by JulietttXF
JulietttXF@aol.com
 

Date: revised October 25, 1995)

Just a short.  This story may be the first of a series of "Academy Life"
stories, depending.  Through these stories I intend to give our heroes a
little background and some insight into what might or might not make them
tick.  We already know so much about Mulder; Scully is more of an enigma,
and what information we get about her usually comes through her interaction
with others, whereas Mulder tells us about himself more directly.  Thus,
Scully is more interesting to me as a character study.
 

Disclaimers: Sorry, folks, but this is a DS story; no Mulder (yet).  Soooo,
Dana Scully belongs to Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX
Broadcasting and the marvellous Gillian Anderson, and I am borrowing her
(Scully, I mean) without permission but no offense is intended.  Jack
Willis, who is briefly mentioned, also belongs to CC and the Crew.  All
other characters are of my own creation, as is this story.
 

********************************
"Academy Life" I (Scully)
by JulietttXF@aol.com
********************************
 

 That annoying sound again -- that disphonic, irritating ringing noise
jangling insistently in her ear.  She growled a little but it would not go
away.  Finally she rolled onto her right side and smacked at the top of the
alarm clock.  The horrific noise continued.  She growled louder but there
was no response.  Finally, she pushed herself up with a sigh and dragged
across the room to her roommate's bed and hit the alarm viciously.  At last.
Blissful, euphoric silence.  She stared at her roommate's bed.  Empty.  As
usual when she woke up, no matter how early.  She shook her head and slumped
back into bed for another forty-five minutes of sleep before she had to get
up for breakfast before their seven o'clock class.  Her last thought as she
slipped back into blissful unconsciousness was that Dana Scully would either
make top cadet of their class or kill herself trying.
 

*****
 

 "Hey, look at that."
 

 He shook his head.  "Scully."  His roommate shrugged as they stepped onto
the track and unzipped their warmup jackets, dropping them to the cinder
track and stretching for a moment before beginning their morning run.  After
a minute of stretching, carefully calculated to allow the female cadet to
catch up to them, they glanced at each other and set off, running loosely on
either side of her, their long legs easily keeping up with her much shorter
ones.
 

 "Morning, Scully."
 

 She nodded briefly.  "Morning, Peters," she responded.
 

 "Up early or did you never get to bed last night, Scully?" asked Watterson.
He was rewarded with the clenching of her jaw, her unspoken response to the
double entendre and mockery in his words and tone.  He knew that if she had
been up all night she had been studying, and his comment was carefully
worded to remind her of the fact that he knew and considered her a social
failure.  She had idly considered in the past showing up late to class once
-- just once -- and letting them all believe what they would about her.  It
would almost be better than having them call her The Ice Maiden.  Almost.
She increased her stride.
 

 "Aw, come on, Watterson -- you know Willis is out of town."  She gritted
her teeth.  So it had not escaped their notice that Instructor Willis was
interested in her?  It had not escaped hers, either.  But she was determined
to do this on her own, as she had so many other things.  Sure, he was cute,
and had he been anything but her Procedures instructor she might have
considered going out with him -- sometime.  Not now.  She wouldn't allow
anything to distract her.  And this, she knew, is what so infuriated Peters
and Watterson.  Both of them had hit on her before, as had most of the men
in their class.  This in itself was not so unusual; women in the Academy
were outnumbered ten to one, and their hectic training schedule all but
assured the impossibility of outside dating.  Thus there were brief and
not-so-brief affairs among students and, occasionally, instructors and
students as well.
 

 What *was* unusual was that although she had had enough offers to fill up
her calendar for weeks in advance she had turned down every single one of
them.  At first the other students had assumed that she had a steady at
home.  She wished now that she had capitalized on this.  But as the weeks
turned into months and it was evident that she spent more off weekends at
the Academy than she went home, although her parents' house was less than a
day's drive, it became clear to the rest of the class that Cadet Scully was
a bird of an entirely new feather.
 

 Mornings she spent on the track or in the weight room.  She was small, much
smaller than even the other women in the program.  She always set out from
her dormitory room at a run that took her past the firing range.  If Jerry,
the keeper in charge of the ballistics equipment, managed to beat her there,
she would put in some weapons practice, using not only her own firearm, but
every gun available to her.  She also made him time her while she
disassembled and cleaned and reassembled and loaded her gun, both using the
speed loader clips and manually.  She knew that someday her own life -- and
that of her partner -- might depend on her speed and accuracy with her
weapon, and she was determined not to let herself down.
 

 If Jerry were not there yet she would head for the track or the weight room
for an hour before returning to the firing range.  Thus she learned to fire
her weapon under different circumstances: rested, her mind still slightly
befuddled by sleep, alert, her heart racing from her workout.
 

 After this she jogged back to the dorm, giving herself time to cool down as
she walked the steps back up to her room and hit the showers.  Sometimes she
would use the time she spent bathing to allow her mind to rest.  Sometimes
she mentally reviewed the day's assignments or planned her schedule.
 

 Then she would change and dash off to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast
before class.  Once she had had to miss breakfast and had been alarmed to
discover herself growing faint in class.  Fortunately for her it had been
her Procedures class and not self-defense or anything physical, or she
certainly would have fainted.  That, Dana Scully reminded herself firmly,
would not do at all.  The instructor of the course, Jack Willis, had noticed
her pale face and had kindly waited until after class to catch up with her
in the hallway and ask her what was wrong.  When he finally wrung from her
that she had overslept slightly and, instead of sacrificing her workout, had
skipped breakfast, he had lectured her -- briefly -- on the importance of
eating well and had handed her a package of peanut butter and crackers which
he kept in his briefcase.  She later learned that he was diabetic.  And, of
course, she had known not to skip meals -- after all, she *had* spent three
years in medical school.  But she had the tendency, inherited from both her
parents, to believe that she could handle anything.
 

 She was wondering at the moment just how to handle Peters and Watterson,
who were really beginning to get on her nerves.  She had finished her run
and needed to head to the firing range for a few minutes before showering.
She finished her circuit of of the track and headed off, bumping into Peters
as she did so.
 

 "Hey, watch it," he warned.
 

 "Where ya going, Scully?" Watterson asked mockingly.  She simply gathered
her towel and water bottle and headed for the firing range at an easy,
loping pace.  The stared after her, then grinned at each other and followed.
She tried to ignore them but didn't quite succeed.
 

 She entered the firing range and smiled at Jerry, who gave her an answering
grin.  He took in the two much larger male cadets trailing her but did not
acknowledge them.  "What'll it be today, Scully?" he asked.
 

 "The Sig, Jerry," she responded calmly.  She really felt the need for one
of the larger calibre pistols, knowing she would enjoy the release the more
powerful kick gave her.  But she was more accurate with her own weapon.  He
nodded and retrieved it for her, pushing it and a pair of earphones and
protective goggles across the counter to her.  She signed the log and
stepped into the third booth.  Her lucky booth.  She glanced over at the
desk.  Peters and Watterson signed out protective equipment but no weapons.
So they wanted to watch her, eh?  She would give them a show.  She
registered the fact that the two men were taking up positions just slightly
behind and to either side of her.  Then she managed to block them out and
concentrate on the target at the end of her lane, the dark blue silhouette
of a man facing her.  She took a deep breath and slapped in the clip,
gripped the pistol in both hands, and paused again, feeling her heartbeat.
She considered for a moment, then smiled slightly, raised the gun, sighted
through it, and quickly fired seven rounds into the target's forehead.  Then
she lowered the nose of the gun and fired the remaining six rounds into the
groin area of the target.  Then she stepped back, removed her earphones, and
grinned.  There was a muted whirring sound and the target came racing
towards her.  She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced
back at Jerry, who now stood at her left shoulder.  He reached over her to
examine the target.  Seven shots were clustered in the center of the
forehead and six more formed a tight circle at the crotch.
 

 "So how'd I do, Jerry?" she asked calmly.
 

 "Hmm.  A little off today, Scully," he said with a grin.
 

 "Hm.  I think you're right, Jerry," she agreed.  "Want to set me up again?"
The two male cadets vanished like ghosts.  She waited until she was certain
they were gone and turned to Jerry.  "Thanks a lot," she said softly.
 

 "No problem, Dana.  Not that you couldn't handle them on your own," he
chuckled.
 

 "Oh, yeah.  But I'd probably get kicked out of the Academy if I shot them,"
she laughed back.
 

 "Probably.  You really want another go-round?"
 

 "Nah," she said, surrendering her gun.  "Think I'll treat myself to a
longer shower today."  She waved at him and headed off at a jog.
 

 He watched her go and shook his head.  He had seen other cadets come
through the Academy with similar determination, but very few.  And generally
wound up one of two ways: the majority of them burned out and had to quit
before graduation.  The remainder went on to have stellar careers in their
chosen fields.  Several of them were already section chiefs, and he had only
been working the firing range for a decade.  Silently he hoped Cadet Scully
would be one of the latter group.
 

 Somehow, he had a feeling about her.
 

*End*
 

Sooo, what do you think?  More, or not?  Let me know. . . .
 

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