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