The Lazarus Effect:
A/N: Hi guys! So we don't know Ezekiel's backstory but obviously a few of us have some ideas. This is my little contribution to those theories. Hope you guys enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Listen closely Mr. Jones. What I'm about to tell you is highly classified. Detective Faber is alive."
Ezekiel stood immediately in surprise as he listened to the voicemail. Damien was alive. It seemed almost impossible. If someone had told him that a few years ago he would've punched them in the face.
He hit redial but the other end didn't answer and didn't have a voicemail set up. Burner phone. He should've known. He rubbed his hands over his face. His heart ached as he thought back to the man. Damien Faber was practically his father. He was certainly better than his actual father. He remembered the day he died so perfectly.
"Don't get cocky Ezekiel!" A deep voice came over his headset.
"Me? Cocky? Never." Ezekiel smiled as he balanced on the steel beam, high in the rafters of a museum.
"Jones, I'm serious. We've had a shadow for the past few weeks and I don't want to take any chances. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, leave. This vase isn't worth it." The man warned.
"Damien, I get it. No unnecessary dangers." Ezekiel rolled his eyes. As he leapt down to the ground he began casing the vase. He soon heard an odd click from behind him and stopped immediately. "Something feels off. We can probably nab the vase but I'm going to need your help." It took only a minute for him to be joined by an older man.
"What's up?" He asked as he looked around nervously.
"I thought I heard something. I might be wrong but it sounded weird. I figure with both of us here we can still get the vase." He whispered, looking around. The darkness was playing tricks with his mind.
"Okay. I'll finish deactivating this stuff, you get the rig set up so we can make a quick escape." Damien ordered.
"Got it. Call me if you need any help." Ezekiel jumped up and climbed to the open window he had used to sneak in. He had pulled up a rope and connected the pulley device to it so that they could jump out of the window, rather than taking the time to climb carefully. He came back in the window, prepared to tell his mentor that their escape was ready when he was greeted by a horrifying sight. Damien was surrounded by men, all of which had guns. He kept silent, looking around for a way to defeat the men. For a moment he locked eyes with Damien. He shook his head no at him. Ezekiel just widened his eyes.
The men surrounding him cursed in a foreign language, before looking around at the rafters. Looking for Ezekiel. He pushed himself against the wall and hoped that they wouldn't see him.
"We saw you shake your head Faber. Where is he?" The man asked, gritting his teeth.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Damien shouted.
"You don't want to be honest with me? Fine. We were just going to kill him, but since you've taken his place I guess you'll have to do." The man pointed his pistol at Damien's chest.
"Wait!" Damien put his hands out. Ezekiel had to think fast if he was going to save him. He pushed himself off the wall and walked as silently as he could on a steel beam. He stood just above them, ready to jump down and tackle them. "Aren't you going to ask if I have any last words?" Damien smirked, waiting for the man to monologue.
"No." The man smiled and pulled the trigger. Ezekiel felt like all the air had been squeezed from his body. Damien lie dead on the floor and all he could do was watch helplessly as the men dragged his body away, fearful of meeting the same fate. His only true father, ripped away from him in some hideous trick of fate.
He sat on the steel beam, sobbing silently as he peered down at the puddle of blood on the floor. Why did the universe hate him so much? As he mourned he felt all the hair on his neck stand up. Someone else was in the room. A tall, brunette man ran in, a carnation in his lapel and converse on his feet.
"Thank goodness! It's still here!" He ran towards the vase, picking it up lightly. Ezekiel stood, prepared to fight the man. He had been kicked in the dirt enough, he wasn't about to let some stranger take away the last artifact Damien ever tried to steal. He needed it. He was willing to do whatever it took for that vase.
"What?" The man picked it up. "This is a fake! The real one was sent to a new location." He spoke into his phone. "Well I don't know Charlene! If I knew I would be there instead. Yes I'm sure it's a fake." The man put the vase back down on the pedestal unsteadily before walking out of the museum. Ezekiel watched it teeter for a moment before it fell to the ground, shattering.
A fake?! Damien sent him on goose chase for a fake? That didn't make any sense. He always did he research, meticulously picking out the artifacts Ezekiel would later steal. He couldn't have known it was a fake, right? Ezekiel only knew one thing for certain. He should've been the one to die. If he hadn't asked Damien to help him, he would have been killed. His head felt like it was swimming. This was all his fault. Damien should be alive. He should be dead! Nothing was right! The world felt like it had been flipped on it's axis in just a matter of minutes. How had everything gone from being so perfect to so fucked up? He was an MI6 agent, he should've protected Damien and died in his place. That's what the other agents would do. Then again, he wasn't like other agents. They were strong and heroic. He was a wimpy teenager that had gotten a plea deal. Damien was the only person who made him feel like he was good enough. Now that he was gone, maybe it was time for Ezekiel to be gone.
Jake watched carefully as Ezekiel held his phone to his ear. That sort of thing wouldn't normally interest him, but Ezekiel was pale and frozen in place.
"Jones. Jones!" Jake called out, breaking him out of his trance.
"Hmm?" His eyes were still glued to his phone, which was now clutched tightly in his shaking hands.
"Are you good? You're freaking me out a little bit…" Jake closed his book, standing up slowly.
"I'm fine." Ezekiel told him. To the untrained ear, he sounded normal. Jake knew him. He knew that his response was too quick, too sharp.
"Whatever you say…" Jake shook his head.
"Hey so did you guys figure out where the power source is?" Cassandra practically skipped in. Her positive energy could be a little overwhelming at times. Who could blame her though? She was dying and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She could choose to be miserable, or she could choose to live whatever life she had left. That was something that she and Ezekiel had in common.
"Uh- not yet. I'm gonna go… look in the back section of the Library." Ezekiel stuttered before scurrying away.
"Well that was different." Cassandra shrugged before turning back to Jake. "What about you? What did you find?"
"Nothing yet. This is so weird. How do a bunch of magical artifacts just start going missing? They were in museums." Jake sighed, disgusted at the fact that someone could steal from a museum.
"They obviously had a thief. The one time we need Ezekiel is the time he's being weird." Cassandra sighed before perking up slightly. "Want to see what I found in my lab? I think I'm close to discovering a new element." She grabbed his hand and they skipped to her lab.
Ezekiel hightailed to a cranny that he knew he could use to hide for a few hours. As he sat down he tried to force himself to calm down. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His breath was caught in his throat, vision blurring as tears formed. He was lightheaded, hyperventilating. Damien was alive. It was impossible. He had watched him die. He loved this place, but he loved Damien as well. He was the closest thing he had to a father. What if he had to choose between Damien and the Library? What would he do? Who would he choose, his old self or his new self? He rubbed at his face roughly, trying to rid himself of the tears flowing down his cheeks. He forced himself to take deep breaths, steadying himself. He thought back to the day he left MI6.
"Mr. Jones I'm so sorry for your loss." A man in a black suit rested his hand on his shoulder. Another black suit, he should say. There had been so many people at the funeral. More than there would've been, had Ezekiel been the one to die. So many people whose lives were changed by Damien. People like him, except better. People just kept coming up to him, offering their condolences. He didn't deserve their kindness. He was nothing. He was a lowlife. His only interest was himself. He didn't even try to save Damien, the man who had saved him. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, refusing to meet the sorrow filled glances of any mourners.
Damien's wife took the podium and began making a speech about how loved the risk of the job and would be happy to know that he died doing what he loved, with someone he loved. He felt her eyes burning into him, so he glanced up. She gave him a tearful nod before continuing her speech. He couldn't handle it. The air was thick with sadness and it was all his fault. He stood, suddenly, attracting the attention of the people around him. He gave a nod of apology for causing a disturbance before racing out of the room. He needed air. He needed space. He ran his hands through his hair as he walked outside to sit on a bench. He had to get away. He had a fair amount of money from his "retrieval" jobs. He was going to go to the airport and catch the soonest flight out of there, wherever it was going.
"Now Boarding Flight 102 to New York City." A woman's voice called over the speaker. That was it. New York was his new escape route. He boarded the plane and almost 8 hours later, he found himself in New York City.
As he stood under the lights and billboards of Time Square he felt a way he hadn't for a long time. Small. Pathetic. Like his existence was futile. He was just another no namer who had escaped to NYC looking for another chance at life. He wasn't any different from any of them. Except he came with a very special skill set. He cracked his knuckles as he looked at all the people around. It was one in the morning, normally one of his favorite times being a night owl, but he was exhausted. He felt emotionally drained and jet lagged. He could wait until the next day to start stealing from people. He checked himself into a hotel room and let all the problems that he had been so desperately suppressing hit him. He cried himself to sleep that night.
The next day, after hours of pickpocketing people, he found himself outside of a club. He was technically an adult. Clubbing wasn't really his scene but it did have the easiest victims. Also, he could really use a drink after everything he had been through. He made the superior decision to get shitfaced.
Ezekiel shook his head as the memory broke. His memories of that night got a little hazy. He had been so trashed he barely made it back to his hotel. He had to make a plan. Was he going to run from his past or to it? He didn't have long to decide, however, because his phone began to buzz. An unknown number. He fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it, before he picked it up.
"H-hello?" He almost whispered.
"Ezekiel! You have no idea what a joy it is to hear your voice again."
"Damien…?"
A/N: I have thought every ounce of this story through so intensely. I am so proud of what this going to be and I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I do! I love you all more than I love *sigh* Glitter. That's a huge fucking deal. If you love me, and know me, you know how much I love glitter. ~FGaT XOXOXOXOXOXOX