Disclaimer: The X Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox, not me.
Spoilers: Tempus Fugit
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Absent Friends
by eponine119
eponine@prodigy.net
March 17, 1997
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	What was strange to her was how little it had seemed to affect Mulder. 
Max was dead. Mulder and Max had been friends, hadn't they?  For a short
time, certainly, and she didn't believe they'd kept in touch, but there
had been a bond there.  A connection.
	Of course, the denial had come first.  Mulder's instant need to believe
anything but the truth, his instinct that told him Max wasn't dead, that
he'd just been "taken".  By aliens. Taken was the same as dead, only not
as bad.  You might come back.  Few had, but...
	She had.
	But Max was - had been - on strong antipsychotic drugs.  Mulder would
say it was a result of his repeated abductions.  She'd say he thought
he'd been abducted because he needed those strong drugs.  So which did
come first, the chicken or the egg?
	Mulder had liked him.  Understood him on some level that she could not.
	What had they seen in that warehouse, years ago, while she had been
detained outside?  When Max had been taken right before Mulder's eyes. 
What had they been through together?
	He'd gone to identify Max's body alone.  She'd offered to go and he'd
shrugged.  Like he didn't care.  But she knew he didn't want her there.
He had to say goodbye himself.
	She'd found the card in Mulder's things later.  Mulder's card, burned
and bloody.  She knew immediately it had come from Max.  And she knew
then just how deeply Mulder had been affected by the death of his
friend. Even if he never let it show.
	And Max had been Mulder's friend.
	Don't get too close, Scully thought.  If you do, you'll wind up dead.
	How many more friends could they lose?  How many more loved ones,
acquaintances, people who got too close?  What would the final death
toll be on the day they closed the X Files?
	Too many.
	She stroked the cold skin of the young man who lay in the ICU bed in
front of her.  His family hadn't been able to come yet, so she was
allowed to stay with him.  For as long as he held on.
	Not long.  The doctors knew the patch job they'd done wouldn't do
much.  Ease his suffering until the end.  That's all.
	How old was he? she thought suddenly.  Twenty five, twenty six maybe? 
She smoothed back his short red hair.  She didn't know anything about
him, when it came down to it.  But he had been her friend.
	So ready to help, to drop what he was doing.  Always with a smile.  The
rest of the Bureau snickered up their sleeves at her, but he helped. For
whatever reason, he helped.
	He'd liked her.  She'd known and chosen not to acknowledge it.  She
didn't make friends or make dates, not since the X Files.  There was no
time. It was too dangerous.
	That hadn't helped Pendrell, had it?
	She'd understood him.  If not for Mulder, she might have become like
him - an overeager forensic path tech. Which agent would she have had a
crush on?  Dropped anything to help?
	Guilt washed over her.  She wasn't worth it.
	How many more deaths would she personally have a hand in?  How many
more would be her fault?
	Right before he'd gotten between her and an assassin's bullet, she'd
been thinking what a geek he was. How incredibly embarrassed she was to
even know him.
	And then he'd died for her.
	How many more times was she going to have to live with that fact?
	Every time she walked away, practically unscathed.  Was it worth it to
be the last man standing?
	"I'm sorry," she said aloud, to Pendrell and to God, though she could
never atone.
	She would think of him, and mourn his loss as she did the loss of so
many others.  It was a sadness deep inside, a loss she wouldn't begin to
feel until later. A door closed forever.  Goodbye to a sweet friend.
	  For them, she would fight harder for the truth.  His death would not
be in vain.
	She whispered again.  "I'm sorry."

The end.
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