Just Another Day | PG13 | Music of the Heart/The X Files
Title: Just Another Day
Prompt: violence
Fandom: Roberta/Scully, Music of the Heart/The X Files
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1047
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This was one of THE hardest freakin’ prompts to tackle. When I posed the challenge, I expected a few random, oddball pairings, but this was without a doubt the most difficult to come up with a feasible plot for. I heartily appreciated the challenge, though I have no idea if I accomplished what this prompt was asking for. I hope I did!
-
There are days, like today, when the harsh realities of inner city living make Roberta want to stay in bed with the sheets drawn over her head. She finds it hard to breathe on days like this when she arrives at the school and finds out that one of her current students (and three former students) were shot and killed in a playground three blocks from where she lives.
Her class is in a state of hysteric confusion. None of them are interested in practicing. Several of them are in tears. She has absolutely no idea how to reach out to them at a time like this. In the past when tragedies like this have occurred, some students requested to just play their violins. Others wanted to talk about what had happened.
Each time, Roberta’s taken the lead from her students. On this occasion, she has nothing to do but hold it together long enough to make it through the day.
Her phone rings and, glad for the distraction, and she answers it. Her “hello” is cracked with unshed emotion.
“There’s an FBI agent coming down to talk to your class,” Janet says.
“Are the FBI involved in the shooting?” Roberta asks quietly, her eyebrows raised. She turns her back to the class so they won’t see the expression of shock on her face.
“Not exactly. Just a woman speaking to classes about violence. She’ll answer questions and talk to them about gangs and then she’ll move on to the next class. I think it’s a decent idea.”
“Can’t hurt, can it?”
A knock sounds at the door and the students are abuzz with curiosity. “Showtime,” Roberts says into the phone, and she hangs up and opens the door.
A short woman with red hair and a crisp suit offers a restrained, sad smile. “I’m Dana Scully.”
“Roberta Guaspari. Please, come in.”
She shows the woman into the classroom and tries to smile apologetically for the thirteen wide eyes staring at her.
“Class, this is Agent Scully. She’s come to talk to us about…about what happened.”
“You can call me Dana,” she offers. “Why don’t we sit in a circle?” Taking the lead, Dana sits on the floor despite the film of dirt coating the tiles. Roberta sits next to her and watches as the students follow suit.
“What kind of agent are you?” asks Cristina, her fingers plucking at the hem of her shorts.
“I work with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Darius cocks his head to the side. “So like catching bad guys?”
Dana nods.
“Are you gonna catch who killed Mario?” wonders Kaye-Lani. Her large, almond eyes are glistening with tears and Roberta’s heart clenches tightly.
“I know that the local police are doing everything they can to find out who did this.”
“So why are you here if you’re not trying to catch the asshole?” Timothy asks, his handsome features marred with anger.
“Language, Tim,” Roberta snaps.
Dana smiles patiently. “For the past several years I’ve worked in a special department in the FBI. Until recently, the department has been shut down, and I’ve been reassigned. I’ve worked many cases in the field, dealing with a lot of different kinds of criminals. I’ve only recently been involved in gang violence.” She pauses, looking at each of the students in turn. “Today I’m here to answer questions that you may have and to talk to you about the importance of practicing safe behavior.”
Roberta listens as the agent talks, carefully and patiently answering the inquisitions of her students. She wishes that this type of talk would reach through to them. How can warning children about gangs actually prevent them from stumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time? Mario had simply been playing on the swings when gunfire broke out. His older sister and two friends were laughing on a jungle gym nearby. The only preventative measure that Roberta can distinguish would be to remain locked within their apartments like caged animals.
Hiding won’t eradicate gang violence.
It could have been any of them. It could have been Lexi or Nick. It could have been her.
Roberta fears for the children. She fears the pull that gang life might have on some of her students. She knows for a fact that one of her star violinists several years back pawned his violin for money to purchase a gun. He dropped out of school and was arrested for attempting to murder a rival gang member three months later.
She’s not naïve enough to assume that all underprivileged children from Harlem will become gang members, but she worries about the ones that will. She wants to save them from these horrors. She wants to protect them from the ugly truths that befall the young ones who feel they have no options.
The bell rings, alerting the students that their physical education period has arrived. They scramble to their feet and abruptly leave the room, not sparing a glance for the two adults still sitting on the floor.
“I don’t think I made much of a difference,” Dana says, standing. She holds out a hand and helps Roberta to her feet.
“It’s too fresh. I don’t know that they’ll feel better about it until they catch the kid responsible. If they catch him.”
Dana looks out the window, watching as the children run around on the pavement. “Cases involving children are the hardest,” she mentions absently.
“Have you had many?”
“Too many.”
“Do you have children of your own?”
Dana doesn’t answer. “I do hope I made some sort of difference today.”
This time Roberta is silent for several moments. “I appreciate you coming in to speak to us.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Dana heads for the door.
“You helped, whether it seems like it or not. Having it affect them like this and hearing ways to avoid becoming involved in it themselves…it has to help. I have to believe it helps.”
Dana smiles and leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Roberta leans back against the window before reaching for her violin that’s nestled within its case on top of a stool. She plays a long, slow note and waits for the vibrations to still in the air.
This is just another day in Harlem.
---