TITLE: Of All The Words AUTHOR: Rev. Anna SUMMARY: An FBI agent is dead and her secret admirer comes to mourn RATING: PG DISCLAIMER: Kim Cook, Diana Fowley and Walter Skinner are the property of 1013 (even when shelved forever) SPOILERS: Amor Fati ARCHIVE: Sure, anywhere Of All The Words By Rev. Anna The funeral is scheduled for 10:00 AM. I arrive at 9:45. I walk over to the coffin and look down on Diana's face. I touch the center of her forehead and smile. The cosmetologist did a nice job on the bullet wound. Any time she sat waiting to see the Assistant Director, my eyes always drifted to that little space just above and between her eyes. I remember the first time she came in and asked to speak to the Assistant Director. I had to focus on that space to keep from seeing the longing in her eyes. Longing for what or for whom I don't know. But after sending her in, I knew I wanted her to be longing for me. Every time I saw her she was dressed in dark "don't fuck with me I mean business colors." But I could tell she was really drawn to brilliantly colored exotic prints. She once told me she liked a red, orange, yellow and black print scarf I was wearing. She even came over and asked if she could touch it. As her fingers gently rubbed the silk, they brushed ever so lightly against the skin of my throat. "This is really hot," she said. "And it looks hot on you." I really had to focus on her forehead that day. I smile sadly and stroke the red, orange, yellow and black print scarf now around her neck. It nicely compliments the dark suit she's laid out in. "Farewell my lovely," I whisper. She was surprised and genuinely touched the day I handed her the box as she left the Assistant Director's office. I was scared she wouldn't take it or worse be offended. "I remembered you liked mine, and I had this extra one. I thought you might like it." I lied. I had to special order it at an additional cost of $50. I would have paid $500 for her reaction. The smile she smiled touched more than her eyes. The small chapel is still empty, which surprises me a little, seeing it's how they all paraded through here at last night's viewing: Agent Mulder leaning on Agent Scully's arm. That cigarette smoking bastard who didn't have the decency not to smoke. About twenty agents, some of whom I knew by name, others just by face or that tell-tale FBI demeanor. And then finally the Assistant Director. I had taken a seat all the way in the back of the room so I wouldn't be noticed. I needn't have worried. They merely came, signed the book, took a look and left. All except Mulder and Scully. They lingered at the coffin for awhile. And the Assistant Director. He stood there for a long time. A very long time. I'm sitting in that same seat now as the funeral director spies me and asks if I would like to come up front. When I say no, he moves forward and begins the service. I don't hear a word he says. Instead I close my eyes and remember the thrill I felt at the sound of Diana's voice, thanking me for the scarf. The warm rush I got in the weeks that followed as she smiled at me as she went into or came out of the Assistant Director's office. The way my body stiffened whenever Agent Mulder and she occupied the same space. I had heard they had meant something to one another once. But then we've all taken a walk on the wild side before coming back home. The lightheadedness that gripped me when the Assistant Director informed me she had been found murdered and assigned me to locate the next of kin for him. "She has no family, sir," I informed him. He shook his head no and said something that pleased me. "We're her family, Kim. You know the numbers I need to call. Have them on my desk after lunch." The funeral director's voice intrudes and I become aware of a presence beside me. I look to my left and there is the Assistant Director sitting right next to me. It never ceases to amaze me how quiet a man his size can be. He doesn't say anything and neither do I. We repeat the Lord's Prayer with the funeral director and the service ends. We rise in silence. "I don't recall ever seeing you at an agent's funeral before Kim." "No sir." He reaches out and straightens the bit of red, orange, yellow and black print scarf that has poked up from its hiding place underneath my collar. "I'm sorry," he says. "Truly." I hear a tenderness and a real regret behind his words that startles me. I look into his eyes then quickly close mine. He sees everything. Visible and invisible. "I know you don't drive. Can I give you a lift?" I shake my head no. He nods and leaves. I have to sit down to keep from falling down. I turn and watch the funeral director close the coffin lid. "Will you be coming to the cemetery?" I shake my head no. He nods and with the help of one of his assistants rolls the coffin out of the room. With a sigh I watch it go, but I make no attempt to follow. I remove my brightly colored scarf from its hiding place and tie it around my neck in the same manner that the funeral home had tied its twin around Diana's neck. I get up to head home sadly thinking these words: 'Of all the words of tongue or pen The saddest are these: it might have been.' End