NOTES: Written for a 'six degrees of fannish separation' challenge, where one character needs to be linked to another character via the 'six degrees' rule. In this case, it's Renee Walker & Severus Snape, with a walk through X-Files along the way...

The Red-Headed League

Renee joined the Red Headed League of America as a joke more than anything else.

The FBI Training Academy at Quantico had a chapter that met on the fourth Sunday afternoon of every month, and which Renee felt mostly involved redheads trying to pick up other redheads in order to have more redheaded children.

She did some networking while there, talked to others in the Quantico programs, and rather enjoyed it as a form of social engagement (to say nothing of sociological study of her fellow students).

And then, one Sunday afternoon she was on her way over to the building where the meetings were usually held, and nearly twisted her ankle taking a shortcut through the garden shrubbery. An unexpected rock turned under her foot and she stumbled into a woman already on the path.

"Sorry," she apologised as hands helped her up. "I shouldn't have taken the shortcut."

"It might have been wiser not to," said the woman who'd helped – perhaps ten years older with an ageless beauty to her face. And a redhead, too – although her eyes were a richer blue and her skin much creamier than Renee's. Her voice was rich and amused. "But that never stopped me when I studied here. How's the ankle?"

Renee put her weight on it and grimaced. It was sore, but she could walk on it. "It's okay. I think I just turned it."

"Do you need help getting to the League clubhouse? "

"No, thanks. It'll pass. You're a graduate?"

"Years ago. I work for the FBI now. Medical examiner. Well, mostly," the full lips twisted as though rueful. "You're in the FBI training program?"

"Yes. I'm hoping to specialise in counter-terrorist intelligence. Enemies foreign and domestic."

"That's high intensity work – gruelling, but satisfying, so I've heard."

Renee's ears pricked. Part of moving through the FBI was knowing or being known to the right people, and while she planned to stand out from the crowd, it would help to have contacts in the intelligence projects. "You know people in the counter-terrorism units?"

"We cross paths every now and then. Not always in the most conversant of circumstances." The woman's smile was wry. "How long before you grad— Oh..." She trailed off as something in her bag began buzzing – a pager. One glance at the display and she grimaced. "I'm going to have to desert you, I'm afraid."

"Work crisis?"

"You could say that. Enjoy your afternoon at the league."

Dana was fascinated by London – by the cars, by the prim neatness, by the subway, by the 'village feel' of it that somehow managed to also be a large city. The teeny-tiny apartment managed to sleep three people, plus her as a guest on the couch, and the patterns of noise were so different to anything she'd known in any of the towns her family had lived that the first night she'd variously been woken up by creaking pipes, some noisy revellers on their way home, a car backfiring as it chugged down the street, and a couple downstairs having a screaming argument.

"This is London," said Helen the next morning, cradling her cup of tea like it was the panacea to all ills. Maybe it was – Dana still went for the coffee. "You'll get used to it."

"Right before I go home, I expect."

"Probably." Helen buttered toast with a shrug. She was Melissa's age and had wanted nothing more than to get away from her family. Dana understood that sentiment, even if she didn't share it. London was rather too far for her, although Helen seemed to be loving the London life.

"You never know," Helen added. "Last summer, there was this day when there was a major costume party out on the streets. People everywhere in these brightly coloured gowns – even the guys. Probably Satanists on drugs, because they were nutso – babbling about some craftsperson and dark lore."

"Satanists?"

"Well, crazy people anyway. Who knows? This is London!"

It was certainly a very different life to the one Dana was used to.

She did all the sightseeing things: London Bridge and Westminster and a ferry down the Thames. Buckingham Palace was for tomorrow, as was the Royal Tower. And Helen was due to meet her after work, and she had time, so she went down to the pub in the street below the apartment and ordered a beer. It felt odd to be both carded and accepted – she'd never even tried to buy alcohol at home. But this was a vacation and things were different.

Dana sat back and watched the Londoners as they came and went. The old man with the splotched, leathery skin who sat in the corner and drank tankard after tankard of foamy beer. The middle-aged woman with the grocery bags, digging into her lunch. The skinny young man staring at her from the corner table.

A gaggle of students came in, laughing, chatting, arguing, and trailed out the back to the 'beer garden' – a small courtyard with a patch of scrubby grass, a few rickety tables in it, and some trees that looked rather the worse for wear.

When they passed, the skinny young man was still staring at her, tucking a strand of lank black hair behind his ear as he studied her.

Dana was used to attention from men and boys. Her hair and colouring made her distinctive, and it was common enough for men to assume that because she was 'pretty' she must want their attention.

She glared at him, as though daring him to keep staring, and after a moment he sniffed with his long beak of a nose and looked away, as though disdaining her.

But for the rest of the afternoon, he kept shooting her looks and scratching at the back of his head with an oversized pencil until Helen arrived and Dana had something to take her attention away.