Title: Bump in the Night 
Author: Lysandra
E-mail: Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net
Rating: PG-13
Classification: VR
Spoilers: How the Ghosts Stole Christmas; Field Trip
Keywords: Halloween, MSR
Disclaimer:  All things X-Files are the property of Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox.  They profit; I do not.
Summary: Things that go bump in the night.

Note: This was a Scullyfic challenge; elements listed at the end!
Thanks to: Brandon, Paulette, Sara, Shannon, and Sharon!


Bump in the Night
by Lysandra

She felt as if she'd stumbled into an old horror movie.  Dust shrouded the
neglected furniture, there was a cobweb veil across every doorway, dark stains
of long-ago violence were splattered over the walls and tattered drapes.  Only
the haunting rumble of organ music was missing from the scene and she would have
welcomed it to mask the hollow sound of her footsteps.  The lonely echo reminded
her that she had come to this place alone.  

Or so she thought, until something brushed against her shoulder.

She quietly felt for her weapon, then in a flurry of motion spun around, gun
drawn, to find ... an orange tabby, who had apparently just been looking for a
bit of companionship.  Despite being slightly allergic, Scully stroked the cat's
head, murmuring in a sing-songy tone she reserved for animals or small children.
 

"Sweet thing ... scared me good, didn't you?"  She holstered her weapon, and
reached out for the animal's collar, peering at its tag:  Pogo - 117 Wide Oak
Lane - 555-8863.  "Well, where do you suppose Mulder is?  Late?  You think he's
late?"  The cat meowed, and Scully was pretty sure it was saying, "Yes, I do
believe that asshole Mulder is late."  

As Scully checked her watch, she clicked her tongue in frustration.  "I tend to
agree with your assessment, Pogo.  Mulder is definitely late."

The cat lived on this street, but not in this house, which had obviously been
unused for some time.  Other than the cat, there were no signs of life here at
131 Wide Oak Lane.  There was a large entryway which reminded Scully of Twelve
Oaks from "Gone With the Wind," a regally wide staircase dominating the room. 
The colors were dark, though; burgundy and mahogany mixed with touches of gold
hiding in the peeling flocked wallpaper.

The dried blood on the walls suggested that a murder had occurred here in the
past, but how long ago, Scully didn't want to think.  Now she had it; this house
also reminded her of another she'd actually been in -- and if this little field
trip turned out anything like last Christmas Eve, Scully would kill Mulder
without a second thought.  

She still dreamed about that night sometimes.  Vague dreams of going through
doors and never, ever finding Mulder on the other side.  

Dreams of being trapped with no exit.  

Dreams of Mulder, of course, but not nice sexy dreams like Scully sometimes had
about her partner; no, these were vicious, confusing dreams of Mulder shooting
her, betraying her; they were bloody, gory nightmares, and whenever she woke up
from one she felt very alone, and would keep feeling alone until she heard
Mulder's voice, or better yet saw his face.  She would wake up knowing it was
just a dream, but until Mulder's voice reassured her, she felt somehow wrong,
like her life was askew and she needed Mulder to calm her nerves.  

Not that she ever told him about any of it, though; she never called him from
her bed; no, she would simply lie awake until it was time to get ready for work.
 She wondered if he ever caught something weird in her voice or saw fear in her
eyes the morning after a nightmare, but he never said a word and neither did
she.  His simple presence reassured her that she was still herself, and that
Mulder wasn't out to get her, and that it was Just A Dream.

Scully shivered slightly as a breeze ruffled her hair.  The cat skittered off
somewhere, apparently spooked.  Why was there a breeze in this house when Scully
knew she'd shut the door?  She turned toward the entryway, and there was Mulder,
looking like an angel.  He actually seemed to have a halo, standing in the
doorway as he was with the setting sun behind him, making his edges fuzzy and
bright.  She'd been so busy thinking about him, she'd missed his big entrance.  

"Trick or treat," Mulder said as he took a step inside, holding one hand behind
his back as he kicked the door shut.  

Oh, here we go, she thought, and she adopted her stern taskmaster voice. 
"Mulder."

"Come on, Scully, aren't you gonna play, just a little?"

"What are you hiding back there?" she asked, trying to sound blase, when she was
actually intrigued.  A little.

"Come and get it," he replied, mischief evident in his voice.

"Mulder," she said, walking very slowly toward him, "I really don't appreciate
all this cloak and dagger stuff.  There are children in my building who count on
me for good Halloween candy, you know."

"They'll live.  Besides, you know you'll have more fun with me."

"Oh, *will* I?  Mulder, I happen to like seeing the kids in their little
costumes.  You're just wearing your regular clothes."

"As far as you know," Mulder smirked.  "I might have on a Superman suit under
here, Scully.  And if you ask me nicely, I might show you."

"Dream on, Mulder."  

He got a strange look in his eyes then, a look she couldn't quite place.  As if
he was remembering something unpleasant, or maybe concentrating hard on a puzzle
he hadn't been able to solve.

"Hey, you okay?"  She couldn't hide the concern in her voice, and before she
even was aware of what she was doing, she'd reached up to stroke the side of
Mulder's face.  She felt his jaw clenching beneath her fingers, and wondered
what had made him tense up all of a sudden.

Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and Scully found herself
mimicking his rhythm as his chest rose and fell beneath her left hand.  She'd
covered his heart with her hand -- when, she didn't know -- but she felt herself
swaying along with her partner, breathing as he breathed, her heart taking on
his heart's pace.

Then things changed.  Mulder's arms came around her, pulling her closer to him,
closer, and closer still, until he was hugging her so tightly she was a little
bit scared.

"Mulder," she whispered into his chest, "what's wrong?"  

"Nothing ... nothing's wrong," he said, in a quiet voice that made Scully think
something was very, very wrong indeed.

"Mulder..." she said, pulling back as far as she could though his hold on her
remained strong, "let me see you."

She looked into Mulder's eyes, finding his pupils slightly dilated.  He was also
sweating; not too much, but it was cool in the house so she was a bit concerned.
 He seemed to be willing her to conclude that he was fine; he looked straight at
her as he loosened his hold on her, keeping his hands anchored at her waist, as
if she'd disappear if he let her go.

"Why are we here?" she finally asked, since he evidently wasn't going to tell
her what was wrong with him.  Perhaps it had something to do with the reason
he'd asked her to meet him at 131 Wide Oak Lane, so it was worth a try.

Mulder's features brightened as he took one hand off Scully's waist to reach
into the back pocket of his jeans.  "I wanted to give you a present," he smiled.

"A present, huh?" she grinned back at him.  She ordered herself to stand still,
because ever since he'd broken out that smile she had the undeniable urge to
kiss him, and that would be very, very bad.  She'd had the same urge countless
times before, and always it had passed.  Of course, he usually wasn't touching
her at the time, and she somehow knew she'd have to ignore him a little more
vigorously than usual today.

The problem, of course, was that the more she concentrated on ignoring him, the
worse the Kissing Urge got.  He was *right here* and smiling so sweetly, the
bastard.  So irritating.

Mulder brought her 'present' forward, slowly, as if it was a revelation to be
savored, not thrust upon her all at once.  It took her a moment to recognize
what it was, she hadn't seen one in so long.

It was a caramel apple, a huge one, on a stick, covered in -- what was that
orange stuff?

"Mulder, what's *on* that thing?" she asked, delighted no matter what his answer
was going to be.  He'd brought her a candied apple, and she loved him for it. 
She probably hadn't had one of these since her family had visited the Santa Cruz
Boardwalk when she was seventeen.  She'd let a boy she didn't even know feel her
up on the beach that summer, and had only felt guilt at the fact that she didn't
feel guilty about it.  God, she loved candied apples.  

She unconsciously licked her lips in anticipation of the gooey sweetness before
her, and as she did so, Mulder's eyes widened and his smile did too.  Scully put
her tongue back in her mouth and attempted to sound unimpressed with his gift. 
"So are you going to give it to me, or what, Mulder?"

"Not all of it," he said, his eyes twinkling.  "We're gonna share."

Oh, no.  No, no, no, no, no.  Definitely not.

"Well, that's not much of a gift, then, is it?" she countered, trying to keep
herself upright at the thought of Mulder's lips covered in fine orange dust and
caramel.  "And what's on it, anyway?"

"Caramel and crushed Butterfingers," he said, waving it enticingly in front of
her face.  Try as she might, Scully couldn't take her eyes off it, following the
confection left and right for a moment before reaching forward to stop his hand
from moving.  

He startled a bit at her sudden movement, and they just stood there, his hand
wrapped in hers, both holding the treat like it was the Holy Grail.  Scully
looked up at him expectantly, but couldn't make herself speak, choosing instead
to stare at the apple like a madwoman.

"You like Butterfingers, don't you?" he breathed, his voice a bit lower than it
had been a moment ago.  No kissing, she thought.  No kissing, no kissing, don't
kiss him, no, no, no.  Absolutely no kissing.  Butterfingers, that's what he had
said.  Think about Butterfingers, not Mulder's lower lip.  His lower lip
couldn't possibly taste as good as Butterfingers anyway.  Could it?

"Yes, Mulder," she heard her voice rasping.  "You know I love Butterfingers." 
There, that was good.  She hadn't kissed him.  Candy was good.  Candy would be
amazing right now.  Candy would give her a nice sugar rush and take her mind off
Mulder's lips.  

And the fact that one of his hands was still around her waist.  And the fact
that she could smell him through the peanut buttery caramel haze in front of
her.  And the fact that he was smiling at her again.  With those lips.  Shit.

Butterfingers, caramel, apple -- these were all good things.  Simply not as good
as Mulder.  And Scully knew it.

"Why are we here, Mulder?"  Her voice was a whisper in the large room, carried
the short distance to Mulder by sheer will.

"I just wanted you to have some fun," he whispered back.  No, Mulder, don't
whisper like that, she thought.  He was whispering as if they were in bed.  He
was pillow talking!  No fair, she silently screamed, you're not playing fair.

No kissing.  No kissing Mulder, not here, not today, not now, no kissing, no
kissing...

"Do you want it?" he asked, and the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.  Oh, no,
she suddenly thought.  What if *he* kisses *me*?  This had never before occurred
to Scully, and it scared her almost as much as the thought of herself lunging at
Mulder in a very unprofessional way.

No kissing.  There would simply be no kissing.  That was it.

"I want it."  Oh my God, how could she have said that?  What was she thinking?

It was then that she realized that she was still holding Mulder's hand between
her own.  She looked at her hands covering his, and she felt his heat all around
her, not just her hands, but all over her.  God, she'd been worried about Mulder
sweating, but she herself was burning up here, and she blew a piece of hair out
of her face, suddenly feeling like she was feverish, and no kissing no kissing
no kissing, dammit!  

Butterfingers.  She'd simply have some Butterfingers, and walk away with a happy
sugary feeling.  Scully brought the apple, along with Mulder's hand, toward her
lips.  Amazingly enough her hands didn't shake, and she felt a small victory had
been won.  

Apple closing in, good, good ... here it comes ... 

She looked up at Mulder as she wrapped her lips around as much of the apple as
she could, slowly biting into it, and oh God it was delicious, crunchy and soft
and peanutty and sweet and tart all at the same time, and Mulder's gaze was
locked on her, eyes like the sea, and she couldn't possibly look away.  She bit
all the way down, taking a chunk of goodness into her mouth, and as she pulled
back she let go of Mulder's hand, and he let go too and they both watched as the
rest of the apple fell to the floor in slow motion, sending up a small dust
cloud like some old Roadrunner cartoon.

And then time sped up, going much too fast for Scully's taste.  She hadn't even
had a chance to swallow before Mulder spoke, his voice rough and smooth and sexy
and oh God, no kissing.  

"Anyone ever told you you don't know how to share, Scully?"

And her now-empty hands moved like lightning, grabbing Mulder's black leather
jacket and pulling him toward her, which she probably didn't even need to do
since he was pulling her toward *him* at the same time, and all her no kissing
thoughts went the way of the apple, crashing to the dusty floor in a big heap of
nothingness.

Scully curled her left hand around her partner's neck, her fingers automatically
grabbing him by the hair, and he was doing the same to her, and time moved fast
and slow and just right, as she realized the no kissing was turning into yes
have to kiss him now.  It was really happening and *bang*, she was kissing him,
openmouthed kissing, candied apple kissing ... she was going to choke if she
didn't swallow some of this apple, and then some of it left her mouth and jumped
into Mulder's, and she was sharing her apple, and it was the best candied apple
she'd ever experienced, that was for sure.

Mulder's mouth on hers was much better than she'd ever imagined even in her best
dreams, and he'd pulled her so close they were practically molded to each other
now.  Ohhh, he felt good against her, and he smelled like sugar and leather, and
he tasted delicious like her apple and Butterfingers, and she managed to swallow
a chunk of apple without choking, thank God, because choking would ruin
everything, and why on earth had she thought that not kissing Mulder was a good
idea, when now it was so criminally obvious that kissing him was a much better
option?

His tongue was doing delightful things to the inside of her mouth, and she was
doing the same to his.  As she'd always suspected, Mulder was an excellent
kisser, aggressive but not to the point of being slobbery.  Just the way she
liked to be kissed, as a matter of fact; but she couldn't remember a first kiss
being like this before.  This was the kind of kiss that she dreamed someone
would give her, but which never actually happened.  She heard Rhett Butler in
her head, saying, 'You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows
how,' and she praised Rhett for knowing her so well, and Mulder for knowing how
to kiss her so well.

Mulder was humming at her touch, literally humming, and she felt her whole body
thrumming in time with his.  It was so intense, as if they were making love
fully clothed and vertical, energies flowing between them and back again like
little chunks of candied apple were doing in their mouths, nearly gone now,
almost completely shared.

How had it come to this so quickly?  It seemed a moment ago she was thinking no
kissing, and now she'd never ever think that again.

But their height difference was aggravating a sore muscle in her neck that she'd
strained working out a few days ago, and though she'd rather stick needles in
her eyes than stop kissing Mulder, Scully knew she'd have to, if only to find
those stairs from earlier so she could stand a step above him and kiss him some
more.

"Mulder," she tried to say, but she was just murmuring into his mouth, and he
murmured back so nicely that she forgot what she was going to say, and kissed
him some more.

Oh yes, her neck.  That was what she was going to say.  That her neck hurt, and
could he stop kissing her for just a second?  She attempted his name once more,
but again, she was tongue-tied -- literally.  Well, this just wouldn't work. 
She'd have to disengage, much as the thought pained her.

So she pulled back, and Mulder moved forward with her.  Finally she just pulled
her face from his with a huge *plop* which was most unromantic.  God, did she
look anything like he did?  His face was absolutely beautiful, flushed, crazed;
and he looked at her as if she was the best candied apple in the world. 

"Mulder, my..."  That was all she could get out.

"Scully, Jesus..." he finally said, and took a step toward her as if to kiss her
again.  But thankfully he didn't.  He wrapped her up in his arms and hugged her
tight, and talked into her hair as he ran his hands up and down her back,
petting her like she was a kitten.

"You ... God, Scully ..."  He sounded like she felt -- confused but ecstatic,
jumbled but happy.  Good, then she hadn't made a horrible mistake.  

She was slowly coming back to her senses; it'd been a long time since a kiss had
affected her like that.  Well, to be honest, it'd been a long time since she'd
been kissed at all, let alone kissed like she was the most important thing in
someone's world.  

Now that she was returning from the heady dizziness brought on by the kiss,
Scully wanted to ask Mulder why he'd invited her here.  She slowly pulled back
from his embrace, somehow knowing he didn't want to let her go.  Glancing up at
him with what she hoped was a reassuring look, she motioned for him to follow
her toward the staircase; he did, grabbing her hand for the short trip.

They sat on the stairs, sending up little clouds of dust as they did.  Who'd
have thought Mulder would be clingy?  He hadn't let go of her hand yet and
showed no signs of doing so, threading his fingers through hers, twisting their
hands like a high school boy might.  Scully almost cried, it was so sweet.

"Mulder," she said, thankful to hear her voice sounding almost normal, "why did
you ask me to meet you here?"

"I can't explain it, Scully," he whispered, not looking at her.

"Yes, you can," she breathed.  "You know you can."

She was sitting a step above him, and for once he had to look up at her.  He
used the same puppy-dog face he'd use when he was trying to avoid telling her
about a ridiculous case.

"No, forget it.  Spill."

"Make me a promise, then, Scully.  Promise me you'll kiss me again after I tell
you."  He grinned then, a sly, sexy grin that would have made Scully's knees
weak if she hadn't already been sitting down.

"Mulder," she admitted, "you can kiss me any time you want."  Oh, that was just
great.  Why'd she say *that?*  Whatever happened to playing hard to get?

"I can?" he asked, his eyes seemingly lit by tiny jack-o'-lantern candles.  "Can
I kiss you right now?"

Scully smiled a sigh.  "Yeah, you can."

Mulder leaned in, slowly, and never stopped talking even as he kissed her. 
"Scully, *kiss* I always want" *kiss* "to kiss you," he was saying.  "I've
wanted" *kiss* "to kiss you for years" *kiss* "and years" *kiss* "and years."

"You too?" she heard herself saying as she let Mulder do all the work, his
kisses soft against her lips, whisper-kisses which made her shiver and squirm.

Mulder laughed, clicking his teeth against hers.  "Forever," he murmured, "I've
wanted to kiss you forever..."

Well, that was very nice to hear, but it was no answer to her real question. 
She took matters into her own hands -- well, she took Mulder's face in her
hands, gently pushing him away -- and asked him again.  "Why here, Mulder? 
Absolutely no more kissing until you tell me why we're here."

"Fine, Scully, but you'll just tell me I'm crazy," he sighed.  "And whether I am
or not really isn't the issue here."

"What *is* the issue, Mulder, because I'm at a loss here," she replied.  "You
haven't told me a thing."  Had his hair always been so soft?

"Scully ... you remember last Christmas Eve, right?  In that house?"

"Yes, I remember," she answered slowly.  "What about it, Mulder?"

He made lazy patterns on her leg with his fingers, and again didn't look at her
face as he spoke.  "When we were in that house, and I couldn't get to you ...
and when I thought you shot me, and you thought I shot you ... I've been, uh..."
 He looked up at her, then, his eyes questioning.

This time Scully really shivered.  Jesus, he'd been having the same nightmares. 
She just knew it, somehow.  She pushed a lock of hair off his forehead, all the
better to see him, and to make sure he saw her.

"Mulder, have you had nightmares about it?" she whispered.  "Because ... because
I have too."  There.  She'd said it.

Mulder cocked his head slightly and looked at her sideways.  "You?" he gasped. 
"You've had them, too?"

"Not every night," she responded.  "...but yes.  I've dreamt about locked doors,
and about you shooting me, and your blood, and mine..."

She didn't even know she was crying until Mulder reached out to wipe a tear from
her cheek.  "Scully, this is ... how long have you had the nightmares?  Since
Christmas?"

She thought back; no, it was long after Christmas when the nightmares had
started.  It was summer, she thought.  She remembered the first time; she'd
woken up in a cold sweat, though it was a hot night.

"No," she said.  "Maybe ... early July?"

Mulder blinked.  "Me too, Scully."

"Come on," she scoffed, almost automatically.  "Are you saying this is an
X-File?"

"Think about it.  I started having these nightmares, or whatever they are, after
we got stuck in that fungus.  Whether we've been hallucinating, or dreaming,
we've been doing it together, Scully."

"Just because I've had a few dreams ..."  

"*We* have," he corrected, giving her hand a squeeze.

Why did he always do this to her?  "Mulder, it *is* odd that we would have the
same dreams, but not unheard of."  She took a breath and continued.  "We've both
been through the same traumatic events, so why *wouldn't* we react in a similar
fashion?"

"Call it what you want, Scully, but there's definitely something going on
between us."

Scully laughed.  "Gee, Mulder, you think?"

"I hope," he said quietly, with a shy smile that nearly broke her heart.

"Mulder?" she breathed, tilting his head up, "I hope so too."

Suddenly his smile shifted from shy to sweet to hungry in an instant, and Scully
knew what was coming next.  This time her neck didn't bother her a bit, and
though his hands weren't cold, she shivered as they crept under her T-shirt and
warmed her back.  He somehow pulled her close as he laid her down on the stairs,
and just as she was about to protest that she wasn't very comfortable, a cloud
of dust rose from beneath her, causing her and her partner to both sneeze.

"Nice, Mulder," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve.  "Yuck.  Let's get out
of here."

"Are you suggesting we go someplace more comfortable, Scully?" he leered, even
as he lifted the hem of his T-shirt and wiped his own nose.

"What I'm suggesting," she stated, rolling her eyes, "is that you, sir, owe me a
Butterfinger covered apple."

Mulder grinned as he shook some dust from her hair.  "Then I say we go back to
my place."

"I beg your pardon?"  Try as she might to sound shocked, Scully heard her voice
sounding downright sexy instead.  God, it was forever since she'd used that tone
of voice.  She was glad to find she still had it in her, since it could very
well come in handy later on.

"Scully, there's another apple in my refrigerator."  The look of sincerity on
Mulder's face was almost comical.

"You have *got* to be kidding me," she said, standing and pulling him up with
her.

"I'm not!"

"A regular apple, or a Butterfinger apple?"

"Butterfinger."

"Well, all right, then," she agreed, adding, "but we're picking it up and going
to my place."

"Why your place?"

"Because it's still vaguely early, and *I* have candy for the
trick-or-treaters."

Mulder grinned again, and Scully's knees *did* buckle.  He steadied her by
planting his arms around her, and leaned in and whispered a warm moist promise
in her ear: "Scully, the costume I want you wearing is a bit skimpy for the kids
in your building.  How about we just leave a bowl at the door?"

"That's not," she gulped, "very neighborly."

Mulder smiled, looking up the wide staircase.  "Hey, Scully.  I never told you
why I brought you here."

"No, you didn't."  Scully looked up the staircase, but saw nothing.  "Why,
Mulder?"

"The couple that lived here, they died on Halloween last year."

"Another ghost story, Mulder?  How unoriginal."

"No, not a ghost story.  A love story."

Scully looked up at her partner, slightly dusty but gorgeous.  "Go on," she
prodded.

"Their names were George and Mary Wilson, and they were married for fifty-one
years," he told her.  "Last Halloween, they both died here."

"Mulder..."

"Let me finish," he interrupted.  "They both died of natural causes, in their
sleep.  Together."  He took Scully's hands in his, and kissed them lightly. 
"Scully, they were holding hands.  I just wanted us to spend some time someplace
where something happy occurred, rather than something tragic."  He gazed down at
her, loving her with his eyes.  "I wanted us to dream happy dreams."

"Together?" she asked.

"Yeah, Scully, together."

"Then let's go, Mulder," she said, flashing him a wicked smile.  "The sooner
that bowl's out in the hallway, the sooner we can start dreaming."

"Come on," he murmured, leaning down for one last kiss.  "Happy Halloween,
Scully."


* The End *


The Scullyfic Weekend Writing Challenge elements were: The first paragraph,
which was written for us by our fearless leader; a character named Pogo; and a
mention of Halloween.