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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
Completed:
2007-01-23
Words:
22,174
Chapters:
7/7
Kudos:
19
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3,185

The Decay of an Angel

Summary:

A search for a mythic city and a family intrigue send Gabe spinning toward the bottom, and Judson and Mac resolve to go down with him by all means necessary.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: 1. Prologue

Notes:

Rate: PG-13
Category: Adventure, action, angst, all the a's, plus a rite of passage for a particular character we all love. A warning has to be issued about my inherent sappiness that would manifest itself in the story here and there.
Summary: A search for a mythic city and a family intrigue send Gabe spinning toward the bottom, and Judson and Mac resolve to go down with him by all means necessary.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story itself. But even that's arguable. The tale of Sargon and Agade I used here is mostly concurrent with the recent archaeological data, but the Mace of Sargon is purely fictional. The names of Gabe's family and the background info that you don't recognize from the show are largely based on Aimless's fic, "The Visit". A huge thank-you to Aimless for all the help!
Note: This is going to be a long one. I probably shouldn't start another fic that might end up never finished, but this list, with its friendly and constructive atmosphere, really encouraged me to contribute, even a little. I'll admit that this will be written casually and mostly for my enjoyment, but if you guys can enjoy it along the way, I'll be a very happy girl. ;)
Dedicated to Jesse Nilsson, the talented and beautiful actor who would be missed by many of us.

Chapter Text

The Decay of an Angel
by vega

Prologue:

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men
alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
-Joseph Conrad



There is blood everywhere, and the realization hits her slowly like the agonizing effect of hypothermia, numbing and lethal.

She is too late.

Mackenzie Previn takes in everything around her as she takes a cold breath of air: the gray of the sky, the jaded green of the field, and the crimson of the mud puddles that the rain hasn't washed away. Ambulances and police vehicles arrived before she has, and red and blue flashlights violently crash against the grayness of all. People are busily moving in all directions just like in any other crime scenes. She feels sudden envy for the people who seem to know what they are, what they are supposed to do. She isn't sure if she's aware of anything. Anything, except the black plastic bag the cops are moving into a van. The bag that had to contain a dead body.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't be here," a voice says politely behind her, and she barely registers it. Barely moves from the spot she's standing that looks over the dark stain on the ground. She can't turn her eyes away. It's like watching a car wreck. She knows she shouldn't, yet she is completely unable to turn away from its grotesque sight and the even more horrifying possibility it suggests.

No, this is *not* possible.

"Ma'am, this's a crime scene. You shouldn't be here," the voice insists again, this time sounding more irritated and less polite.

She, out of pure numbness rather than the actual will on her part, turns around to face the owner of the voice, a young blond guy in the police uniform. Young. Too young. Much like her friend who she has come to save. And may have failed to do so.

She is much too anesthetized to speak. This feeling is foreign to her. This isn't how she deals with loss. Her standard response has always been anger, the cold anger that freezes anyone and anything that's responsible for her loss, but this numbness has never been a part of it.

Yes, it's because this isn't happening. She hasn't lost him. No. It can't be.

So many things unsaid, so many things...

"Where is he?" a familiar voice interrupts them and a warm hand reaches for her arm. She feels like breaking down in pieces just from hearing this voice, and she has to steady herself with all her wills. Mackenzie Previn does not break down. It's not her style. She closes her fists tight, knuckle-white, and her fingernails dig into her palms. She can almost imagine blood oozing from the cuts her fingernails make.

"Sir--" the police boy looks even more out of depth as the tall man with an intimidating posture joins them.

"Our friend was here," Judson Cross speaks briskly, his hand still on Mac's arm, "He was supposed to be here. Mac, where is he?"

She, without a word, turns to the stain on the ground, then the body bag that's being carried into the vehicle.

Judson bristles as he realizes what she sees. "That's not him. That can't be him," his voice is hard and thick and husky. The pained look on his face is barely concealed.

Mackenzie Previn has seen Judson Cross in many situations, some of them near their deaths, and she thinks she has never seen him like this. There are shock and anger and bleakness in his eyes now that defy any kind of objection to his words.

Mac wants to believe him. Badly. So she closes her eyes, shuts off the image in front of her. The standard gesture of avoidance. If you don't see the world, it doesn't see you. It doesn't have to exist.

But it does.

The police boy looks immediately chastened, and for a moment, at loss for words. He glances around from Mac to Judson and asks, "Sir, who's it that you are looking for?"

When Judson answers, she knows that however cruel, this is happening. That it has already happened.

She's lost him.

They have lost him.

"Gabe," Judson says. "Gabriel Patterson."



End Prologue.