Title:  She Never Really Left
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  the 'actual' and authorized sequel to 'If She Does Not
Return'.
Scully approaches a problem using the scientific method, but finds it
doesn't really apply.
Rating:  PG
Category:  Scully/other, MSR, H, A
Disclaimer:  Yeah, right . . .
Notes:  Brandon told me I could, so I did.  Thank you, Brandon!

She Never Really Left
by Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

First, for the record, it was all Mulder's fault.

I say that with complete impunity.  If the man had not brought up
the subject to begin with, none of the following events would have
occurred.  Cause and effect.  Knock down one domino in a line of a
thousand and, if properly placed, all 999 after it will follow suit to
the surface below.

Cause and effect.  One of the most simple of scientific principles.
Of course I was going to have to test the theory.  I wouldn't be
much of a scientist if I didn't test the theory, would I?

But framing the question is the hardest part of scientific inquiry.
And that's where I got lost.  Sort of.

I know I'm not making much sense and I'm not trying to be obtuse.
I really do want to understand and hopefully, explain to him the
cause and effects that lead me to asking out another person on a
date.  If I follow the causes through the course of effects, I think I
can explain this rationally, calmly, and with a minimum of
embarrassment.

Who the hell do I think I'm kidding?

OK, how did Mulder start all this?  An easy point to start.  I know
the exact moment, the exact location.  I even remember what he
was wearing, what I was wearing.  I remember the lighting, I
remember the smells, I remember the feelings I had at the exact
moment when Mulder drove me to hypothesis the impossible and
then to test the hypothesis.

It was the hospital in South Carolina.  Mulder was wearing a
gray-green hospital gown, which was way too short, but the
blankets on the hospital bed conveniently hid the resulting expanse
of his legs from the world.  I was wearing the same suit I'd had on
for over 48 hours at that point.  I'd put it on Friday morning,
knowing it was the last time I could wear it before I had to take it
to the cleaners.  After the events of Mulder's near drowning in the
Bermuda Triangle, I gave up any hope of having the sweat stains,
not to mention the saltwater stains removed from that very nice silk
blouse and crepe suit and gave the whole kit and kaboodle to St
Martin de Porres' Resale Shop.  Some homeless person has a really
nice Donna Karan compliments of me.

The lighting was low.  Mulder hates bright lights when he's waking
up from a light coma.  Concussed brain, saltwater in his lungs, one
cracked rib thanks to Frohike bashing him against the hull as we
dragged him out of the water.  So I made sure the overhead was off
and the bedside light was the only illumination in the room.

Mulder had just given me the best run down of a vibrant, pain and
concussion induced dream I've ever heard.  I wonder if his video
collection now includes 'Dorothy Does the Emerald City' because
he seemed to have a lot of references to the Wizard of Oz in this
dream of his.  Langly wanted the drugs he was on.  Skinner just
wanted to kick his ass.  They left us alone together.

And then came the moment.  The 'cause' that resulted in all this
effect.

Mulder told me he loved me.

Keep in mind, there is history here.  We joke, we tease.  Well,
Mulder jokes and teases.  I just try to drag his attention back to the
matter at hand when he gets that way.  'Marry me.'  'Shouldn't we
be picking out china patterns?'  But there is more to this history
than just teasing.  There's an aborted kiss in a half-lit hallway.  I'm
eating bee pollen these days as a preventative measure.

I know Mulder loves me.  I know I love him.  I just never think in
terms of the big L kind of love.  What we have is the 'I can't think
of doing all this without you by my side' kind of love.  I never
stopped to consider it might be the 'I'm in love with you and I want
to do something about it' kind of love.

Not until that moment.

My question was framed.  Mulder had told me he loved me.  Now,
he didn't seem upset when I didn't give him a direct reply.
Actually, I sort of blew him off with an 'oh brother'.  Secretly, I
was hoping that it was the concussion talking and he wouldn't
remember it when he _really_ woke up, grumpy, growling and
wanting to go home.

When he did wake up, he didn't mention it.  I searched his gaze a
couple of times and it was completely missing, that question.  That
'well, Scully, are you going to answer me or what?' question that I
see all the time when he gives me something that I can't possibly
accept and expects me to accept it.

So the ball was totally in my court.  There was no pressure coming
from Mulder.  Was his admission really just the drugs and the
bruised brain talking?

As I thought about it over the next few weeks, Mulder not
mentioning this confession of true love bothered me more than if
he'd hounded me for an answer on a daily basis.  It was as if he'd
said his peace, that was all he expected from it, and what I did or
said was totally unrelated.

Now, I can't say I have a lot of experience with romantic
relationship.  A couple of teenaged boys, one almost screw on prom
night, a year long relationship which might very well have been a
sad display of an Electra complex since it coincided perfectly with
my own Cold War I had with my father.  Oh, and then an promising
liaison with a liaison, a lobbyist on the Hill who I dropped like a hot
rock when I got partnered with the nut case in the basement.  I'm
not the type to turn to Dr. Ruth in these matters, but I dare say the
dear lady could tell me a thing or two.

All that said, I thought romantic relationships required _two_
people.  You could even go so far as to say they don't have to be of
the opposite sex, but most psychologists would tell you that a
healthy romantic relationship should involve another person.  But
here was Mulder, confessing his love and acting like that was all
that needed to be accomplished.

He was leaving it all up to me.  That made me happy and sad.
Happy that I was partnered with a man who obviously thought
enough of me to respect my opinion even over his own.  Happy that
the same man would trust me with his heart.

But alternately, I'm pretty sure there was a fair amount of defense
in that action.  Sure, he was leaving it up to me.  Because if he
pressed the matter, the risk of rejection skyrocketed to the moon
and beyond and our relationship, working, friendship or otherwise,
would be irreparable impaired.  Or at least, that's how I know he
thought of it.

So, in my heart of hearts, I knew the next move had to be up to me.
And likewise, I knew that it could make or break us on a thousand
levels.

My first thought, I'm ashamed to admit, was to simply ignore the
whole thing.  We have enough on our plate right now.  We're both
working our butts off trying to keep the X Files.  On the other
hand, AD Kersh, the bastard, is trying equally hard to get us to quit
or kill us off, and I don't think he really has a preference in that
area.  Top this with the fact that I am convinced that Skinner may
be having his own problems, tangent to but indirectly related to our
own.  Why in the name of God would I want to add more to this?

Because I was losing sleep over it, that's why.  When I lose sleep, I
get cranky.  Irritable.  And I want to make the problem causing my
loss of sleep go away.

I knew it all rested with me.  Once I knew where my heart was
headed, I could deal with Mulder's defenses and denials and
anything else that warped, Oxford educated brain could throw at
me.

But I didn't know my own heart.

It's the same problem with looking at those 'magic eye' pictures.  I
can't see them.  I mean, I understand perfectly the science behind
the illusion.  I dutifully hold the picture at the prescribe length and
stare the instructed amount of time and I even concentrate as hard
as I can to see the 'big picture'.  But it never comes into focus for
me.  Never.

I had spent so much time with Mulder over the last six years that I
felt like I was just staring at all the little pictures.  That no matter

how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself see the whole big picture.
I needed to make my eyesight fuzzy.  I needed to shift my focus.
And that's precisely what I was prepared to do.

Working at the FBI has it's decided advantages.  Oh, sure, we have
our fair share of 'Poindexters'.  Those guys who, like the old
'Mystery Date Game' are just a little too geeky, a little too
conceited, a little too 'not my type'.  Not that I've ever had a type.
But on the other hand, we tend to have more than our share of
really nice specimens of the human male strolling down the halls.
Intelligence, a given.  Commitment, by the bucketful.  Handsome... 
yes, even that.  I should know, I'm partnered with one of the best
of the above.

But I needed to test a theory.  I went about it in the usual manner.
I looked around the cafeteria one day for a 'test subject'.  A
control.  Someone to make a comparison with.

Looking back now, I see that I'm due in confession for what I was
doing.  Oh, not that I tromped on any of the big ten, really.  I mean
I didn't covet anybody's anything, I didn't kill, lie or steal to find a

guy.  I didn't take the Lord's name in vain.  And I had absolutely
NO plans for adultery, even if it looked like a good idea at the time.
Maybe I did bend sufficiently Honor thy Mother and Father because
I am positive that if Mom ever finds out what was going through
my mind, she'll kill me on the spot.  OK, and I did toy with a
couple of minds along the way, my two subjects.  Even if that one
didn't get laid down on Mt. Sinai, I'm pretty sure it's in there in the
sub text.

I was doing what any self-respecting sixteen year old girl gets to do
in the 10th grade, for heaven's sakes.  It had nothing to do with
making Mulder jealous.  I know better.  I've seen Mulder when he
should have killed me in a jealous rage and he didn't get jealous.
He got mad, a little.  But mostly, he got hurt.  And he blamed the
whole damned incident on his not getting me a desk.  Not that he's
stupid, but that was the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.

I don't know if he understands yet what I was doing at that time.
Breaking away, trying to find my limits.  Trying to find out how
strong that rope was I thought I'd been carrying around my neck.
What I figured out, and well before Ed was attempting to stuff me
in the furnace, was that the rope around my neck wasn't a teether
or a lead rope tied to a stake.  It was a guide rope, a safety.
Without it, I was going to lose my way and fall all the way to the
bottom.

So, I knew that if I approached the whole thing properly, this test,
this comparison, Mulder wouldn't even be that mad.  He wouldn't
get hurt.  I was staring at those stupid little pictures again.  The
whole picture still wasn't in focus.

I found my test subject.  That's still how I think of him.  Not that
he's not a perfectly nice person, not that he won't make a
wonderful boyfriend/husband/significant other for some lucky
woman other than me.  But I learned in anatomy not to get too
close to the dead frog on your tray.  Don't name him.  Don't
wonder what he did on his lilly pad before he ended up under your
knife.  It's callous, I know, but it's the only approach I understand.
I'm just not that good at this stuff, apparently.  All these things of
he heart.

So, I'll call him A for purposes of understanding.  It's better that
way.  Leads to less embarrassment all the way around.

A is nice.  He's on our pay level, not that it mattered, but I was
trying to make a comparison and I didn't want apples and oranges
getting in the way.  He works outside of VCS, so that was a bit of
problem, comparison speaking, but I had to over look that.  The
key factor in the choice, however was the knowledge that he wasn't
seeing anyone else at the moment and was known to go on 'dates'.
Single, one time, let's go out to dinner and the theater and I'll
promise to say 'hi' in the hall the next morning, dates.  Just what I
was looking for.

Before I made the first move, however, I needed to let Mulder
know what I was doing.  I couldn't tell him _all_ of it.  So I ended
up sort of asking his approval.  At the time, it sounded more like I
was asking one of my girlfriends what she thought of a guy in my
gym class.  It felt really strange.  But Mulder sat there, after the
shock was off his face, and calmly analysed my choice.  He agreed
that he was a good guy, or so he'd heard.  And he told me that
being outside of V CS was probably a good thing since most of the
people _in_ V CS were either nut cases or jerks.  Or both.  I should
have picked up on the fact that Mulder himself would fall in one of
those three categories.  Knowing Mulder, he probably figures he's
one of the 'both'.

Basically, after thirty minutes of deliberation, he told me if I 'had
the
hots for the guy' I should just ask him out.  That's how he said it,
even.  Mulder said he bet the guy even said yes.  And once again,
looking at those little tiny pictures all across the page, I happily ran

off, OK, walked slowly, to begin my experiment.

Dr. Paladorius, we're twins, separated at birth.  I dare to think we
even give the title 'mad scientists' a bad name.

A was a little shocked when I approached him.  He stammered, it
was really cute, and looked around the cafeteria as if he expected
Mulder to jump out from behind the soda machine and beat the
living crap out of him.  But after a minute or two, he calmed down
and started smiling and suggested dinner and a movie on Friday
night.  Knowing full well that we could be anywhere on Friday, but
it looked like we wouldn't be on a case, I agreed.   I suggested that
he pick me up at 7 and we'd go from there.  He calmly asked for
my address.

I couldn't give the guy my apartment number.  That's so silly, I
know, but that apartment is my refuge.  A refuge that has been
violated time and again by the likes of Eugene Tooms, Eddie von
Blundht, and, most notably, Duane Berry.  Even X and Jeremiah
Smith have shown up at my door.  I swear it's on some bathroom
wall in the Pentagon somewhere, 'For a good time, bust open this
door' with my address scrawled beneath it, but I have no control
over that.  This, I have control over.  So I don't give it out.  It's my

own little defense against the craziness.  Finally, I suggested that
we meet at the theater, the Multiplex on Tinley Circle at 7 sharp.
He looked at me like he thought it was a set up, but he finally
nodded and off we went.

We worked, side by side, Mulder and I until Friday.  We joked and
laughed and suddenly, it was time.  The hands on the clock arrived
at 5 and we both heaved a sigh.  Mine was relief.  I'm not quite
sure what Mulder was sighing about.  As I left our little office, he
tossed me a 'good bye' and a reasonable facsimile of a smile as I
left.

I went home, and prepared.  Should have worn a surgical scrubs
and my sneakers, that's my favorite 'experimentation' clothes.
Instead, I chose a black skirt and a this lacy blouse with a satin
camisole that I haven't worn since Tara gave it to me three years
ago for Christmas.  Black pumps and black hose.  I looked in the
mirror and for a second got the image that I was a big 'Black
widow' spider.  Almost changed into my red suit just to get that
thought out of my mind, but in the end, I stopped myself just in the
nick of time and checked my watch.  I had 35 minutes to make a 15
minute drive.

I couldn't stand the thought of sitting in the apartment, so I got in
the car and drove to the Multiplex.  Parked in the garage next door.
And sat.  And waited.  Mom always told me that I should never be
'too' eager for a date.  I should always be punctual, but not early.
Early was bad.  So I sat in the car.

While sitting in the car, that stupid set of little pictures all across
the
page started to coalesce into a larger, somewhat fuzzy picture.  I still

couldn't make out the picture, but the little pictures were not as
clear anymore.

I couldn't stop thinking about Mulder.  He hadn't said anything,
hadn't even made any 'nasty' little cracks or innuendos about my
'hot date'.  That bothered me.  I have come to count on Mulder's
little sexual jibes, and I figured I would be in for an earful after our
little discussion of A's various attributes.  I was waiting for at least
one comment about 'checking him out in the locker room' for me.

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

Sitting in the car, I realized, that was a symptom.  Mulder was
hiding from my date.  Hiding so deep he didn't even want to tease
me about it.  In my enthusiasm to experiment, to find my own heart,
I didn't notice that my test subjects, or at least one of them, was
suffering.

My stomach, usually found directly under my heart and lungs,
suddenly leapt into my throat.  I had to call Mulder.  I had to tell
him that this was just a . . . a what?  A game?  An experiment?  Oh,
brother, I wouldn't have to worry about my Mom killing me,
Mulder would do it for her.

I glanced at the clock on the dash and it was five minutes to 7.  I
had no time left and I had to go through with my plan.  Damn the
torpedoes, full speed ahead.

A was standing outside the building, looking for all the world just a
little shy and retiring.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  He was
wearing a leather jacket.  Not the dark brown, like Mulder's.  This
one was lighter.  More 'brown' brown.  But it was leather.

I had to go through with it.  I knew that.  But sitting next to a
leather jacket all night long was going to make this experiment
damned hard to complete.  I have a real hard time thinking when
I'm sitting next to a leather jacket.  I discovered that about two
minutes after Mulder showed up in his for the first time.

I walked up to A with a big smile on my face, at least I hoped.  He
sure smiled in return.  "So, what are we seeing?" I asked.  He
pointed to the poster on the outside wall of the building.

"How do you feel about 'Romeo and Juliet'?"

I knew nothing about the movie 'Shakespeare in Love' except that
it was a period piece and Blythe Danner's daughter was one of the
stars.  Since I do like Shakespeare and Romeo and Juliet was one of
my favorite plays in eighth grade, I told A I thought that was an
excellent idea.

I am so stupid.

It was a good movie.  But the final scene, where she's walking
alone on the sand . . . I'm sure A thinks I'm the worst kind of
romantic.  I was sobbing beside him.  It had nothing to do with the
movie.

The picture I'd been staring at came into focus at that very moment
and I knew it was a face and I knew whose face it was.  It was
Mulder.

I've walked that lonely stretch of sand, too many times.  I've shut
myself off and gone off to 'Virginia' without a fight.  But Mulder
was always there, waiting for me.  Watching out for me.  Giving me
space, to go or come back as I pleased.

That guide rope was awful loose at that moment.  But I figured I
could find my way back to him.

I managed to stop crying by the time the lights went up.  I knew I
was a sight, all blotchy cheeked and red eyed.  I excused myself to
the ladies room and tried my best at damage control.  When I got
out of there, finally, A was still standing by the posters, waiting for
me.

Nice guy.  Who could my mother hook him up with?  My cousin
Tracy?  My friend Kathy?  There had to be someone out there who
would fall head over heels for this guy.  It just wasn't me.

But I still had the rest of the experiment to go.

We went to dinner at one of the trendy little restaurants on Tinley
Circle.  Can't remember the name of the place, but it was quiet, and
the lights were low.  I could find it again, if I ever wanted to.

We chatted over dinner.  Memories of the Academy and old
instructors we'd shared, even though we went through in different
years.  He knew of Skinner and we got to swap a few war stories
about the AD's we knew.  Both of us decided Kersh was heading
the list of AD's likely to be shot by his own men in a raid.

Then we got to partners.  His partner is a guy, married, a couple of
kids.  A life that A would like to try, sometime.

What could I say about Mulder?  It felt odd, bad, to be talking
about him.  I didn't want to mix subjects, I didn't want to bring
Mulder on the date with me.  I changed the subject to football
teams.  I think A noticed, but he didn't say anything about it.

Dinner was over, and it was time to decide.  Did I take this
experiment to the next level, or stop while I was ahead?  The
decision was made before he helped me on with my coat.  We were
going our separate ways when we reached the parking lot.

He walked me to the car and had a funny sort of amused expression
on his face.

"So, as a control subject, how did I match up?"

I really hate red hair.  Even under those yellow parking lot lights
you can see me blush a mile away.  Rudolph the Red Nosed
Reindeer doesn't hold a candle to my cheeks when I'm
embarrassed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I assured him.  My voice
squeaked.  It hasn't done that in _years_.

"Dana, this was fun.  But please, don't keep up the charade for my
benefit."  And he chuckled.  At least I hope it was a chuckle.  I
hope he wasn't laughing at me.

"You did fine, wonderful, actually."  I had to admit it.  It was that,
or head straight for the nearest 24 hour confessional.

"But he won," he said with a knowing smile.

"Yeah.  He won."

"Are you planning on calling him, or just going over there?"

I shook my head.  "I need to sort some stuff out, first."

He nodded.  Then he reached out and touched my sleeve.  "Don't
wait too long.  Life is too short to waste it 'sorting stuff out'."

I had to ask.  "Is that experience talking?"

He nodded and the smile turned from knowing to sad.  "Yeah, it
is."

I felt like the lowest form of life on earth.

"I'm really sorry.  I never meant . . ."

He put his hand to my mouth to shut me up.  "Dana, this was a fun
evening.  I could never have gotten my partner to go with me to
that movie.  And my Mom lives in Iowa.  So I got to see a movie
that I've wanted to see for weeks and I got to have dinner with a
beautiful woman and maybe we can say 'hi' in the hallway like
we're more than just passing strangers.  I didn't go into this
expecting more than that.  I knew what it was from the time you
asked me.  I just hope it accomplished what you wanted it to."

"I'm sorry," I repeated.  I wanted to tell him that he was a great
guy, and if I'd met him six and a half years ago, I would be
following him to his apartment and making him eggs over easy in
the morning.  But I didn't, because all that sounded so very cliche,
even though it was totally and truly sincere.  Finally, I held out my
hand to shake his firmly.

"So, I get a good recommendation, if I ever need one?" he grinned.

"The best," I answered with a chuckle of my own.  "Thank you."  I
thought about reaching up and kissing his cheek, but that, too,
would have been cliche.  So I nodded awkwardly and got in my car.

His finger rapping on the window caught my attention and I rolled
it down so I could hear him.

"I meant what I said, Dana.  Don't make him wait too long."

"But how do I . . ."

He put his finger to my lips again.  "I've always thought that the
best way to apologize is to make them breakfast in the morning."
He waved and walked over to his car, never looking back.

I thought about going straight to Mulder's apartment, but
something stopped me.  I felt so foolish, so . . . evil.  I'd just spent

the evening toying with not one, but two men's emotions.  I did
something that I _hated_ in other girls in high school.  I felt like a
tramp, plain and simple.

I went to the Jefferson Memorial and walked to the bench.  Mulder
showed me this bench, years ago.  It became 'our' bench.  After
about a half an hour, I started hoping he'd just show up there, and I
would be saved the embarrassment of going to his apartment.

By four in the morning, I figured that wasn't going to happen.

What had I done?  How in the world did I make it right again?  I
knew all along that I loved Mulder, why couldn't I admit that to
myself?  Why did I have to play a stupid, childish game, even use
the pretense of 'science' to rationalize it, just to figure out what I
knew all along?  I learned something, though.  The scientific
method has no place in romance.

I was going to have to start listening to my heart.

At 4:15, I was seriously worrying about frost bite.  I hadn't brought
my hat and the wind was kicking up off the ice in the Tidal Basin.  I
got in my car and had another decision to make.

Before I knew it, I was crossing the bridge to Alexandria.  I was
outside of Mulder's apartment in minutes.  The windows were
completely black, which told me that the television wasn't on.

That worried me.  Had he gone off on a case without me?  Where
the hell would he have gone?  Did we pass on the bridge?  Was he
currently sitting on a just recently vacated bench, waiting for me to
show up as I had done for the last several hours?

I took the stairs instead of the elevator and let myself in.  The
fish tank light was enough illumination for me to see him, stretched
out on the sofa.

I don't want to think that the marks on his face were tear tracks,
and not creases from his pillow.

I thought about waking him up, but then I thought about the advice
I'd been given.

I went into the kitchen and started the coffee.  Mulder likes coffee
with his eggs over easy.

the end.

Vickie

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Man is a history making creature
who can neither repeat his past
nor leave it behind

W. H. Auden

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