelstrom of frenzy came to an abrupt halt as she turned brusquely on her heel to face him.

Her voice broke through the unforgiving cracks of deadened silence.

"We can't do this."

"Says who?" he threatened indignantly. He advanced towards her, almost stealthily, like a menacing predator.

For she was his target.

The object of his insatiable affections.

His stalwart prey.

Her back slammed against the rough, hard brick of the wall behind her. Her heart pounded into overdrive as she felt the molten heat of his fiery breath emblazon this dangerous encounter along the creases of her neck. Her hands clawed at the wall out of resentful desperation and much-needed support as she felt her legs begin to give way against him.

"This isn't your fight, Tru."

"Do you really think that's gonna stop me, Jack?"

He chuckled as he carefully began removing the red scarf from her neck and let it fall to the black asphalt below. He traced his fingers slowly across the top hemline of her jeans, feeling the curves of her hips from within them.

"I know it won't," he finally hissed.

She let herself suffocate in the throes of his seductive masculinity as he began to let his lecherous hands slide up the front of her shirt underneath the warm fleece.

With a heaving breath, she let go and relinquished her fight to him, gradually leaning into his chest.

But not before she gave into the poisonous delight of his lips once more.

She knew where she stood in their fight to keep the balance, to grapple to this unsteady equilibrium and never let the cycle be broken.

It wasn't fair.

"We don't fight fair," she bit off with great distaste.

He released her at last, letting her scramble to pick up her scarf and watched her become quickly obscured by the late night darkness.

She'd be back.

It was a guarantee.

The frosty air around him became still again.

"No, we don't."