The Diary of Agent Pendrell

Scully sat in her apartment on the sofa, a glass of Merlot in her hand. Funeral services and subsequent burial had taken place today for Agent Pendrell. She had attended alone; Mulder was busy digging up a lead in a current case, which seemed to be his life. Sometimes, nothing could get in the way of his search for the truth. It had been a beautiful service. Words were spoken, songs were sung. The church was far from overcrowded, the meaning of it rather sad to Scully. She was rather certain that she and Mulder were the only ones to eat, sleep, and breathe work, but apparently, Agent Pendrell had shared their passion.

Scully couldn't help but feel just a little guilty about the death of Agent Pendrell, as she stated to Mulder, she never even knew his first name. He had saved her life, after all, but all agents knew the risks of their job, sober or not, and Agent Pendrell was far from sober when he had offered to buy Scully a drink for her birthday. She sat, wine in hand, thinking about his puppy dog crush. The poor guy; he was always awkward, never knowing quite what to say, but kind and eager to please as well.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, interrupting Scully from her revere. Perhaps things could have gone somewhere relationship-wise, but now she would never know. Looking through the peephole she didn't see anyone. Grabbing her gun from where she kept it, she cautiously opened the door. In this line of business you could never be too careful; especially after all she had been through. She looked both ways down the hall, but saw no one. At her feet sat a padded manila envelope addressed to her, but no return address.

Carefully, she felt the object inside. It seemed harmless, no ticking, and relatively flat and book-like. She went to the kitchen and returned with a letter opener from the drawer, that, ironically enough, Agent Pendrell had bought her for her last birthday. Pure silver, it was monogrammed with a single letter on the handle: 'S'.

She used a prying motion and opened the bubble wrapped volume. What slid out was simply a slim, pure black journal of some kind. Perhaps evidence in a new case, she wasn't sure. On the inside cover was a title: The Diary of F.B.I. Special Agent Pendrell She opened the cover and began to read:


I feel stupid even owning a journal, do men buy these things? I just, well I just wanted to have a record of all the times I ran into a certain lady, we will keep her anonymous for now. If someone finds this, even for the first entry, I don't really want to be embarrassed. Why do we as human beings find the need to mask our emotions about how we feel about other people? I suppose it only saves needless awkward moments later on, but I'm so afraid of being laughed at, that I think I just want to write things down here for now. I hesitate to write more, I'm new at this, and so it doesn't feel natural. After our next encounter I'm sure I'll have more to say. Keep my secrets until then,


Scully became intrigued at the entry. She knew this was wrong. These were Agent Pendrell's thoughts, his own private life. She had no right to it, and yet something led her to read more. The next entry was on the following, facing page.


I saw HER today. She came in to ask for more evidence, and I was able to come through. I remember that I said something incredibly stupid, I just don't remember what. Being around her makes me do things I wouldn't normally do, it's intoxicating really, almost liberating. Only I can't seem to break the mold that is me. Her eyes are huge, like a vast expanse of ocean that I wouldn't mind being lost in forever. Somehow, I'd just like to tell her. One of these days I will, it's not healthy to feel this way about one person and not let them in on it, I know, and I will tell her, one day, I swear, or my name isn't, well you know my name, it's written on the front flap. But I digress. Agent Mulder is a fool. If I were near her so long during the day, I'm not sure I could stand it, I'd have to do something about it. I'll just have to wait, I suppose, as is my nature. Until next time, be sure to keep my secrets,


Scully began to flip through the entries each one went something along those lines, signed the same way. She for the life of her couldn't figure out who this person Agent Pendrell could be gushing over. And who was this mystery woman that had a sort of relation with Mulder? Instant jealousy flared inside her, which, for some reason she didn't know why. Mulder was an all-American sort of guy and lived his own life. He was attractive enough and could date whomever he pleased, if he pleased. But that idea just didn't sit well with her. She looked back down at the diary, spotting her name.


As you already know my heartthrob by now, I no longer feel the need to anonymously keep referring to her as HER. It rolls off my brain so much easier to just say Agent Scully. It's her birthday tomorrow. It's the day to make my move, I'm sure of it. I will tell her and hell, maybe even buy her a drink in the process, I don't even know where she lives, but the details can be worked out later. She was in the violet suit today that looks so good on her. She really has style, you know? A real classy lady, as they say. I know by now that she would never be interested in me, perhaps one day she'll see how she and Agent Mulder look at each other and do something about it. Still, I'd just like to tell her you know? I bet she's never told how nice she dresses or does her hair, or carefully puts on makeup for that buffoon of a partner and even I can see that she does it for him, consciously or not. They finish each other's sentences, and can even be kind of cute together. I've seen them at the annual Christmas party and though neither of them has a thing to drink, they both act like they've had the most to drink out of everyone in the room, smiling big and never leaving each other's side. As if they don't spend enough time together, they don't even touch, and yet, you know something is there. Really, I just wish her all the luck in the world and to be successful. I've given up my dreams of having little redheaded children running around, but it was a real cute thought. Where do I get off using the word cute? I'm a guy! Anyways, I'll let you know how things go tomorrow. I promise there will be something to tell. I think I'm even starting to get used to the fact that Scully isn't interested in me. Keep my secrets until tomorrow,


Scully was in tears by the time she'd finished the entry. It was the last one in the journal. If ever there was a time to feel guilty, now was definitely it. She wasn't that great, she was boring, a science geek, and she was certainly not homecoming queen. Poor Agent Pendrell. The thought kept running around and around in her head. She didn't look funny at Mulder, did she? She most certainly did not grin or gaze longingly. Mulder was just Mulder, there for her when she needed him. Having been alone for most of the day, she suddenly felt the need to hear his voice.

"Mulder," came the answer from his cell phone.

"Hi Mulder, it's me."

"Scully? What's up?" She could hear the smile in his voice along with sunflower seeds he was chewing out of the side of his mouth.

"Uh, nothing, where are you?"

"I'm on my way back from the airport, why?"

"Do you think you could come over?"

"Yeah, sure, any reason in particular?"

"Oh, they just had Agent Pendrell's funeral services today."

"Oh. . . Scully. I'm sorry. I forgot about that, how did it go?"

"Nice, it was real nice. . ." Scully trailed off.

"Anything else?"

"Ah, no, I just didn't feel like being alone. Up for some old black and white monster movies?"

"Yeah sure, I'll be right there."

Traffic had been murder, but Mulder arrived in front of Scully's door as soon as he could. He knocked to announce his presence. He heard an 'it's open!' being called from the other side of the door. He entered, softly closing the door behind him.

Scully had already chosen which movies to watch, she knew Mulder's favorites by now, and was lying on the sofa in front of the television when his telltale knock announced him. She sat up to make room for him as he entered. He took in her tear streaked face and the bottle of Merlot sitting on the coffee table.

"Wanna talk?"

"Uh, not really, no." Scully hung her head, she didn't often drink least of all by herself.

"Ah, come on, you know you want to, everyone's doing it." Mulder cajoled.

"It's just, it's just that I feel so damn guilty, you know? He wasn't even on duty and it was our case, AND on top of that I promised him he was going to live and. . ."

Mulder instinctively embraced her in a hug, pulling back at the right moment.

"Hey, we all have those cases that hit us hard. We'll find the guy who did this okay? It'll be ok, I promise."

She nodded. He hugged her again, and hunkered them both down under the afghan to watch cheesy monster movies. By the end of the first one, Scully was sound asleep; her body snuggled tightly against his side. With a sigh, Mulder leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and place his arm protectively around Scully's diminutive frame for once, not minding the break from the ever lasting search for the truth.