Title: The Spoon Of Revenge
Author: Lakticia (lakticia@yahoo.co.uk)

Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff
Archive: Yes to Ephemeral and Gossamer, anywhere else please 
ask first
Date finished: 25 July 2003
Category: Vignette, Humour, UST
Rated: PG for language
Spoilers: None
Summary: Title says it all - pure fluff!

Thanks to: Vicky, a brilliant beta despite not even being a 
'phile :P

Feedback: I'm very new to fanfic writing - comments, 
especially constructive criticism, would be very gratefully 
received and soon answered.  lakticia@yahoo.co.uk



*=- The Spoon Of Revenge -=*
by Lakticia

"What do you expect from a guy who was born on Friday the 
13th?"

Gleefully Mulder watched as his partner, previously in the 
full flow of Scully Rage, stopped short and furrowed her 
brow.

"You were born on Friday the 13th?"

He nodded proudly, like a schoolboy praised by his peers 
for creating the biggest mess at lunchtime.

"October 13th, 1961," he affirmed.  "Explains a lot, 
doesn't it?"

She stood facing him with her hands on her hips and eyed 
him keenly.

"Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't changing the subject."

"You were!  You were about to explain to me-"

"That was *not* changing the subject!" he interrupted, 
deeply affronted.  He jumped out of his chair and took a 
step towards her.  "That was a *witty remark*.  Changing 
the *subject* would have been, 'Hey Scully, how many 
mammals with three legs do you know of', or, 'Listen, how 
about we take this weekend and reorganise the filing system 
in here', or..."

He trailed off as Scully assumed her full rage and gave him 
The Look.

Slowly his features transformed from defiant to whipped.

Scully began, low and threatening.  "I have been on my feet, 
doing autopsies of exhumed bodies, for NINE HOURS today for 
this new case.  And now, you tell me that you've suddenly 
found out that your HUNCH-" her voice rose to a yell- "was 
CORRECT, and the results of the autopsies are 
*IRRELEVANT*?!"

"We- well of course they're not *irrelevant*, I- I mean, 
it'll be useful as, as deep background information, when 
we, when we come to write the re-p-ort..." his voice 
wavered on the last word as The Look rose to Mach 3 
levels.  Did she use this look with anyone else?  Why 
weren't more people dead?

"... When... *I* come to write the report," he amended 
weakly.

She glared.

He bit his lip, pondered for a moment, then threw up his 
hands in surrender.

"Fine!  Okay!  Actually," he exclaimed, moving to behind 
his desk and sitting down, "I just needed you to be out of 
the office today because I was... um... buying you... a.. 
surprise present."

She folded her arms, brought her expression all the way 
down to calmly sceptical and raised an eyebrow.

".... On.... Ebay.  A..." he cleared his throat as she 
inclined her head forward questioningly.  "... very 
competitive auction.  I, uh, kept having to revisit the 
website to increase my bid, and, um, then I won, so, so I 
had to pay, and, um, arrange to pick it up..."  Why?  Why 
was he still talking?  Why didn't he just pull out his gun 
and shoot himself?

"What did you buy?" she asked, each syllable spoken calm 
and clear.

He raised his eyebrows.  "What did I...?  Um..."  Staring 
at her, he opened his desk drawer and scrabbled desperately 
inside.  Magazines.... nooooooo way.  Engagement ring... 
probably not the best time.  This angry, she'd only tell 
him to shove it.  In fact, she wouldn't tell him - she'd 
*do* it.  What else?  A spoon.

A spoon?

A spoon.

All he had in his desk drawer were porn magazines, 
something he'd bought once when drunk, and a spoon.

Oh well.

He pulled the utensil out of the drawer and presented it to 
Scully with a flourish.  "It's an antique."

Somewhere inside he knew he must look like a pet dog who 
had brought in a dead rat for its master's approval.  He 
plastered a winning smile onto his face.

Scully smiled charmingly back at him and advanced slowly.  
Hope and fear appeared simultaneously on his face.  She 
leaned forward over the desk, delicately took the spoon from 
his fingers, and thwacked it on his forehead.

"Ow!" he whimpered, clutching a hand to his forehead 
instantly.  "*Scully*!"

She had not grown up with two brothers for nothing.  She 
pulled his hand away from his brow with one hand and 
thwacked him again with the other.

"Aii!"  Mulder yelped like a girl.

She leaned back and folded her arms, looking momentarily 
satisfied.

He made his best puppy dog face and started gently 
massaging his forehead with the tips of his long fingers.  
"Scully, you *know* that's really painful.  Don't you 
remember when we were in that diner that time in Colorado 
Springs and I did that to you and you said it really hu..."

Oh.  Shit.  His eyes widened with renewed terror and the 
shame of his own stupidity, as she tilted her head to the 
side and made a sarcastic show of trying to remember.

"Ohhhh, *yeah*.  I *do* remember that!"

Thwack!

She leaned forward and tapped the spoon to his forehead 
again and again, somehow managing to grab his hands away at 
the same time, and Mulder found himself whimpering and 
trying to assume a foetal position whilst remaining seated.

Then suddenly he heard a very peculiar sound.  It had 
sounded... no, it couldn't have been.  It had sounded 
like... Scully giggling with delight.

Dana Scully giggling?  With delight?  It would never do.  
There would be riots.

At that moment Mulder realised he was no longer under 
attack.  Hesitantly he turned his head and saw her standing 
ramrod straight, arms folded, looking down at him with 
disdain.

Cautiously he sat up straight and faced her.  He noticed a 
tic of embarrassment on her face.  A sly grin appeared in 
his eyes and instantly Scully gave him that particular 
brand of The Look which meant 'You dare tease me and I will 
cut off your testicles'.

He schooled his expression into humble attention.

"Apologise," she commanded.

"I'm sorry," he said instantly.

"For what?"

He was nervous.  Not an answer he wanted to get wrong.  
"Everything I've ever done to you.  Ever."

She nodded imperiously.  He half expected her to say, 'That 
will suffice'.

He rubbed his forehead again, then folded his arms and shot 
her another reproachful, puppy-dog look.

"Well, that's what you get for messing with someone who was 
born on Sunday the 23rd," she informed him.

He furrowed his brow.  "What's so special about that date?"

"Absolutely nothing.  Which is exactly as much as is special 
about the date Friday the 13th."

He rolled his eyes.  She raised the spoon threateningly.  
He cowered.

This seemed to make her relent, and she put the spoon down 
on the desk as a gesture of goodwill.  He sighed with 
relief and relaxed.

"Sorry if I hurt you, Mulder.  I just can't believe all the 
crap you put me through today."

"Well," he smiled, leaning back in his chair and folding his 
hands behind his head.  "What do you expect from a guy who 
was b-"

This time she punched him.

*=--=*



Did it make you smile?  Could it have been better?  I'd love 
to know.  lakticia@yahoo.co.uk