From: Jori Date: Sat, 30 Oct 1999 19:29:19 -0400 Subject: xfc: Calendar Girl: Heart if the Matter 1 of 2 by Jori NC-17/MSR Source: xfc Reply To: damienma@bellsouth.net From: Jori Title: Calendar Girl: Heart of the Matter 1 of 2 Author: Jori Rating: NC-17 Summary: On Halloween night, Mulder and Scully investigate an unusual occurrence in an empty house. This is set right before the events of Biogenesis so I made it light and angst free. I'm sure we will all get enough of that in the coming weeks. Category: SR Keywords: MSR Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1012 and FOX Spoilers: The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas, FTF Archive: Yes, of course!! Author's Notes: Yes. I finally have to acknowledge that the events of Biogenesis are going to have to be dealt with. Next holiday. By then I will know whether this little Calendar relationship continues or whether Scully is going to wrap the blue lights from the first story around Mulder's neck and pull really tight. A big thank you goes out to Mojo, the bestest story Ebert in the land. And to Paige for her continual countdown to Halloween. I swear she must have that spooky 'Halloween' music playing behind her or something. The haunted house story represented here was found somewhere on the web, but I embellished it of course! All previous Calendar Girl stories can be found at: http://www.netroenterprises.com/stories **************** October 31, 1999 Alexandria, Virginia 9:21 p.m. Scully raps on the fogged-over car window and she only comes into view clearly as I roll it down. As soon as it is down, she steps back and crosses her arms across her chest. With that look on her face, if she added some of that cold cream of hers and a pointy hat, she'd give Margaret Hamilton a run for her money. "What are you doing here, Mulder?" she asks me, her eyebrow raised into its standard position. She rocks forward once, bounces on her toes and finally looks down at me. I called her half an hour ago and asked her to meet me here for an important matter. I'm really surprised she showed up at all. No I'm not. No matter how much she protests, she always shows up. "The question you really should be asking is what are *we* doing out here, Scully. Come on. It is getting cold out there. Get in the car," I tell her and she goes around the front of the car and gets in. "You aren't going to steal my car keys this time, are you?" she asks as she slams the door shut. I watch as she crams her keys way down into the pocket of her black jeans. "I assumed by now that you would want to be with me," I say, a little disappointed that she would suggest otherwise. I know we weren't lovers the last time I took her out ghost hunting, but it was what? Only about 24 hours later . . . "Mulder, I left behind a big bowl of candy I needed to hand out and an evening of watching Jamie Lee Curtis screaming her head off because I would want to be here with you to do what? Stare at some old house that in five seconds you are going to tell me is haunted?" she says, her voice rising in pitch the longer her speech goes on. "It *is* haunted," I say. "I'm sorry. Did I say five seconds? I meant three. Mulder, spending a night watching some old abandoned house is not what comes to my mind first when I think of being with you," she says, as she tries to look out at the house. I switch on the wipers to clear the dampness from the windshield. It is foggy and wet and cold tonight. Perfect for Halloween. The only thing missing is the full moon. "That's good, because we won't be staring at it for long," I say, pulling out a set of keys. "The realtor didn't mind if I left a substantial deposit and took these so I could think it over for the night. She said most people change their minds by morning." "I'm going home," she says, and I lock all the doors from my side. "What are you? Ted Bundy? Come on, Mulder. Let me go home. You come home with me. We can sit and eat Snickers and watch bad movies and later . . ." "Nope. This is better. Come on, Scully. It will be fun," I plead. She looks out the window, her face twisting through a variety of expressions. "What is the story?" she asks, looking at me. "Story?" I ask. "All good haunted houses have a story behind them. Give it to me, Mulder," she says as she turns away from me and leans back into her seat, acting like I'm about to give a performance. "Just before midnight one October evening, the couple who just moved here noticed a pulsating noise, like that of a heart, in what was their den. They tried to tape the noise, but it was reproduced as merely static. . ." "Perhaps it was a slow leak in the pipes or an electrical surge from an outlet that had been covered in remodeling . . ." she starts to say, but I put up a finger to silence her. "Always jumping in there with that rational explanation, aren't you, Scully? As I was about to say, plumbers and electricians were brought in to check for structural problems in the house, but none were found. The family cat arched its back and hissed whenever it came into the den. One would assume everybody would consider them nuts, right?" I ask, and Scully nods her head without a moment's thought. "But the couple confirmed that they weren't hearing things when their friends also admitted to hearing the strange and eerie noise." "So, why did they stay?" she asks, looking at me again. "Even if it isn't really all that 'eerie' it would still be living with a Chinese water torture experiment going on constantly. And if the noises were spectral in nature, where is the ghost story? Where is the tale of the star-crossed lovers who hung themselves from the rafters? Where is the legend of the young girl who's pirate lover died at sea, leaving her to walk the ocean shore . . . " "We aren't that close to the ocean . . ." ". . . for all eternity. Come on Mulder. Noises in the den? Didn't your house have strange noises emanating from the den . . ." ". . . only when my father was around . . ." ". . . or from some other room in the house? It just isn't all that scary. So, what made them move? Foreclosure?" she asks, looking at all the other austere houses in the neighborhood. "When the noise moved into the bedroom, they moved out of the house. That was the last straw. I guess they couldn't enjoy any nookie when the house was throbbing more than they were," I say, and her expression changes from her normal 'you are crazy, Mulder' look to 'not only are you crazy, you are also an ass' expression. She reaches over me, unlocks her door from my side and grabs the keys out of my hand. Within a matter of seconds she is out the door and going up the walk toward the house. I get out but don't go to follow her just yet. I'm sure she is expecting me to call her back. Not a chance. "So, are you coming, or are you just going to stand there all night?" she asks, turning around to look at me. "Hold on. Let me get our gear," I tell her as I slam the driver's side door. ************************ "What is all that for?" Scully asks, pointing at the duffel bags I just dragged in. I shine the flashlight at the bag and then at her. "Some supplies for the night. The realtor said the water was still turned on, but the electricity was turned off, which is good because then you can't blame any noises we might hear on that. And I have the certification that the plumbing was free of any leaks right here," I say, pulling a sheet of paper out of one of the bags. She glances at it before handing it back to me. Scully walks over to the switch and turns on the lights in the room. "I guess they were wrong about the electricity." "I guess they were," I say, shutting off the flashlight. That certainly kills the haunted house atmosphere. I didn't even think to check. How many dark rooms have we walked into before and she didn't think to run over and flip the switch? "I will have to go home at some point. I don't have any clothes with me and tomorrow is Monday . . ." "All taken care of. Skinner called me earlier this evening asking that we be in the office early. Something about a murdered African college professor. Anyway, I packed a suit you had left at my place plus any toiletries you had there, so you should be set," I explain, and she continues to stare at the bags. "A hair dryer?" "Yep," I answer, not giving her one excuse to bolt from here. "So, what is taking up the other one and three quarters space in those bags?" she asks, crossing her arms against the chill and looking around the house. Since it is up for sale, it is in much better repair than the last haunted house we visited. Actually, it is down right wonderful inside. "Stuff," I say, not wanting to explain it all yet. "Stuff?" she asks, and I still don't offer any explanations so she leaves the main room and walks around. "What do you think?" I ask her as she stands in front of a built in stone fireplace, staring up at the huge mirror that occupies the mantle. "It's nice. I'm definitely putting foreclosure on the top of the list of why they finally left," she says, watching me walk toward her in the reflection. "You didn't happen to bring any logs, did you?" "I'll keep you warm," I whisper into her ear as I wrap my arms around her. "That will be good for about fifteen minutes," she says, wiggling out of my arms. "So, what are we going to do? Sit and listen for a reverberating noise? You certainly know how to show a girl a good time. Did you happen to bring any candy?" Scully is looking through the arched entrance back at the bags. What kind of host does she take me for? Of course I brought candy. I unizip one of the bags and dig through it until I find a plastic bag of candies. I hold it up for her to inspect and she glares at me. "Dum Dums, Smarties and Bazooka gum does not count as candy, Mulder. At least not if you are over the age of three. Kids don't even want to get those for Halloween," she says, snubbing my candy as she turns back to the room with the fireplace. Before she can make it more than ten steps, the doorbell rings and we both jump. Instead of a normal *bing bong* sound, it fills the room with a noise that sounds like a pipe organ gone bad. We both move hesitantly to the front door. She's probably hoping for late night trick or treaters so she can dump the candy that doesn't count on them. Instead, we open the door to find an adult couple standing there. "Hi! I'm Maddie and this is Dick. We're the Ushers. We thought we'd drop by and see our new prospective neighbors," this short, rotund woman says happily as she tries to peer around the two of us. Her husband is extremely tall and lanky and looks quite disinterested. "And you are the . . .?" "Mulders." "Scullys." Maddie Usher looks at us in an odd manner as we both offer a different name at the same time. "We are the Mulder-Scullys," I say. "Or the Scully-Mulders," Scully says, and I'm not sure why we are offering this woman any explanation or even trying to lead them to believe we are married at all. "It doesn't matter. I'm Dana and this is Fox." "How sweet! Are you newlyweds?" she asks, looking down at Scully's hand. Of course there is no fancy diamond ring there and Scully quickly tucks her hands into her pockets. "Us? Oh no. We've been together for how long now, pumpkin lover?" I ask Scully as I pull her close to me. "Too long, pookie face," she says. Mr. Usher still says nothing. "Well, we really hope you consider staying here in our lovely neighborhood. And if you heard anything about this house . . ." she starts to say, but I cut her off. "Heard what?" I ask, curious as to whether these were the neighbors who also heard the sound. "Nothing. Heard nothing. It is a great house. A young couple like you would be perfect for it. Lots of room to grow, if you know what I mean," Mrs. Usher says, giving me a wink. "Don't you think so, Dick?" "Yep. Perfect," Mr. Usher mutters for the first time. "Thank you so much for dropping by. We love it so far," Scully says, graciously trying to get rid of them. She keeps inching the door a little more closed with each second. "Oh, Dick! Don't forget to give them their Halloween candy," Mrs. Usher says, and her husband hands Scully a box wrapped in gold foil and tied with a ribbon. "Thank you very much . . ." she starts to say. "Now remember, if you need anything . . . anything at all, we are right up the street," Mrs. Usher says as Scully nods and shuts the door. She turns and heads back to the room with the fireplace, the box of candy in her hands. "Well, they were certainly . . ." "Godiva!" Scully exclaims as she gets the wrapping off the package. Damn show-off neighbors. "And don't you even think about touching these. You just eat your Sweet Tarts." "I plan to. But the neighbors were certainly strange. A little over eager for us to move in here," I say, as I watch her pop a chocolate confection into her mouth. Her face twists through several visages of sugar laden rapture as she enjoys what appears to be some kind of truffle. "Mmmm," she says, looking down into the box at the remaining lumps of chocolate. "You know, that is what you look like when you come," I say, and the look she gives me makes me realize a that I am a dead man. "Well, it has got to be better than what you look like when you come," she says back to me. She now has one hand on her hip while the other one holds on tight to the box of candy. "And what do I look like?" I ask her. But before she can answer, it starts. *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* ************************* I shine the flashlight around the dusty attic looking for an immediate answer to what is causing that noise. "You think they would have wired the attic for electricity," Scully mutters as she trips over something on the floor. "Look at all this room." The attic is large and I'm surprised that in all these years, some teen aged kid didn't turn it into their own 'pad.' Of course, maybe that thumping has been going on for years, and no one wanted to live up here. "I think this is right over the den," I say, casting the beam of light down. That shows nothing but the wooden planks making up the floor. And upon looking up, there is nothing but rafters. "Are there any vents that could be flapping in the breeze? Perhaps an attic fan?" Scully asks, and I shine the light around. "No. None that I can see," I say, as I shine the light all around and then stop on her face. "You scared?" "No. Are you?" she asks, still looking around for a nice, simple rational explanation. And as quickly as it started, the *thump-thump* stops. "How about now? You scared now?" I ask and she just rolls her eyes at me. "I'm not spending the night here to prove that this noise is being created by bats in someone's belfry -- most likely yours . . ." "Are you saying I'm crazy, because you heard it too and you know it," I say as I follow her to the narrow stairway and we descend back into the main house. I shut the door leading to the attic and lock it. "I'm just saying there's an explanation for this. There always is," she says, pulling her car keys out of her pocket. "Mulder, I'm going home." "Come on, Scully. I didn't even show you your costume yet," I say and that stops her in her tracks. "Costume? You have got to be kidding," but before I can answer, the doorbell grinds out another call to us. This time when we open the door, we find two couples standing there, looking overly eager to welcome us. I haven't seen such a friendly bunch since our little stay on top of the garbage dump. "Hi! I'm Marissa Dupin and this is my husband, Charlie. And this is Bill and Ellen Legrand," an attractive but all too suburban woman says, pointing the people out as she goes. She is dressed in chambray and khaki and her hair is that perfect shade of blond that can only be achieved by visiting someone other than Miss Clairol. "We just wanted to see how your stay was going and if you needed anything. This is a great neighborhood! I'm sure you will love it here." Bill and Ellen stand back a little behind the Dupins, not looking like they care too much to be part of the welcome wagon. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dupin . . ." Scully starts to say before the effervescent bubble standing outside the door pops. "Call me Marissa, please! And I didn't catch your names . . ." "I'm Mulder. This is Scully," I say, leaving a puzzled look on Marissa's face. "But you can call her Dana." Scully elbows me in the ribs ever so slightly while maintaining a perfect smile for all the neighbors to see. "Anything going on?" Bill Legrand asks, trying to look past us into the house. "Anything like what, Bill?" I ask, and I watch as his wife elbows him in the ribs. "Oh, nothing," he mumbles as he rubs the spot his wife just jabbed him in. "What Bill means is sometimes the neighborhood kids get a little rowdy on Halloween. We hope nobody has bothered you yet this evening," Ellen Legrand explains, as she looks around. There isn't a single kid on the street. Not one late trick or treater to be found. I'm sure this neighborhood finished with their Halloween festivities last night at eight o'clock. "Plus we wanted to stop by and welcome you to the neighborhood," Charlie Dupin says, as he puts his hands on his petite wife's shoulders. "We didn't buy it yet," Scully says, looking up at me. I'm not going to explain to these people that we are never going to buy this house. That I'm just here because of a story I had heard. "So, what do you all do?" Marissa asks, probably checking out whether we can afford to live in their neighborhood. "She's a doctor," I say as I avoid adding FBI agent. "And he's an astronomer," Scully says, trying to conceal a little smile. "Oh! You are one of those people who do those charts . . . star charts of sorts," Marissa says and I see her neighbors roll their eyes slightly. "Yeah. Something like that. Well, it has been nice meeting you all and I hope we get to meet again soon," I say, trying to use Scully's subtle maneuvers of closing the door on someone's face. It doesn't work. Marissa just holds the door open. "We have to give you your gift! Bill, did you bring it?" Marissa asks, and Bill Legrand hands Scully our second gold foil package for the night. Before she can make a comment, it starts again. *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* The neighbors all stand there motionless, waiting for our response. We don't give them one, but they certainly give us one. All of their eyes are as wide as saucers, and Marissa's mouth is hanging open but nothing is coming out for a change. "Thank you so much for the nice gift," Scully says, as if that pulsating noise isn't moving through the house and out the door. She looks at them with a smile, ignoring the noise with ease. They aren't as good at ignoring it. "Well . . . yes. Um, we hope . . . you enjoy the house. It *is* really a nice . . . house," Marissa mumbles as she backs away from the door. "Beautiful house," Ellen and Bill say at the same time. "Isn't it? I fall in love with it more with every beat of my heart," I say, leaving the welcoming committee stunned. "Thank you for stopping by." With that, I finally shut the door. "What in the hell is that?" Scully and I say at the same time as we turn to look at each other. I go to one of the duffel bags and pull out some recording equipment the boys lent me. It is supposed to pick up anything, they assured me. We'll just see if they are right. I stick the microphone to where I think the sound is coming from and hold it there for several minutes. And once again, as easily as the sound started, it stops again. But this time I have it on tape. Or at least I think I do. Upon hitting playback, there is nothing there. Not a damn thing. "Equipment failure?" Scully asks, as she pops another chocolate in her mouth. "It worked a few hours ago," I say, as I attempt to take apart the recorder to see what is wrong. "Come on, Mulder. Even if you can record it, what is that going to prove? You won't know what is causing it," Scully says. "Okay. Well, what do you think it is?" I ask her, waiting for her strictly rational answer. "Perhaps bats, like I said earlier. Or maybe there is a bird's nest in the eaves. Or perhaps it is even hamsters. Maybe someone's pet hamsters got out years ago and they are breeding in the floorboard," she says. I almost drop the recorder with that last suggestion and she catches it. "It's just a thought." "How come you will accept the fact that there might be a colony of hamsters breeding in the walls before you might accept the fact that something truly supernatural is going on here? After all you've seen? After all we've been through? Why is it so hard for you to believe?" I ask her and she doesn't respond right away. "We have been through this before so many times. Just once I wish there was something you believed in." "I will believe when it is the right thing to believe in," she answers me, her tone serious yet not upset. "Noises in an attic just aren't the right thing." "So it has to be what? Something big? Something life changing? Is that it?" I ask "When something happens to change our lives, then you will believe?" Her expression changes a myriad of times before settling back to serious. Her brow is furrowed and her lips pursed. "Yes," is all she answers. "Well, I hope it isn't too late by then," I say to her as she leaves the room. Continued in Part 2 ************************* Title: Calendar Girl: Heart of the Matter 2 of 2 *************** I find her standing in the kitchen, looking out the back window. This room is as large as any of the others in the house and the appliances stand there shining in their stainless steel glory. It is incredibly modern compared to the design of the house. Modern and overly functional. A very rational kitchen. Perhaps that is why Scully is standing in here, hiding from me. "Hey," I say, as I stand behind her. The backyard is pleasant, with a few trees and a deck that extends for a few yards from the door. Or at least as far as the lightbulb sends its glow. "Hey," she says back, as she leans into me. I wrap my arms around her and look out the window, trying to figure out what she might be watching. "Do you like this house?" I ask her. We've never discussed the future in any definite way. It has come up several times when the issue of children, or the lack there of, has entered our lives, but we have never really discussed just moving in together somewhere. "It's nice . . . well, except for that raging hamster problem," she says and we both laugh. "The neighbors seem eager to get it off the market. I'm sure it is bringing their property value down." "It could be ours. . . if you would like . . . if this is what you want," I try to say, but just can't get the words out. She turns around in my arms and looks up at me. "And how would we manage that on our G-salaries?" she asks. Even I know that we wouldn't be capable of that. "I have some money. My father's money. I put it away just in case something ever happened. So far, nothing that serious has ever happened. Well, not since I paid for that trip to the bottom of the world. But we can do whatever we would like with it. If this is what you would like," I say, brushing a strand of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. "If what happens?" she asks, skipping over the house issue entirely. "If something happens, and you need it, you will know," I say, pulling her closer to me. "I have it arranged so you can get to it if you need it. Just talk to Byers." She doesn't need to ask anymore about it. We both know what could happen to us. If she needs to get away, it is there for her. "Mulder, someday we will have all of this. But that isn't what is most important right now. There are other things we need to do first," she says, wrapping her arms around me. "Yes. Like get you into your costume." ************************ "You have got to be kidding!" Scully exclaims as I hold up the pieces of the costume I chose for her. The layers of fabric shimmer in the dim light as I play with it, and I can tell from her body posture that it will be a cold day in hell before she ever puts this on. "Okay. You don't have to wear this if you share your candy with me," I say, and she has to seriously consider her options. "Come on, Scully. You don't really want to give up any chocolate, do you?" "I don't want to wear that, either. Mulder, costumes like that are indicative of one thing . . . female subordination. I know you often think you are the big macho man out to protect me and the rest of the world, but I have always considered us equals. As such, I can't believe you would even suggest I wear that," she says, pointing at the costume that is starting to slink out of my arms and cascade to the floor. "Come on, Scully. Join me at the Casbah," I say with a wink. She doesn't blink or smile or even move. "How would you feel if I wanted you to dress in a subservient fashion?" she asks me, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed. "Like what? A cabana boy? If I got to spread oil on you and serve you strawberry margaritas, I wouldn't care if you had me dress up as a Hooter's girl," I say, but she still doesn't budge from her position. "Scully, you know I've never viewed you as subservient to me . . ." "Really?" she says, her eyebrow up. "Okay, maybe once. But that was a long time ago and before . . . well, never mind. I picked this out because I thought it would look good on you. I almost went with a French maid, but thought you would look better as a harem girl," I say, holding it out to her one more time. The expression on her face can't get anymore serious and then she does something quite shocking. She tugs her sweater up and over her head and then shakes her hair out. Within a matter of seconds, she has her shoes kicked off and is sliding her jeans down over her hips, writhing in a provocative fashion. "I always assumed you believed I looked the best in this," she says, her voice crisp with desire. Scully stands before me wearing nothing but thong underwear --- dark as midnight --- with fluttery sides. And a matching bra that is almost not even there. It shoves everything in the right direction --- up --- but that is about all the scant material does. Besides push my cock in the right direction. Also up. "Yeah. You look pretty good in that also," I say, dropping everything in my arms. The fine tulle and satin material spread out across the hardwood floor creating a puddle of expensive costume at me feet. But who cares. Scully takes exactly three steps and is standing before me. She untucks my shirt from my jeans and I help her pull it over my head, sending it in the direction of everything else that has hit the floor in the last minute. One of her hands goes flat against my chest and the other moves to unzip my fly all while she is pushing me backwards toward the wall. I hit the plaster with a thud and the sound echoes around the empty room. The shadowy light cast from the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room begins to flicker, casting an eerie intermittent glow across the room. But all I can do is pay attention to Scully. I slide down the wall and she follows all in time to her hand pulling down my zipper. My zipper, Scully and I reach our final destinations at the same time. She slips her hand into my jeans and works her way into the fly of my boxers, grasping my cock in her hand and stroking me. "Here. Let me . . ." I mumble, moving her hand aside while I kick off my running shoes and wiggle my jeans off. I toss them toward the growing pile of clothes in the middle of the floor and hope we get no more neighborly visits for the next hour or so. Scully smiles at my choice of boxers before she starts to pull them down. With those kicked aside, she goes back to caressing my cock. Her hand goes around it and she makes teasing circles around the top with her thumb. I fail with the back clasp on her bra yet she never lets up on the rhythmic movements of the hand job she is giving me. But I want more than this. I want to feel her body wrap around me, encasing me in that warm pleasure for which I will give up ever seeing her in that costume. Scully releases me and I moan an agonizing response to her action. My back is still up against the wall and I am now so sensitive to everything around me that I swear I can feel every nuance in the plaster and paint. "What are you doing?" I ask her as she stands up. Instead of answering me, she unhooks her bra and drops it to the floor. Slowly, she slinks out of her panties and tosses them my way. I catch the scrap of fabric and all of a sudden wish I were a teenage boy again so I could keep these hidden away so I'd have something of her for when certain urges arise. Fuck. I've put people away who have been known to say weird shit like that. Of course, they all killed the original owner of the panties in question. Scully lowers herself on to me, and I feel her body loosen up around me, taking me in as she sinks lower on to my cock. She settles on my lap with me inside of her and doesn't move. Doesn't rock. Doesn't thrust against me. Instead, we just look at each other in the dim lighting. Then suddenly and with the fury of a firestorm from hell, she kisses me. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, searching for mine. My hands move up to her breasts, and I feel her nipples grow even harder under my touch. I want her to move again, to ride me like a damn pogo stick, but she doesn't. Every nerve in my body that is not focusing on my crotch is trying to assimilate the kiss we are engaged in. Although her general nature is often considered cool and collected by those who don't know her as well as I do, when it comes to kissing, she burns each one into my soul. She breaks the kiss and places a hand up against the wall on each side of my head, trapping me inside of her and under her. Only then does she begin to move, her back arching like that of a hissing cat as she sinks down impossibly low on my cock. I thrust up into her, matching her stroke for stroke. I move one hand to a hip to help guide her while I search for her clit with the other one. When I make contact, she not only moves up and down on me, but swivels, too. It reminds me of something we learned from the Kama Sutra. Only better. Her hands come off the wall and she leans back, bracing herself as well as she can. This gives me better access to her sex and my fingers rub her clit harder until she moans. Her eyes never leave mine and they are wild now. "More . . . I want more . . ." she utters breathlessly, and I watch as she continues to match me thrust for thrust. She brushes my one hand away from her clit and maneuvers her own hand in to that spot. With her other hand, she begins to fondle her nipples, moaning as she goes from one to the other. Oh, this is better than any Halloween costume fantasy. There are just times when I love to watch Scully get herself off. I love to know that she has such deep trust in me to do that in front of me. That I give her that sense of freedom. I also know she does it because I like to watch her do it. "Fuck me harder," she says, and I'm briefly taken aback. No matter how rough and tumble the sex might have been in the past, she's been a little more than just reserved since we have gotten back together. This might just be 'fucking' on the surface, but underneath it is so much more. Scully makes a throaty growl with each and every stroke that hits bottom. As I thrust, she pushes back down on me, letting me sink into the nether regions I never want to live without again. A noise begins rushing through my ears suddenly, but she and I don't stop. "Mulder, is that the noise we've been hearing?" She asks, her voice still laden with sweet desire. "No. I think what you hear right now is the beating of my heart," I answer, each stroke I make matching the time of the *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump.* The sound fills the room and grows louder as we get closer to climax. Like a train flying down the tracks, the throb quickens and the room begins to vibrate with its energy, driving us faster and faster as we struggle to keep up. Soon the noise is deafening and the only thing I can hear over it is Scully moan one last time before her body begins to pulsate and tremble around me. She stops moving and her head falls forward as she tries to catch her breath. But the noise keeps going. She looks up at me and smiles before she starts moving again, sensing my urgency. It doesn't take much more and I'm spilling over into her, her warmth absorbing mine. I now swear that my heartbeat is louder than the throb of the house and I struggle to catch my breath. Our bodies are slicked with sweat and Scully snuggles in against my neck. The noise begins to dissipate around us, matching our ever slowing heartbeats. "Equals?" Scully mutters against my skin. "Always," I say, and the throbbing fades away. ******************* "Scully?" I whisper, trying to wake her up gently. We are wrapped up in blankets on the floor of what is the master bedroom. I shake her a little. Still naked, her skin is cool to the touch and she lets out a faint sigh as she rolls toward me. "What?" she asks, not opening her eyes. It is 2 a.m. and the house as been silent ever since we finished making love on the floor of the formal living room. Her breathing has been steady for several hours now as I've been lying here next to her trying to figure the house out. "What if this house responds to the emotions of the people that live in it?" I ask and I can see her brow furrow in her sleep. "No, don't say anything yet. Maybe it senses when people are happy. The first time it started making that noise was when you were eating chocolate . . ." "I don't like chocolate *that* much, Mulder," she says, finally opening her eyes and looking up at me. "But you were happy. Then it started again when someone else handed you more chocolate," I say. "Mulder . . ." "It is well known that certain chemicals in chocolate make people feel loved. Both times that you were handed chocolate, the house started throbbing. It certainly didn't start making that noise when I tried to hand you a bag of lollipops. And then when we were making love, it started again. I think it recognizes . . . love. It isn't our own conscious making us hear the noise. It is the house's consciousness recognizing what we are feeling right now, Whether that stems from some paranormal source . . ." I start to say to her. "Mulder?" she asks with a sleepy yawn. "Yes?" I ask back, expecting to hear the hamster rationalization again. "Is this just another way for you to tell me you love me?" she asks and I smile. "Should we prove my theory?" I ask, kissing her lightly. "This isn't very scientific," she says, pulling away from me just a little, her eyes open wide now, burning with the same fervent energy as before. "Do you really care how scientific it is?" I ask, kissing her again and pulling her into my arms. "No." *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* The End ********* Edgar Allen Poe is great, isn't he? All sorts of inspiration. Thank you, Paige, for letting me do this so soon after your incredible Tell Tale Heart story. You are awesome. Mojo --- what color panties are up next? Are they going to do it on the floor or the wall or a bed? Just checking! Feedback is awesome. Send me some and I guarantee it will have a nice Halloween. E-mail me at Damienma@bellsouth.net