DISCLAIMER: Everyone in here belongs to CC, 1013, and FOX, except Annelle Hollis, who belongs to me. I mean no infringement. This is a SONNET story, post "Tempus Fugit"/"Max." Spoiler warnings apply. Rated PG-13 for language and adult situations. Category: V, A, implied MSR SONNET: "Fragile is the Glass" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Unsaid, the words lie bitter on the tongue, Linger in the soul, a cold, ill wind; And hesitance, sad folly of the young, Seems greater sin than impulse in the end. Were life allotted in each falling grain Within a glass set firmly in our sight, Meting out each pleasure and each pain, A metronomic count of day and night, Then might we know the rhythm of our days, The tidal pulse of every second's worth, The measure of our journeys and our stays, The balance of our sorrows and our mirth. But life cannot be hoarded, held or planned, For fragile is the glass that holds the sand. - Paula Graves The hostess left with the promise of sending over a server to take their order, leaving Fox Mulder alone with his partner at a small corner table in Shakespeare's Pub. It wasn't their favorite place to wind down and grab a quick bite--that had been the Headless Woman Pub, but Pendrell's shooting had made that place uncomfortable for both of them these days. Mulder shrugged off his jacket and set it on the chair beside him, studying Dana Scully's pale, pretty face as she scanned the crowd in the pub. She looked wary, alert--expecting trouble. I did that to her, he thought, remembering a time when he could have--and had--sneaked up on her at will, startling her by a quick invasion of her personal space. She'd been so innocent then, so trusting. Ironic, he thought, that only by giving up her own sense of trust had she been able to secure his trust in her. God, he was a selfish bastard. Taking, always taking. Giving only what she could pry from his grasping, unwilling fingers. She'd done all the work in their partnership, all the reaching out. No matter how many times he'd slapped her away, growled at her-- She turned back to him just then, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she read his expression. "You look like somebody stole your Elvis doll, Mulder." He grinned at her, knowing by the slight tilt of her head that his smile wasn't doing a good job of covering his dark mood. He tried to think of a handful of comebacks, but they all sounded lame, so he didn't say anything. She picked up the menu the hostess had left them. "What are you in the mood for? I've heard the cheese and fruit plate is good." "Never order real food in a pub." Mulder picked up his own menu and scanned the appetizers. He wasn't all that hungry; their visit to Sharon Graffia had left him feeling kind of gloomy. Scully had been quiet on the drive from the trailer park, staring out the car window at the star-washed city, lost in thought. She had said she wasn't thinking of Pendrell. She'd said she hadn't even known his first name. In the car, she admitted that wasn't really true--she HAD seen his first name on his name badge several times, but she'd gotten so used to calling fellow agents by their last names that she hasn't really let it sink in. Mulder, with his eye for detail and his scary memory, had known. Pendrell's first name was Alan. He'd had gingery red hair and hazel eyes, and he'd been too damned young to die. So had Max. He looked up at Scully and drew a swift breath. "God." Her eyes widened and she grabbed a napkin, pressing it automatically to her nose. The flow of blood was more than a trickle this time--it quickly stained the yellow paper napkin. Mulder swiftly handed her his own napkin and she pressed it to her nose, leaning her head back in an attempt to stanch the flow. The approaching waitress stopped short at the sight of the blood-stained napkins. Her green eyes widened with concern. "Can I do something to help?" she asked Mulder. He glanced at her name tag, one eyebrow arching as he noted the odd spelling. "We may need some more napkins, Juliettt." Juliettt nodded and hurried toward the counter. Scully rose. "I'll go clean up." She headed toward the restrooms in the back of the restaurant, leaving Mulder sitting alone in the booth, his stomach in knots. That one was worse. More blood. Did it mean anything? Both Scully and her doctors had assured him that the nosebleeds were secondary symptoms--they didn't really mean the tumor was growing. The existing pressure on the sinus wall occasionally led to burst capillaries, but she wasn't going to bleed to death. At worst, the nosebleeds were nuisances that Scully would have to deal with. Keep telling yourself that, Mulder. Chant it like a damned mantra. Lift it like a prayer. "Agent Mulder?" He didn't realize he had been sitting there, rocking, until the low, soft drawl jarred him, causing him to bang his ribcage against the table. He sucked in a gasp of pain. "What?" His voice came out harsh, unwelcoming. The woman standing by his table pressed her lips together for a moment as if considering retreat. Then she visibly girded herself and slipped into the seat that Scully had vacated. "I don't know if you remember me...I'm Annelle Hollis. I worked in the Sci-Crime lab with Agent Pendrell." He nodded. She did look familiar. Fingerprint expert, if he wasn't mistaken. She could pull a print off the skin of a 4000 year old mummy, or so they said. Short, dark-haired, with intelligent eyes the color of strong coffee. Her accent spoke of hot, humid Southern nights but her tone of voice was cool and measured. "Agent Scully dropped this." She put the Apollo 11 keychain Mulder had given Scully on the table in front of him. "Is she all right? I was coming over here to speak to her when I saw that she was having another nosebleed." He tried not to react to her statement. So Hollis knew that Scully was having nosebleeds? Was that common knowledge around the Bureau now? He and Scully had tried hard to keep anyone but Skinner from finding out what was going on with her health. Annelle leaned forward. "Her cancer isn't common knowledge, Agent Mulder. Most people assume she has bad sinuses and don't speculate." He didn't know if she was trying to test him, trick him into admitting the truth about Scully's condition. He wasn't sure how to reply. "I have the same oncologist," she added. He couldn't hide his surprise. "Non-metastatic melanoma. On my shoulder--too much sun as a kid without wearing sunscreen, I guess. I had it removed two years ago, but I still go back for regular exams. You can't take chances, even if you think you're cured." Somehow, just hearing the word "cured" sent a little shiver down his back. "She doesn't want people to know." "I understand. I haven't said a word to a soul. Not even...." Her voice broke. "I'm glad I didn't tell him. I'm glad he didn't know." She met his eyes for a moment, her expression naked. Raw emotion blazed back at him briefly before she dropped her gaze. Oh God, Mulder thought, she loved Pendrell. "He was crazy about her, you know." She pushed a fork back and forth between her forefingers. "He thought she was the greatest. He kept trying to impress her, show her he wasn't just some guy in the lab." Mulder nodded. He knew. "But he never had a chance with her, you know." Mulder looked up. Annelle's dark eyes were gentle, tear-sparkled. "I thought I could just wait things out. Alan was tenacious, but he wasn't stupid. He just didn't want to see the things that I saw. But eventually, he'd have figured out that Dana was already taken." Mine, Mulder thought with an almost primal sense of possessiveness. She's mine. "I just...I thought there was time to wait." The moisture in her eyes pooled, spilled down her lightly freckled cheeks. "I thought I could wait until he figured it out. I mean--how long would it take?" She nibbled her bottom lip, chewing away the last remnant of lipstick. "He heard about your birthday surprise for her--somebody from work was at the Headless Woman that night. It was all over the place by Monday morning." She shrugged. "I don't know--maybe that's why he went there that night. Hoping to see her. Hoping that you didn't really mean anything special to her. I guess maybe that's why he was drinking so much, too. Just trying to bolster his courage." God, he was close to tears himself, and he'd hardly known the guy. But he knew what it was like to want something desperately, something you feared you'd never have no matter how hard you tried, how hard you worked at it, how many sacrifices you made. He'd known it with Samantha. He knew it with Scully. Mulder looked down at the keychain lying in front of him. A keychain. A lousy Moon Walk keychain. It was more than just that, of course--he had been trying to tell her something. But in the end, he hadn't told her. He'd let her tell him what she thought it meant, and she'd been close to the truth in a way, but way off target in the most important way. She hadn't realized that it was all about her. Not about the astronauts or history or extreme possibilities. Not really. Annelle stopped fiddling with the fork and pushed her hair back from her face, closing her eyes for a moment as if gathering her strength. "I knew Alan Pendrell for five years. We went through the FBI academy together. He was the best friend I ever had." She looked down at her fingers, watched them twitch and twine on the table in front of her. "I thought I had time." Mulder didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure he could make any sound pass through his tight throat anyway. The arrival of Scully saved him from trying. Mulder saw her coming first, saw her eyebrow lift at the sight of Annelle Hollis sitting across the table from him. He could almost hear the arch remark buzzing through her head--leave you alone for two minutes, Mulder, and you're already hitting on other women? He gave a little shrug--imperceptible to all but her, he knew. She could read the smallest nuance of his body language, the slightest change in his tone of voice. He had always fancied himself a mystery, but he suspected that Scully had figured him out a long time ago. The fact that she was still hanging around was a testament to either her patience or her madness. Annelle Hollis rose as soon as she saw Scully. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully--I just wanted to--" She stopped, pressing her lips together. "You okay?" Scully nodded, frowning slightly. "I'm fine." Annelle moved so that Scully could take her seat. "I didn't want to interrupt--I just wanted to tell you that I was grateful you were there when Alan died. I know it...it m-made things easier for him." Scully looked down at the table. Mulder saw her eyes light on the keychain lying by her menu. Slowly, her fingers crept forward and closed around the trinket. "He was a good agent." "And a good friend. I just--I miss him. I guess I thought he'd always be around, you know?" Mulder nodded. Scully remained silent. "You never know how much of an impact one person will have on your life until he's gone and all you have left is a stupid bracelet and a lifetime of questions and regrets and things you left unsaid." Annelle shifted from one foot to the other, biting her lower lip. "After the funeral, his mother gave me something she said she'd found in Alan's coat pocket the night he died. She said he must have been planning to give it to me for my birthday next month--he hadn't had it wrapped yet." Mulder saw Scully's face turn pale, and he shifted forward automatically, stretching out his hand toward her. She gave him a warning look and a tiny shake of her head. He frowned, confused. "I didn't know he knew that opals are my favorites." She smiled slightly, holding out her right wrist. A slim gold band circled her wrist, studded by small opals. Fiery red streaks crisscrossed the moonlight pale stones, seeming to send off sparks. They reminded him of Scully, Mulder realized. Small, delicate, beautiful.... And then he knew. He looked up at Scully. He saw the confirmation in her haunted face before she turned and smiled up at Annelle. "Maybe he did know how you felt about him," she said softly. "Maybe that's what that bracelet was supposed to tell you." A single teardrop spilled down Annelle's cheek. "Maybe." She managed a watery smile. "Thank you, Agent Scully. I hope you feel better soon." She glanced at Mulder, her eyes dark with sympathy and understanding, and turned away. "That was for you," Mulder said as soon as Annelle was out of ear shot. Scully shrugged, fiddling with her keychain. "Maybe not. Opals were her favorite." Mulder nodded, watching the play of her delicate fingers on the gold-plated surface of the Apollo 11 keychain. He remembered her words tonight, words about duty and honor sacrifice. And he knew he couldn't leave it there. She had to know there was more. He reached out and closed his fingers over her hands, stilling her restless fingers. He gently took the keychain from her grasp, sliding his fingers over the eagle insignia. "When I was a kid, I remember watching a man walk on the moon. It..." He shook his head, trying to find the words. "It opened the world for me. What had been impossible was now reality. I never looked at the world the same way after that. And for years, that one moment in time was the most significant event in my life." He stopped and leaned forward, handing back the keychain. He studied her pale, composed face, wondering if she understood. She stared back at him for a long, thick moment, her eyes wide and shiny. Then, slowly, a tiny smile curved the corners of her mouth. "Thank you." She pocketed the keychain and picked up her menu. Mulder picked up his own menu and smiled. The End