***The Furies Are Coming***
by Zoe Jasper
Feedback (good, bad, or ugly-- please!) to jaisenbe@mail.smith.edu
Distribution: please archive
Crossposting: only if you ask me nicely
Keywords: Scully/Other, slash; pre- XF
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content
Spoilers: one really teeny one for the movie...I dare ya to find it! And then there was one I just *knew* was a line from some episode or another, and then I finally realized it actually came from deejay's "The Road Not Taken!" So I am, technically, plaguerizing another author here, but if I admit it's not my reference it's okay, right? (or shall I footnote?)
Summary: a story taking place in Scully's youth (she's a senior in high school, so 18 years old-- *not* a minor!) that may shed a little light on why she's a bit... closed off (there are of course those that would use the term "ice queen"...not I).
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, they're mine. Scully, Mulder, Skinner, the Gunmen...huh? Oh, right. They're not mine. Sorry.
Many thanks, and virtual kisses, to Jenn T and Gitte, who could both easily make their livings off editing.


"Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."
--Macbeth, Act V scene 5


February 23, 1982 The Scully House Narragansett, RI

"Dana, we're supposed to be studying."

"Hmmm?" Dana Scully looked up from her momentary daydream with a crimson blush spreading across her face. "I'm sorry, Rachel, what did you say?"

"I said, are you ready to move on or do you want to go over this some more?" Dana wasn't even sure what book Rachel was holding; she knew they'd been studying for their French Lit midterm, but...dammit, she'd promised herself she wasn't going to do this anymore. She could just start staring at Rachel, and get so lost in the curve of her throat, a strand of almost-black hair falling across her eyes, and that one perfect little freckle on the edge of her cheekbone, that she completely forgot to remain in the world. It was starting to get her into serious trouble. This had to stop, and it had to stop now.

"I, uh... I'll be right back...I'm going to run to the bathroom, do you want anything from the kitchen?" Dana got up too quickly from the bed, stumbling slightly.

"No, I'm okay," Rachel shook her head crookedly at her disoriented friend, swallowing imperceptibly. It had not escaped her attention that Dana had developed a habit of turning nearly as red as her hair every time they were together lately. She just couldn't let herself believe it meant what she wanted it to mean.

Dana left the room quickly and locked herself in the hall bathroom, deeply grateful that no one else was home to watch her writhe in agony, or bang on the door to tell her she'd been too long. When exactly had she lost control of her feelings for Rachel? When had she *ever* lost control of her feelings, period? In the eight months her family had been in Rhode Island, Dana hadn't made very many friends-- she'd found that it definitely was not to her advantage to "act smart," and since she refused to dumb down her daily speech or pretend she didn't know the answer when she was called on, she just kept her head down most of the time and avoided confrontation. But Rachel was the antithesis of all that. She said that she and Dana were kindred spirits, but Dana knew she could never be so bold and brazen as Rachel, arguing with teachers in class, publicly defying the Church by volunteering at the Planned Parenthood clinic in Providence, vocally challenging those who berated her beliefs. She said what she had to say, and didn't give a damn what people thought or said about her behind her back. Oh, she was a spitfire all right. Dana really didn't know when the blaze of determination in her stubborn brown eyes had melded so completely with the sensual curve of her lower lip, which she unconsciously stuck out in a pout while concentrating deeply. She didn't know how to disentangle the heat that pooled in her stomach when those luscious lips smiled at her, from the way her heart throbbed when her friend quoted Whitman, or cummings, or Huges at just the right moment in another dull, listless English class. She'd fallen for Rachel's body and her spirit together, it was a package deal-- as much as Dana wished she could reduce it to something purely physical. A crush, after all, could be gotten over. But the searing heat that coursed through her veins right now was more, so much more than she knew what to do with. Dana Scully wasn't *about* feelings, she had no use for them and hadn't had much trouble keeping them in the guest house up till now. God, what would her parents think if they saw her drooling like this, and over a girl? They'd be so ashamed of her.

She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, staring herself down in the vanity mirror. She watched her blue eyes closely, looking for the portal through which her furious emotions would betray her. They simply would not stay at bay, but pounded against the backs of her eyes until some tiny tear allowed them to leak through, and shine on the cool of fresh air. She could not, would not allow that. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed both hands over her face, still dripping with cold water.

When she returned to her room, she was the composed Dana Katherine Scully again, straight A student and all-state track champion. She avoided making eye contact with Rachel by looking down at the book she held instead. At least that way she knew what they were studying.

"You okay?" Rachel asked innocently, a warm smile on her lips.

"Fine," Dana nodded impartially, sitting down on the opposite end of the bed.

After an hour of earnest studying, the two overachieving girls retreated to the den for a cold soda. Rachel laid herself out on the couch, on her stomach, leaning her cheek against her arm wearily.

"I think we've done enough for today, don't you?" she sighed as she reached over the edge of the couch to put her Coke down on the coffee table. Dana heard what she said, but it didn't register--what *did* was the glimpse down her friend's shirt as she leaned across her line of vision. It was the little shadow, the place where her bra cup pushed up against skin, that killed her. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that she had no breath to fuel her words. It was only a moment. She felt Rachel's eyes on her, though, and she knew this time she'd been caught. She looked back down at her own hands.

"Dana." Rachel tilted Dana's head up to hers with one finger, gently forcing her to make eye contact.

"No, don't," Dana said sharply, pulling her face away, too late to pretend she didn't feel the tingling in her skin where Rachel's finger had been, the betrayal in the air of the realness in that moment of transition. Her palms were slippery with sweat. Now they were Talking About It.

"Don't what?" Rachel asked, getting down off the couch to sit next to her friend. Her knee pressed slightly against Dana's thigh, causing the redhead's breath to catch audibly. "Don't notice the way you look at me?"

"I'm sorry," Dana mumbled, staring harder at her hands as her view of them began to blur.

"Did I ask for an apology?"

Rachel's long, artistic fingers closed over Dana's smaller ones; she felt the momentary jolt of electricity when a few hot tears splashed onto her hands. Dana's pulse pounded into her against any will she had to keep it quiet and still. Her body was betraying her, more and more as the moments passed. She looked up helplessly, her eyes now wide with the raw emotion she'd kept bottled up so long.

"What are you so afraid of?" Rachel whispered, pushing Dana's hair behind her ear in a gesture of tenderness.