Summary: Pendrell ponderings, post "Max"
Rated: G Category: S, A Written:March 1997.
Disclaimer: Hey CC, YOU killed him, I'm just gonna lay him to rest. Leave me alone.

It's late, there's only one car left in the lot, and I'm glad. Dealing as I do with the dead, I'm nevertheless ill at ease with *this* aspect of it, the pain, the emotion, and I'm relieved I'll be relatively alone. I guess no one LIKES funeral homes, but it's the familial confrontations I've been dreading, the guilt burning like an ulcer in my stomach. He's here because of me.

The music is thankfully off, and it is so quiet, I hear the soft rustle of my crepe skirt. A spooky looking man in a somber black suit points to the only open set of double doors, and I bite my lip against a sudden bubbling fit of the giggles--he looks like Lurch from "The Adams Family". A subtly back-lit marquee is posted in the archway, white on black lettering, "Brian James Pendrell, Jr."

Brian. So now I know. The ember of guilt fans a bit warmer--I never even wondered, before.

The casket is open, and I'm absurdly surprised to see him in a suit, and not a lab jacket. His tie looks like a reject from Mulder's closet, and I'm suddenly sorry Mulder is not here to touch my back, grasp my elbow,center me, somehow, to the unrealness of this sweet young man lying waxen and still before me. That old cliche "He looks like he's sleeping" is echoing through my head, and I fall to my knees on the leather bound kneeler, not as a throwback to my lost Catholacism, but so I don't stagger and pull the casket off it's pinions. He's so young...he's so dead. I push the yellow rose I've clutched to the breaking point into the side of the casket, and reach to stroke the back of his hand. I watch his face, expecting???...I don't know....

"Agent Scully."

I jerk , my stomach spasms, I leap up and spin around , grasping fruitlessly for my sidearm . The slight young woman steps into the room and I deflate, gasping, clutching at the fabric of my jacket, I am SURE my heart is pounding out of my chest. She raises one hand, calming "Agent Scully."

"Holly?"

It's the research clerk from the Bureau, a deceptively tiny bruenette who effectively cold cocked AD Skinner last year during our "Pusher" investigation. I've only seen her twice since, and both times, she's embarrasedly ducked her head and turned red. She watches me now, eyes wide....

"Agent Scully", she repeats, "ummmm...." She gestures, a quick swipe of her fingers under her nose, a quick point to my own face, then bites at her knuckle, her eyes huge. "I'm sorry I frightened you, but..." she turns quickly, pulling a tissue from the box on the small, discreet stand hiding amongst the gaudy flower arrangements, holds it out to me "Agent Scully, your nose...."

I take the tissue and press it to my face, my breathing is still slightly eratic, and now I feel the burning swell of tears behind my eyelids. Not now...not HERE......

"Holly..."

"It's all right" She grabs a handful of tissue, goes to the fountain in the hallway, and brings the sodden wad back to me. I press the coolness to my forehead, and conversely, feel the scalding heat of the tears as they spill, unchecked, down my face. She pushs me down to sit on the ugly brocade loveseat by the head of the casket and keeps a gentle hand on my shoulder, rubbing, comforting, as I gasp and rail against the unexpected surge of emotion. This is so NOT me...

"Jesus" I purse my lips, blow out a quick, harsh breath. "Holly. I didn't know you and Pendrell were friends."

She smiles a sad little smile and looks over at Pendrell "We were a little MORE than friends, actually....."

Shit...and she was here alone, and I HAD to interrupt...nice goin', Dana.

"Ya' know...." her voice is distant, reflective " You really have nothing to feel guilty about. BJ would have taken that bullet for you, gladly, had he been sober. He would have anyway...."

"B......BJ??"

"Brian...Agent Pendrell...he's a junior, he went by BJ a lot"

I'm embarrased "No...I didn't know that"

"Yeah, you wouldn't" Her voice is suddenly slick with anger, and I feel the defensive hackles rising on my neck."You take him into a Level 4 contamination site, but you didn't even know his name before now, did you??"

"No." I don't have a defense. I'm sick with shame.

"And it was ALWAYS you...the over time, the week ends...he'd do anything for you, he just WOULD" She sighed, defeated. "I'm not mad...not AT you, Agent Scully.... it's just....so unfair. He was so smitten, and you were so clueless. You and Agent Mulder," she says bitterly. She shakes her head, studies me for a brief second, then rises and goes to the lobby, returning with a small, square, strangely heavy box "Here. Your birthday present. He would want you to have it. It's kind of sickly ironic now." I'm confused, and she sees it. "Just open it...I was with him when he bought it."

I'm getting more uncomfortable by the second in the face of her bitter grief . Her eyes shine as she crosses to the casket, touches his sleeve.

The Lurch man steals silently into the room as I rip the paper from the tiny box.

"Miss Pendrell?" I jump....what? WHAT???? Holly looks up, her face streaked with tears "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, I have to lock up for the night."

"Fine" She raises a hand and caresses the smooth porcelain of his forehead "Please go, Agent Scully ....I want to be alone with my brother. And....I'm sorry, but..." she chokes, leans down and kisses his cold cheek, then strokes it tenderly, "please don't come tomorrow."

I flee.

I'm in my car, panting and shaking before I remember the box. I fold open the lid, and my fingers stroke the cold, shiny smoothness of the firey weight against my palm. It shines like liquid fire from the reflected light of the lot arcs.

It is a Waterford crystal Pomeranian.