Title: Estrogen Revenge

Author: XRie

Content: MSR

Spoilers: First Person Shooter

Rating: PG

Summary: Boys will be boys, but Scully's estrogen

needs expression. If this were a songfic, Colonel

Pickering and the butler would sing to Professor

Higgins, and Eliza Doolittle would get mad.

Luckily, there is no singing in this story. But

Scully does get mad.

Disclaimer: They are not mine. I'm just taking them

out for a walk. Don't sue.



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Estrogen Revenge

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"... nailed that Cyberbitch, Wildman!"



Mulder's sharp intake of breath interrupted

Langly's gushing praise. "Geez Scully, what are you

using on that?"



She rolled her eyes and continued to swab the

abrasion on his forehead. "Alcohol, Mulder."



"If we hadn't of been thrown out of the game, we

would've taken her on," Langly continued, the mad

glint in his eyes visible even through his thick

glasses.



"Any day!" Byers interjected, his usually calm

demeanor nowhere to be found as he crouched in

combat-readiness position. He did have the sense,

however, to straighten up and move out of the way

as Scully circled to the other side of Mulder's

chair to get a better look at his next wound. 



Frohicke did not have the same sense. It took

Scully a raised eyebrow and a glare to get him to

move behind the chair, where he placed a hand on

Mulder's shoulder in mock solemnity before

announcing, "But I must say, you kicked ass in

there my friend!" Mulder's face broke into a

sheepish grin, and he shook his head. "Until the

part where your ammo ran out. Definitely bad luck.

Unfair advantage for her."



"Speaking of unfair advantage ..." Mulder huffed

with animation, craning his head towards Frohicke.

Scully grabbed his chin and turned him back to face

her. She began work on the gash above his eyebrow,

causing him to hiss in pain. 



"*Speaking* of unfair advantage ..." he warmed to

the subject "... did you see how *nine* of her

tried to take me out with pistols " -- he gritted

his teeth as the alcohol seeped into the cut --

"when all I had was a sword??" This earned

sympathetic grunts and indignant nods from the

Gunmen. "Not that I couldn't have handled it," he

added, flexing his hands as though he were testing

the weight of the saber.



"So, what happened when you went into the building?

To take her on solo?" Langly urged eagerly.



"Well, like you saw, I left you guys and followed

her into the building."



Byers nodded.



"I went down some stairs, and there she was, coming

at me from out of the shadows."



Langly's eyes were rivetted to Mulder's face.



"She had the broadsword in her hand. You know, the

one she used to ... well, anyways." Mulder paused,

then collected himself. "She's swinging it in slow

circles in front of her, like this --" Mulder

rotated his forearm in front of him. "Ow! Scully!

Okay. Alright. Anyways ... she lunges at me to

bring the sword down on my head, but I deflect the

blow with my gun. Then I just start

blasting her, and she ... disappears." He lent an

air of mystery to the final word.



"Wo." Frohicke let out a breath. "What about --"



"Okay Mulder," Scully interrupted. "You're done.

Let's get out of here." She grabbed her jacket and

headed towards the exit. Mulder showed no sign of

moving. The Gunmen just stared at her, blinking

once, twice. "Unless you want to *walk* to the

motel," she added drily, looking over her shoulder.



"No, no. I'm coming," he sighed and stood to follow

her.  He spun around momentarily to raise his

eyebrows and give the Gunmen the victory sign, then

jogged to catch up with her.



"You kick ass, Mulder!" Frohicke yelled after him.

"Scully kicked ass too," he added to his friends.

"Maybe we should invite her over to help us solve

the new TombRaider."



***********************



"I'm driving," Scully announced with finality, and

Mulder dropped the keys into her hand without

argument, walked toward the passenger side.



Scully unlocked the doors, took her place behind

the wheel and pulled the seat forward with a snap.

Mulder folded himself into the seat beside her,

adjusting his legs to fit the space, then turned to

grin at her as she shoved the key into the

ignition. "Maybe we could suggest to Skinner that

they develop a program like that for training at

Quantico. Forget target practice at the

shooting range."



Scully graced him with a tight smile and revved the

engine, backing out of the parking space with a

little too much speed. His smile fading, Mulder

glanced warily at the hard lines of her profile,

then turned his head to stare out the window. They

drove in silence to the motel.



***********************



Scully worked the key in the lock and leveraged the

warped motel door open with her hip. Her eyes

registered dismay when she felt Mulder enter the

room close behind her.



"Mulder ..." she groaned wearily, throwing her

jacket on the chair and falling heavily backwards

onto the bed, resting her arm over her eyes to

block out the light. "It's late." She heard the

motel door click shut, but the sound of her

partner's breathing remained in the room. She

uncovered her eyes to see him watching her, his

expression unreadable.



"*Mul*der." She pushed herself up on her elbows, a

note of warning entering her voice. "I'm serious. I

want to go to sleep."



"Scully." His tone was serious; his lips hardly

moved. "Tell me what's wrong." He sat gingerly

beside her on the flowered bedspread, craned his

neck to look at her, awaiting a response.



She pushed off the bed and moved away from him, her

back turned, arms crossed in front of her. "Don't

tell me you have no idea."



He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, opening his

mouth to speak, then closing it again. He dropped

his hands into his lap, then bowed his head,

reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He

expelled his breath slowly. "Look, I'm sorry I got

caught in there. But I had to go in after the guys.

And once I was there, I admit ... I *wanted* to

take her on."



She turned to face him, raised an eyebrow. "Ya-yas,

Mulder? I risked my *life* to go in there after you

..." her voice raised in pitch "... And you,

Mulder; you could have died in there. You could

have *died.* And for what? Ego? Some warped sense

of male pride?" Her shoulders slumped, the anger in

her face melting to weary sadness. "Then you act as

though it's really just a barrel of laughs." 



Mulder held out his hand, motioning her to sit by

him on the bed. She complied but sat staring at her

hands folded tightly in her lap.



"Maybe rampant testosterone' did get the better of

me," he began softly. "I'm sorry. But you done real

good in there Scully. You shot em up." He injected

a little levity into his voice. "Frohicke wasn't

kidding when he said you're hot." He felt her

sardonic huff of appreciation next to him, and he

reached out a finger, tilting her chin up until she

met his sincere gaze. "You did save me. Thank you."



The blue of her eyes cleared a little, and he

sighed inwardly with relief. He dropped his hands

to his knees and tensed to stand, ready to put the

evening behind him. He looked at her with a teasing

expression and made an attempt to lighten the

tension that had settled thickly between them.



"And I'm telling you Scully, the sight of you in

body armor wasting cybertrash with your laser

blaster would make any guy at headquarters either

cheer or run for cover."



Her maddening, wistful expression returned in a

flash, and she leaned away from him slightly. He

swallowed the lump in his throat, dismayed not only

to have misjudged the heart of her problem, but to

have possibly made things worse.



"What about you Mulder? Cheer or run for cover?"



"Cheer. Definitely." He eyed her warily, chewing

his lip.



"And if I lost the body armor and the gun?"



He cocked his head in confusion, unable to decipher

the direction of her questions. He could only

answer honestly. "It wouldn't make a difference to

me."



And she smiled. Not a dazzling grin, but a slight

quirk of the lips that seemed to indicate

satisfaction with his response. And then she leaned

towards him.



The jolt of sensation that radiated from his chest

through his entire body when she brushed her lips

across his froze him in place for a beat. But the

rake of her fingers through his unruly hair spurred

him to action, and he responded to her direction

hungrily, following her lead with lips and hands

and tongue. 



She broke away first and buried her face in his

neck, feeling the thumping of his pulse and the

ragged movement of his pharynx against her cheek.

His jugular throbbed and pounded endlessly. She

started to grow uncomfortable with his silence.

"Don't tell me," she murmured at his collarbone

with a wry smile. "You feel like blasting the crap

out of something?"



"Hmm?" he grunted absently, meeting her gaze for

the first time. A dazed, windswept expression

clouded his dilated eyes. His head dipped lazily

until his lips brushed hers again with excruciating

gentleness. His hand drifted slowly up her spine,

leaving a trail of heat and chills in its wake,

until it rested at the base of her skull, thumb

tracing circles of ecstasy on her throat. His voice

rasped into her ear. "What's a blaster?"



"Nothing." She smiled against his mouth as he

nibbled lightly at her lower lip. She arched her

neck, allowing him access. "Nothing."



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END

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