Work Text:
Circa 1981
The bell rang shrilly over the crowds of students packed into the hallway. It was a small school, overflowing with students. Dana Scully shouldered her way through, not knowing anyone well enough to walk with.
Her father had only been stationed near Chicago a month ago, and it was already looking like they wouldn’t be there for much longer, making for an unfortunately fragmented senior year. She was attending the only catholic school that would take her at such last minute notice, right in the city.
She hurriedly sat down in English Lit, hoping to god they would be done with the poetry unit. Fortunately for her, Sister Evangeline was of the same mind. “We will be cutting our poetry unit short, and instead of reading our poetry aloud, we will be joining Sister Francisca’s first grade class as reading buddies.”
Forty-three minutes, Scully thought, smoothing the skirt of her uniform, I just have to last for forty-three minutes until Biology. How bad can it be? She ignored the visions of first grade demon-children dancing in her head.
As they filed into the cheery first grade classroom, Sister Francisca began pairing them off immediately. “Barry, you’ll join this young man. Marybeth, over here, you’ll be with Victoria. Teresa, you can go with… what’s your name, honey?”
Scully blinked as she realized the nun was talking to her. “Dana, ma’am. Dana Scully.”
“Dana! How nice to have you here! Teresa, you’ll read with Dana.”
Scully found herself looking down at a small girl whose dark hair hid her face. She seemed too tiny to be in first grade, positively drowning in her stiff uniform, and her hunched posture only diminished her. Despite being small for her own age, Scully felt gigantic next to the little girl, and feeling sorry for her, crouched down. She had never been great with little kids, having long since stopped rough-housing with her younger brothers, and felt a little uncertain approaching this quiet creature.
Down at the girl’s level, Scully realized that the girl was staring at her intently through her bangs with a very serious expression on her face. She felt as if she were about to be interrogated.
“I’m Dana,” she said, “what’s your name?” Still staring, the girl answered importantly, “Teresa Lisbon, but you can call me Reese.” Scully smiled inwardly, but kept her composure. “Alright, Reese. What book did you have in mind for us to read?”
Reese took one more long look at her, then took Scully by the hand. Scully found it oddly endearing, feeling as if she had earned the hard-won trust of this child, and allowed her to lead her to the classroom bookshelf.
They were soon settled comfortably in a corner with The Tale of Peter Rabbit, and Reese leaned against Scully’s knee and played with the edge of her skirt as she listened contemplatively to the story. Scully glanced up every so often, amused to see how Reese’s brow furrowed whenever Peter was in danger, then became placid again when all was well.
The teacher clapped her hands just as the bell rang, and Reese blinked her eyes as if a spell were lifted. Scully waited until she had stood, and then rose to her feet, once again towering over her. Reese looked up at her eyes and gave her a small smile. Scully smiled back.
Almost out of instinct, she offered her hand. It was a strange thing to do, but Reese shook her hand right away as if nothing could be more natural. With one last professional nod, Scully joined her classmates and exited the classroom.
A few weeks later, Captain Scully was reassigned, and his family went with him.
Circa 2015
Lisbon swore under her breath as she marched out of the Abbott’s office. She hadn’t seen Jane all morning, and he was supposed to have been in that meeting. It was just like being back in the CBI, the way he would disappear like this, except that in the Edgar J. Hoover FBI building, she didn’t know exactly where to look for him.
It took several inquiries before an agent whose name she couldn’t remember said she had seen him headed downstairs. After an increasingly frustrated search of the floors beneath them, Lisbon ended up in the basement.
Gazing around at the sagging shelves and dusty piles of boxes, Lisbon rolled her eyes. “Of course he would end up here.” She peered around a corner and spotted light coming from an open doorway. Turning the corner, she was greeted by the sight of Jane stretched out on an empty desk in an apparently abandoned office, napping.
She tapped on the door frame, and he raised his head, beaming when he saw it was her. She glared right back. “There was a meeting. You were supposed to be there.”
His smile didn’t falter for a second. “I needed some time to think, Lisbon. You can’t run a meeting with a distracted consultant.”
Lisbon sighed and decided not to push it. She stepped into the office, looking around her. The lights buzzed and flickered, and the dust was a thick carpet over everything. Besides the desk, and filing cabinets lining the walls, there was nothing else in the room.
“I don’t think this place has been cleaned since the 80’s,” Lisbon remarked, stifling a cough.
“2002, actually,” Jane replied, hopping off of the desk. Based on the files I found, the most recent information was from 2002. And you’ll never guess what they were investigating.”
Jane had a curious grin on his face. Lisbon had no idea what would give him that look. “Let’s see, people who evade prison and then get hired by the FBI?”
Jane was nearly bouncing on his heels. “Psychics, Lisbon! One of the cases was about a guy they actually thought was psychic. Even the FBI has its believers.”
Lisbon raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Psychics.”
“Here, Lisbon, read it if you don’t believe me.” Jane pointed to a drawer near his feet. “They’ve got all kinds of cases here. I think they were investigating whatever the government deemed ‘paranormal’.”
“Well,” Lisbon panned, “it’s too bad you weren’t here to set them right. You could have taken one look at their psychic and told him that his shoe size revealed what he dreamed about last night.” She walked around the desk and peered up at the grime-covered skylights. “Who worked here, anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” Jane said, stifling a yawn. “The only agent’s name I saw was Dana Scully. Probably Irish. Maybe even catholic, like you.”
“Dana Scully,” Lisbon murmured. “Why does that sound familiar?”
Jane had resumed his position, lying supine on the desk with his hands propped behind his head. Eyes closed, he replied, “It’s no one that’s ever worked at CBI. I would remember.”
Lisbon dropped into the dust-choked chair beside him and leaned back. “It’s too bad I don’t have your talent of remembering everyone you’ve ever shaken hands with.” “Dana Scully.”
For a fleeting moment, a vision of a tall girl in a kindergarten classroom floated behind her half-closed eyes.
“I’m sure I’ve shaken hands with a Dana Scully.”