A/N: This is my first published fanfiction for The X-Files. I've been dabbling at writing the characters for the last few weeks, so I have an idea of how they feel and speak. Here's hoping I've done them justice! I hope to write a few more fanfictions-so long as my interest in piqued. And finally, I'll note that I'm writing more for myself than a designated audience, though I'm happy to share what I get down on the page. Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged! Otherwise, happy reading!

There had to be a better method of organizing over fifty years worth of cases. Digging through the X-Files was steadily becoming a worse experience than actually investigating an X-File. Scully leafed through the drawer, her fingers tapping against each file as rifled through them in search of a specific case. She turned back to the computer at Mulder's desk, rechecking the case number she was tracking down to ensure she had it memorized right.

X-File #15632395

She returned to the filing cabinet and slid her drawer halfway closed. The little reference cards pasted to the front of each drawer designated which cases could be found where. According to them, she was searching the right drawer. Sighing in aggravation, she forcefully pulled the drawer once again and continued to finger through the documents.

X-File #1563-

The rest of the file number was obscured by the darkness of the drawer. She pulled it out hastily, hoping she had finally found the elusive case file. Her look of triumph quickly collapsed into a surly frown as she read the rest of the reference number. Nope. Nonetheless, she flipped open the file. Maybe it had been listed with the wrong case number?

Crime scene photos. Autopsy reports. Material analyses. Medical records and PET scans. Follow-up reports signed off by herself and Mulder. She scanned the pages, but the action was unnecessary since she could recall the case in question based on the crime scene photos alone. Young African-American men found dead and depigmentized. Scully recalled the men had been paralyzed before having their pituitary glands removed; a rather gruesome means of death. Thankfully neither she nor Mulder were casualties in the case, though Mulder was nearly so. She flipped through the pages to find a medical report on the event of Mulder's paralysis and subsequent recovery. Each of the victims-dead and alive-had been paralyzed by a toxin present in a tiny thorn-like seed that originated from a rare species of West African passionflower. In minor doses, the toxin induced short-term full-body paralysis while in larger doses, the substance could be lethal. No matter the dose, medical professionals could not be sure of any long-term adverse effects of the toxin had they not known the source. Furthermore, they would not have been able to adequately counteract against the toxin due to its extreme rarity. Information on the passionflower had likely been the key factor to saving Mulder's life.

Scully read over the report on the material analysis-the one that had discovered the passionflower seed. Her eyes lit down the page and landed on the signature of the investigating agent.

S. Pendrell

It had been a long while since she had seen that name or thought of the deceased agent to whom it belonged. She lightly ran her fingers over the signature, suddenly feeling the weight of guilt. She should have had the heart to give Pendrell a thought once in a while or to learn his first name or to visit his grave. He was another tragic sacrifice in she and Mulder's ongoing search for the truth, and such sacrifices should be honored; not forgotten.

Scully looked back down at the report in front of her. What was the man's name? The guilt stung her. Just following his death, she had bemoaned the fact that she didn't know his name. Even after expression such a regret, though, she still had not taken the time to look it up. If she could be so fickle and flippant about a man's life-a fellow agent who she knew, no less-how many other sacrifices was she unwittingly overlooking? How many more would die for Mulder's truth? And would they all be swept under the carpet like Agent Pendrell?

Mulder suddenly strode through the open office door with a file in hand.

"Hey there, Scully," he greeted, removing his coat and hanging it up on a nearby coat rack. "Got a new case. How does the Pacific Ocean sound to you?" He flipped open the file in his hand. "There are reports in Santa Barbara, California of some kind of aquatic life form terrorizing fishermen and beach-goers alike. And I, for one, don't think it's Jaws." He stepped over to his projector to slip in a pre-prepared slide. A quick glance at Scully told him she wasn't paying attention, though. While she looked at Mulder, her mind was obviously elsewhere.

"Hey, uh...everything alright, Scully?" he asked, his brow creasing in worry. He set down his file and walked nearer to her.

"Do you remember Pendrell, Mulder?" she asked, X-File #15639278 still propped open in her hand.

"Yeah, of course," he affirmed, peering over her shoulder at the case file she held. She snapped it closed.

"I found a case he'd helped on us," she explained holding up the file and handing it off to him. "I hadn't realized you'd consulted with him on it." Mulder perused the document.

"Oh yeah, the Teliko," he nodded. "Pendrell discovered a passionflower seed during a materials analysis from one of the depigmentized victims."

"And it was that flower that created the toxin that paralyzed you and the other victims," Scully concluded. "If he hadn't found that seed, your doctors might not have been able to neutralize the effects of the toxin."

"I suppose your right," he admitted slowly. "But how'd you come upon this old file?"

"I was looking for a different case. I thought it might have been misplaced."

"And so you decided to go on a trip down memory lane?" he teased.

"I remembered the case," Scully insisted. "It's not every day you see grown men without any pigmentation whatsoever. I just hadn't expected to see Pendrell's name there." She looked thoughtful for a moment, remembering the young dark-haired agent and his constant need to please her. He almost reminded her of a puppy, loping around and wagging its tail to bring a smile to your face and gain some positive assurance. But Pendrell wasn't a puppy; he was a grown man, one dead because he happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. "You know I still don't know his first name, Mulder?" He rubbed the back of his neck, considering the question himself.

"I didn't see the guy quite as much as you, Scully, so I can't help you there." He set the file on the corner of his desk. "But he'd be listed in the database," he said, folding himself into his chair. He finagled around with the computer mouse and opened up a Bureau search page. Scully swept up the file and returned it to its place in the filing cabinet. She heard Mulder's fingers click across his keyboard as she shut the drawer.

"Any luck?" she asked, turning around to look at her partner.

"Yep," Mulder nodded, peering at Pendrell's old FBI photo and a brief listing of his career history. Scully leaned over Mulder's shoulder and looked at the young agent's face as he stared stone-faced into the camera, the customary FBI pose. Yet she had never seen him with that look before. He was always light-hearted, inquisitive, and well-wishing whenever she saw him. Not to mention quick to smile. And to think he was dead due to an ill-timed bullet seeking out a different target. And on her birthday of all days.

Scully recalled her last, short conversation with Pendrell in the bar. He was a little more than intoxicated, but giddy as a kid on Christmas morning to see Scully there. He knew immediately it was her birthday and was adamant to buy her a birthday drink. If only he hadn't-he might not have been in the way of the bullet. But then again-the man she had in custody to testify against the U.S. Government would probably have been killed. Pendrell's actions saved a man's life-and perhaps her own-but for what? The man he had saved was quickly put under military arrest. She and Mulder never found evidence verifying the presence of a UFO craft. His death felt like another in a long line of pointless sacrifices.

Scully's eyes flicked from Pendrell's picture to the listing of personal information situated next to it. Birth name, birthday, birth location, current residence, status. Large red letters spelled out "Deceased," with follow-up information concerning the time and manner of his death.

"Sean," she said aloud, feeling how the name fit on her tongue. "Sean Pendrell."

"Young kid," Mulder remarked, pointing at the screen. His eyes flashed from the computer screen's to meet hers. "You know he was interested in you?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "He always got so nervous around me, but there was a sincerity about him." Suddenly, Mulder chuckled.

"Actually, I remember one time I went to visit him. He was so put out you weren't there, so I told him you were on a date."

"I don't remember-" Scully began, thinking back.

"You weren't, Scully," he quickly amended. "You were performing an autopsy, but the guy just about hyperventilated at the thought of you out eating and drinking and dancing with a stranger."

"I guess he was really taken with me," she mused. "Did you know when he died he was getting me birthday drinks?" Mulder leaned back in his chair and looked up at his partner.

"No, I didn't," he remarked softly. She chuckled indignantly.

"And I told him not to die on me because we still had to celebrate." She crossed her arms and rested her hip against the corner of Mulder's desk, staring blankly at the ever-present "I Want To Believe" poster. She wanted to believe, no doubt; she wanted to believe that Sean Pendrell's death was not on her hands, as well as Melissa's death, Max Fenig's, and countless others. They died for some unattainable truth, but was it at the fault of Mulder and herself? Was it really a lone gunman that had killed Pendrell or had she killed him by digging into matters that were better left alone?

Mulder stared at his partner, slowly rocking his chair back and forth as he contemplated her and her predicament. He had been there innumerable times before, and he didn't like the look of the darkness settling in around his partner. Finally, he reached out a hand and laid it on her arm, tucking his fingers in so he could keep a suitable grip on her. Her eyes flashed to his.

"You're not to blame for Pendrell's death," he said simply.

"What if we are, Mulder?" she returned stonily. "Hell, I feel as if I'm the one that shot the gun that killed him."

"You weren't," he asserted. "Your case report and witness testimonies state that you yelled when you saw the gunman, warning people of the danger. Afterwards, you stemmed his wound and called for EMTs. There was nothing else you could have done." Scully threw her hands up in the air, and Mulder leaned back into his chair once more.

"Maybe I could have advised for him to leave. Maybe I could have insisted the he didn't buy me drinks."

"All things you can only decide on in hindsight, Scully," Mulder shook his head. "In the moment, you did what you could."

"But is this all we're going to do, Mulder?" she asked suddenly. "Send people to their deaths well before their time? And with nothing to show for it?"

"I hope not, Scully. I certainly don't want it that way." He sighed once and glanced over at his much-beloved poster. "I'm hoping that so long as we continue to search for the truth, it will be worth it. Because we don't let them bury us. We keep pressing on."

"You and I might have found truths, Mulder, but they're meaningless truths without an ounce of proof or verification." She looked over at the file cabinet beside her. "They exist as improbable theories and refutable evidence-as words on paper in the X-Files. Is that worth lives?"

"People would still die without our intervention," Mulder reasoned. "There have been a lot of deaths, but think of all the lives we've saved, as well."

"But innocents-Pendrell, my sister, your father-they shouldn't be effected by this." Mulder smiled sadly at her heartfelt response.

"They're all innocent, Scully. Everyone who dies; everyone we save. And that's the point." He paused to consider his next sentence. "We're all caught up in this. If they want someone to die, they die. If someone gets caught in the crossfire, it's just another casualty in the conspiracy of silence. The only chance of changing it lies in the truth. So-speaking for myself-I have to keep looking."

"Even at the cost?" Scully asked him seriously.

"The cost of human lives will always be high," he asserted.

"The personal costs?"

"What?" she shrugged. "My family? My career? Maybe you haven't noticed, but I don't have much of that to begin with, Scully." He smiled boyishly at his joke, but the levity didn't make its way to his eyes.

"If it's weighing on me, Mulder," Scully began, reassuming her position beside his desk, "it must weigh on you." The smile left his face, and he met his partner's gaze.

"Of course," he nodded. "I don't mean to say it doesn't hurt. This job; what we accomplish-or don't accomplish if you'd rather..." He trailed off for a brief moment, collecting his thoughts. "It's just with every stab of pain, I'm driven to pursue the truth even harder. To ensure it all has a point-the cover-ups, the deaths, the losses. The moment we stop looking for the truth, it all amounts to nothing, and I can't let that happen." Scully tore her eyes from Mulder and once again stared at their quintessential poster. Mulder once again reached out to her, this time lightly taking her by the hand.

"We owe it to them, Scully," he stated simply. "You can't celebrate your birthday with Pendrell anymore, but you can celebrate the man's life. Have a beer in his honor. Visit his grave. Uncover the truth and reject the lies on his behalf." Scully sighed and returned her gaze to her partner's. He retracted his hand, having gotten her attention. He could see the darkness around her begin to dissipate.

"I do want to visit his grave, Mulder," she finally said. "I need to apologize for going through life practically forgetting he was ever there."

"We'll go," Mulder nodded. "And you two can share that drink. We'll pour him a beer in memory."

Scully took a deep breath and nodded agreeably.

"I can't allow myself to forget them, Mulder," she said, as if to remind herself. Mulder leaned forward to look her in the eyes.

"So long as we fight, we won't."