From: Alyssa Date: Sun, 4 Jul 1999 16:07:03 -0700 Subject: NEW: Ballad of Resurrection Joe Title: Ballad of Resurrection Joe 1/1 Author: Alyssa alyssa@total.net Rating: PG-13, maybe R for language Disclaimer: The character of Fox Mulder belongs to Ten-Thirteen productions and Chris Carter. The character of Joe McMahon is my own creation, and the title "Ballad of Resurrection Joe" is from Rob Zombie's, "Dragula" CD. Keywords: Mulder, VCU Summary: Trapped with Fox Mulder, a VCU agent is near death. Things can't get much worst then this. Author's notes: Enjoy the story, and I would love any feedback you have to offer :) Ballad of Resurrection Joe 1/1 Suzi's Sweets Homestyle Bakery Manufacturing warehouse 12:03 am Who would of figured? The last person in the world that I would ever have wanted to work with would be Fox 'Spooky' Mulder. I had never met the man until four days ago, but I had heard about him. I guess everybody in the Bureau had, in one way or another. Mulder the fair-haired boy, Mulder the profiler, Mulder the Quantico whiz kid. Mulder the nut in the basement. He's the hottest topic in the rumor mill, his case load reads like a supermarket tabloid, and even though he's laughed at by just about everyone, he's also the first man to be called in when a serial killer decides to poison the public. Which was how we met. I was one man in a team of ten agents involved in a series of murders that had been cutting through the general population of Washington, our home turf, like a plague. With five murders in two months, the FBI was becoming a joke. A bunch of dumbfucks that were waving our dicks around in the air, hoping to catch a hard on. The papers ridiculed us, CNN followed us around with cameras, CNBC held a vigil out on the lawn of the J. Edgar Hoover building. By the tenth week, I was starting to see victims in my sleep, hearing their voices in my head. They just kept on asking me why I wasn't doing anything, playing on my conscience and ignorance. And I wasn't the only one, the whole team was starting to show wear and tear. Especially our ASAC, Tom Burelli. I've known the man for close to eight years, and I've never seen him let a case get to him like this. It was the 82nd day on the case that Spooky had been called in. He had already composed a profile, and was as cocky as hell. Looking down his nose at all the low-life profilers and agents that had to swallow their pride and ask for his help. I hated him on the spot. Maybe he didn't deserve it, but he was a constant reminder of our own failure. Of my own failure. His profile was good. Damn good. It was, I have to say, 'spooky'. There's no other word for it. The only thing it didn't list was the killer's shoe size and which side of the bed he liked to sleep on. With ol'Mulder's profile, we had five suspects in custody in three weeks, and then had narrowed it down to one in eight days. Whatever I might of thought of him, whatever any of us might of thought of him, his profile was a big part of why our asses were saved from the press, and victims from a madman. Thorton Millhouse Grentch, was our killer. A sorry son of a bitch if there ever was one. A *smart* sorry son of a bitch maybe, but crazy as hell at the same time. He grew up in a mortuary, his father was an undertaker. Imagine, living in a house that was constantly surrounded by the stink of dead bodies, and the sounds of weeping families. The kid, according to Spooky's profile, and later to be confirmed by the man himself, use to sneak into the room with the corpses and 'play' with them. Move the limbs and twist the frozen features like putty. A morbid child, and now a homicidal adult. The bodies were dissected, limbs had been amputated and then sewed back on. He had wanted to be a pathologist or a mortician, but had failed all tests to get into the proper schools. He was crazy, and paranoid as hell. He was convinced that the tests had been set out to make him fail, that his roommates were stealing his notes, and that teachers were deliberately failing him for no good reason. If it had just been a matter of the killings, the case would of been over by now. The killer caught and confessing to his crimes, *that* part of the case was pretty cut and dry. But, there was a catch. Our killer was also a terrorist. He was part of a group that supposedly had access to a deadly nerve gas that could be released on the public at any time. Go figure, the nuts had chemists on their side. The Bureau was worried that any action taken against Grentch would result in putting the public at risk. So the case went on and a dozen more agents joined the team. We managed to cut a deal. Grentch would tell us the place where his terrorist friends were hiding and we would lower his punishment from the death penalty to life in prison with the possibility of parole in fifty years. He accepted, and that's how I ended up here, with Spooky. Suzi's Sweets and Bakery manufacturing warehouse had been condemed for close to three years. It stood awaiting new employment, that is, until a few months ago when our killers had moved in under the alias of a clothes manufacturing company. At least, they had according to Grentch. The SWAT, the QRT, and the ten plus agents working the case were ready to storm the place early this morning. Armed to the teeth, draped in Kevlar, and bullet proof head gear, we felt confident and secure. We had the element of surprise on our side and we felt we were ready for anything. I guess that goes to show you, no one can ever be ready for anything. We had stormed the place about ten minutes ago. It seemed like the longest ten minutes of my life. The terrorists were gone, and, other then the muddled smell of stale bread and moth balls, any sign that *anyone* had ever been there was gone as well. We had been set up, big time. Who knows who could of triggered the explosion that brought the roof down on us. It could of been a SWAT member, Burelli, Spooky, or even me. All I remember of it is the sound of a loud...LOUD...bang. Sort of like a gunshot, and extreme heat. I wasn't anywhere near the thing, my guess was that it had been planted on the roof, that was vaguely the direction of which the incredible noise had come. There were screamed warnings, footsteps as agents ran for the exists. I saw two agents get crushed under the falling roof near me, before I was claimed a victim myself. I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to, it was dark and I was alone. Alone except for Spooky. I'm lying on my stomach and I can't move or feel the lower part of me. I'm not in any pain, although I probably should be, and the only sign of any distress on my part is a vague feeling of nausea. Spooky is pacing a few feet away, looking around, but not looking at me. He has propped his kevlar underneath my chest and I'm pretty comfortable. The only light in the room is the beams of our two flashlights. The roof has caved in along with most of the second floor. It creaks and groans occasionally, ready to collapse at any moment. All around us is rubble, and dirt, and broken machinery. "Hey, Spooks," I said, my voice is surprisingly strong, slightly sarcastic. "I can't move my legs...fuck...I can't *feel* my legs. What's going on south of me, man?" Shadows are casting all across his face and I have to kind of squint to make him out. "You're...hurt..." he said, his voice sounded strange. "The roof, the thing caved in on the second floor, and the stuff sort of came down on you..." he looked down, cleared his throat and made a slight face. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. They know we're missing in here, us and a few others. They'll charge in here with help in no time." Spooky Mulder may be some sort of cracked genius, he may be the best profiler the Bureau has ever seen, but he's a terrible liar. I've been an FBI agent for a little over 12 years now, I know a liar when I see one. I try to look over my shoulder to get a look at myself, but I can't turn around enough. I'm sorta numb and hurting at the same time. But out of the corner of my eye I see a huge block of wood and cement and other crap in place where the rest of me should be. I'm pinned under so much shit that everything waist down is just...gone. Realization slams into me, and I whip my head around to look up at Spooky who is regarding me with sort of a shameful guilt and pity. "Jesus Christ, am I gonna die?" "I don't know," he said gently, shaking his head. He comes foreword and kneels down in front of me. "Your spinal cord is crushed for sure, which is why you probably don't feel any pain. Your legs...they're probably no better off. We have to get you out of here fast, a lot of rubble fell on you." It's one of those character defining moments. It's how you react to the bad situations that determines what kind of person you are, how you deal with the terrible shit that shows your strengths and weakness. I just lie there, looking blankly out into nowhere. I'm going to die. I feel a hand on the back of my head and I looked up again to see him looking down at me with the most sympathetic, guilty expression I've ever seen on him. Spooky 'Stone Cold' Mulder, looks more upset then I do. "Are you in pain?" I shake my head. I think I must be in shock or something. "That's not good is it?" I ask, swallowing hard. "No," he said. "It isn't. If you do start to feel pain, that's a good thing though. It means that not all the nerves are severed. But if you do start to...it's going to be pretty bad." I'll give ol'Spooky this much, he didn't mince words. He doesn't pull that baby baby crap on me, even if I am a dead man. "And truthfully...Joe...it's going to take our guys a long time to get through all that crap. We're at least five rooms into this place. So...if it gets too bad..." Mulder took out his gun and pointed it up, "...just say the word." That's when it really hit me. During all our time together, I had seen Mulder walk around caterpillars and ant hills at crime scenes, and now he was offering to blow my head off if I wanted. I was screwed. And screwed in a terrible way. I managed a smile though, I hope it hid my nervousness. "You just want to have the pleasure of wiping me out yourself. Afraid that I'll take away that pretty partner of yours, Spooks?" He probably would of been mad at any other time, but now he just smiles warily and moves back about two feet to sit down across from me, leaning against a piece of tipped over machinery. "Joe, if you pushing me into that water cooler didn't tip me over the edge, nothing will." I grimaced in remembrance of that morning. I was pissed, and Spooky had been there. Arrogant and in my face. So I had pushed him and he had fallen back into the water cooler, tipping the thing over and getting drenched. I could tell he was mad as hell, and I can't say I blamed him. I felt kind guilty about it actually, even if it was hilarious. He probably would of jumped me right there if his partner hadn't held him back. Not physically, but with a simple, soft touch, and a gaze that held his eyes for just a few seconds. Mulder had straitened, wiped off his clothes of excess water and took a step foreword. Then, in a voice for my ears only had said, "That's one, McMahon," and walked away with his partner following closely behind, but not before she gave me the coldest look I've ever received. "I'm surprised you didn't deck me for that one," I said with a weak laugh. "I almost did a lot worst," he admitted. "Trust me when I say that you are lucky that Scully was there to stop me from pounding your ass into the floor." I snorted. "Anytime, anywhere Spooks. I'd demolish you, and you know it." He chuckled and moved his leg slightly, he hissed in pain and for the first time I noticed that he hadn't made it out completely unscathed either. "What happened to you?" "I - I was trying to get a block off of you. It wasn't that bad yet, and I used that - " he nodded towards a bent pipe near by, "...to try and sort of lift it off you. It didn't work, more of the ceiling came down and caught my leg. Took me a while to get it off, but I'm pretty sure it's broken in more then one place." "You tried to help me?" I asked, unsure if I had heard right. "You had the opportunity to get out of here." "Well I wasn't going to fucking leave you behind, Joe. What kind of person do you think I am?" he said in impatience. "Anybody else would of done the same. Drop it." "I'm just tryin' to thank you," I said, a little impatient myself. "And obviously anybody else wouldn't of done the same or we wouldn't be the only ones stuck here now would we? Look, I know that we haven't exactly *bonded* over the last couple of weeks, but cut me a little slack okay?" "I never did anything to you, I just tried to solve that case. I came in there, when it was the *last* place I wanted to be. Why the fuck do you think I left the VCU to begin with? If we didn't *bond*, it was because I was to busy trying to get my head shoved into a microwave," Mulder said. He sighed and looked around our cramped quarters again. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" "Considering that half of me is pancaked underneath two tons of concrete I'm feeling mighty fine," I said. "Actually, I'm kinda thirsty, but I guess there isn't much you can do about that, huh?" Mulder shook his head, offered an apologetic look. We were silent again for a moment, and I felt a heavieness start to settle around my arms and head. The desire to sleep hit me so hard and so sudden, that it was a struggle to keep my eyes open, to not just pass out right then and there. "Hey, hey," Mulder said and quickly moved over to my side, slapped the side of my face lightly. "Don't fall asleep on me, Joe, you gotta stay awake." "I'm tired," I hear myself mumble, "And cold." Jumping to my half-hearted statement, I was vaguely aware of Mulder shifting around behind me before coming back with what looked like a large plastic tarp. It was dusty and smelt like soot, but as he settled it around my shoulders, I found it's heaviness oddly comforting and warm. "I'm sorry I got you into this Spooky," I said with a sigh, then corrected myself with a frown, "I mean Fox." "Mulder, I prefer Mulder," he said. Then seemed to sigh himself as he settled down right next to me, no doubt ready to slap me around some more if I tried to sleep. "Actually, call me whatever the hell you want." I chuckled at that, shifted on top of the vest that he had laid down under me and tried to stop my teeth from chattering. God it was cold, and I was scared. I wish he would just let me sleep, let me fade away. I never considered myself a coward, but if it was my time to die I didn't want to be awake for it. "You ever think of death, Sp - Mulder?" I asked. "You know, ever wonder what was on the other side?" "Who doesn't?" Mulder said. "Well - you come up with any theories?" "I always have a theory." I paused for him to continue, let out an impatient grunt when he didn't. "Come on, Mulder, don't keep me in suspense." He smiled down at me, shifted his injured leg. "I think that when we die that we exit this existence and enter another one. Heaven, Hell....I don't know about that. I'm not religious by any stretch of the imagination, I don't believe in God, but I don't believe that our 'souls', if you would, just end with the death of our bodies either." "Like ghosts?" I asked tiredly, my eyes drooping again. "Maybe," Mulder said, sounding a little dreamy himself. "I believe in ghosts...lost souls trying to finish work that they couldn't in life. I don't like the idea of becoming a ghost myself though." "Then what do you want out of death?" "Just to rest in peace," Mulder said. "What about you? What do you want out of death?" "Resurrection." He let out a short laugh at that, but then seemed to catch himself. There was a pause and I could tell that he was considering what I had said, I didn't know exactly what I had meant myself, but it had been the first thing to come out of my mouth. "Resurrection," he repeated. "Yeah," I said and let my eyes drift close as I continued to talk. "I don't think anyone wants to die...not really. That's what Heaven is, isn't it? The alternative to death. Even ghosts and reincarnation and all that other crap that I'm sure you hear all about on the X-Files, no offense. Death is...the end. The finish to everything. It's final. But all that other stuff...afterlives and shit...it's a continuation. It's a resurrection of yourself in another sort of life, a new life. No one wants to die, and everyone wants resurrection." Spooky was silent for a moment, and I have to admit, even I was a little surprised by what I said. It had just come out. I never really thought about it before but it seemed perfectly clear to me now. Resurrection. It even sounded nice. "That's pretty deep, McMahon," Mulder said. "Who would of thought a guy that had Archie comics taped to his cublice had it in him?" I laughed weakly at that, and Mulder did too, as he patted me lightly on the back. "I'm sorry we didn't get to know each other better," I said. "It's not too late, we can have lunch tomorrow. Maybe catch a Knicks game," Mulder mused. "Do you like chili dogs, Joe? You seem like a chili dog type of guy." "I'm not going to see tomorrow, Spooky," I said as my eyes drifted shut again. "Come on, stop jerking me around." "Sorry, Joe, I'm not into that sort of thing," I could *hear* the smirk in his voice. "Seriously, Joe, what do you like on your hot-dog? Don't tell me you're into that horse radish crap." I had to admire the guy's efforts, he was really trying. "Mustard and relish," I said with a sigh, the thought of food brought a slightly sick feeling to my stomach, but I smiled at the memory of the baseball games I use to go so often to when I was a kid. Those huge ball park franks my old man use to by for me loaded with every filling available. The thought of never seeing my father again brought bitter tears to my eyes. The thought of never seeing my wife again nearly made me cry like a baby. I sniffled into my folded arms and Mulder seemed to wonder what he should be doing before putting a gentle hand on the back of head. "We'll get out of this," he said softly. "Me and you. Together, Joe." I closed my eyes for a moment before opening them again and staring at him. "My wife's name is Jenny," I said. "Jenny Rosemary Stevens McMahon, quite a mouthful, huh? She was married once before me, when she was only 19 - it lasted about two years. Then, she divorced the ungrateful sonuvabitch that didn't know a good thing when he had it and five years later - met another ungrateful sonuvabitch," I chuckled at my next thought. "She says I bury myself in my work. That I never have time for her. I guess my work really DID bury me this time, huh Mulder?" His reluctant smile could of been a grimace, it was hard to tell - things were getting a little fuzzy around the edges. It was getting harder and harder to focus on ol'Spooky's face. That ugly mug of his. Ha ha. "I need you to do something for me, Mulder," I said, staring up at him. Moving my arms, which suddenly felt incredibly heavy, I removed the wedding ring from my finger and held the gleaming gold in my hand briefly before holding it out for him to take. It took a while, but he got the message and complied, looking at me with a mixture of compassion and fear that I couldn't quite understand. "I want you to give that to my wife, and tell her...tell her that my last thoughts were of her." The ring gleamed from what little light there was in the room, and Mulder seemed to stare down at the gold for a moment before closing his fist around it and bring it up his chest. It disappeared into his pocket, and he nodded. "Okay, Joe. You got it." The words seemed to bring with it something more then just a promise, but a sort of finality that my body must of been looking for and finally found. I felt I could no longer fight the sleepiness that came over me, and felt my eyelids drifting shut, my head coming to rest on my arms and the vest once again. I could steel feel Mulder's reassuring hand on the back of my head, and his other hand on top of mine. Who knew? Fox Mulder was the one to hear my last words. The ballad of resurrection Joe.