Sure. Fine. Whatever. A Dana Scully Origin Story

Any Girl in this School

A hungry and anxious Dana was greeted at the front door by a pizza delivery boy whose face matched the double pepperoni pizza that her father had ordered.

"Thank you," She said as she exchanged the payment for their dinner.

She met her father on the living room couch, the tv was off, unlike every other home in San Diego. She and her father had sat down to discuss Pauline, her grades, how all of life can be likened unto that of their favorite book Moby Dick. Dana and her father had so much catching up to do. This was the first time since they moved to California that they had a spare hour to just themselves.

They opened up the box and were instantly greeted by the savory smell they both wished they could enjoy more often. "Don't tell mom we're eating in the living room." Her dad joked as he waited cordially for Dana to take the first bite. While her mom and dad may not have always gotten along, Bill Scully still opened every door for his wife, let her choose the music in the car, and had never taken a bite of food until she had done so.

"Dad," Dana said as she wrapped a straying string of cheese around her slice, "What exactly happened to Pauline? The news said she drowned and washed up on the beach. I just don't understand."

Her dad put his slice down on the lid of the box. "We don't know much yet. She was initially brought to the medical lab on base before the county authorities could retrieve her body. Our first thought was that she drowned in the ocean but the autopsy revealed more. She had in deed drowned, but there was no trace of sodium chloride in her lungs. In stead, we found 4 liters of water mixed with  incredible traces of strychnine."

Dana looked up to the ceiling as if the definition of strychnine was written above her. "That's a crystalline alkaloid, right? It's used as a pesticide, I think." The formula for the compound flashed in front of her blue eyes as she spoke.

"You're right, Starbuck," he looked over at his pizza like he could never stomach it again, "When our lab found what we did, we knew this was not a case for the military or the county. Her body and the case is in the custody of the FBI as of right now."

"Wow," Dana sunk back into the couch, raising another slice to her mouth, "That's really something. I hope they can find whoever did this to Pauline before they do it to someone else."

Her father looked over at her. "Do you think they'll strike again?"

"Hard to say, but Pauline was the quietest girl in school, besides me. She had no enemies. She was a good kid. One of the straightest in the school. It's like the crime was committed at random, Dad. I really, really, don't understand."

Her dad didn't have the heart to tell her that the last time Pauline was spotted was at a party that had been broken up by the police only the night before.

---

The next day was a regular morning of squealing alarm clocks, plaid uniform wrinkles, dirty socks, and sugar cereal. Oh, how she dreaded going to school that day. She knew that the whole school would be mourning the death of a girl that was as invisible as the dust in the hallways. She knew there would probably be an assembly in which they memorialized her. She knew that the seat next to her in math would be empty and that hurt her the most.

Just as she had suspected, upon arrival, the whole hallway was eerily quiet. People making soft and sad eye contact. You could look right into their poor, lost souls. Dana put her fingers on her cross necklace and did her best to not lock eyes with anyone.

As she continued to venture the hallway deep in thought, she heard a pair of footsteps that she knew all too well approaching her. She looked up at the sky as if to say, "Why God, why?"

She shuffled to her locker and hid her face inside hoping that the giant mass of muscle and dead brain cells wouldn't see her.

Just then a huge, white fist pounded against the neighboring locker right above her head, frightening her.

"Hey, babe." His deep voice echoed.

Dana bit her lip and closed her eyes. Why now? She thought to herself.

"Ford, I'm not your babe." She forcefully placed a few books in her locker, grabbed her copy of Animal Farm for Literature class, and slammed the door closed. She tried her hardest not to make eye contact with the broad-shouldered quarterback.

"You're mine until I say otherwise." He followed her.

"Ford, leave me alone." She kept walking, avoiding eye contact, holding her small book against her chest like a shield.

"Dana," he grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around. "Just hear me out. I miss you. Why can't you see that?"

"If you do miss me, you're missing me for all the wrong reasons." She broke away from his grasp.

"You know what, Dana, I could have any girl in this school and I chose you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" He confronted her with wide eyes.

"It meant something to me before I found out that you also chose Allison and Bernadette, and... Pauline." Her strong voice came to a meek halt.

They both stood in the dimly lit hallway, silent, glaring at each other.

"Dana-"

"Look, Ford, you said it yourself. You can have any girl in this school. So, why don't you go find another submissive mouse to do your homework and make out with on the weekends." She pivoted on the heel of her Mary Janes and walked toward the door, leaving a speechless Ford Cavanaugh in the hallway.

As Dana reached the front door tiny teardrops fell from her face. She thought nothing of wiping them away, but the memories and pain of her first love flooded her mind. She wondered for a moment if those tears were for herself or for Pauline.

Ford Cavanaugh was her first boyfriend, the first guy she had ever said "I love you" to, her first kiss, the first man to ever hit her, and the first boy to ever break her heart. He was many "firsts" for Dana, and it pierced her heart to know that she wasted a year of "firsts" on a guy like him. It hurt her to know that other girls like Allison, Bernadette, and even Pauline Simmons, especially Pauline, wasted some of the best months of their lives with the chauvinistic pig that was Ford Cavanaugh.