<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">Nothing that Gabriel had said prior had frightened her.  Nothing she'd seen had worried her.<br/>
<br/>
Right up until he looked away from her after telling her to run.<br/>
<br/>
Because that -- that was real, genuine concern in his eyes.  It wasn't chauvinism, misogyny, sexism -- nope.  This wasn't about her being a woman.  Or at least - not really.  It might be about her being <i>his</i> woman, but it was the possession more than the sex that brought that fear into his expression.  <br/>
<br/>
If she hadn't seen it -- she might have exploded.  Accused him of trying to protect her needlessly.  But she had seen it... and so Cat squeezed his hand.  "I've got flares, and at least one flash grenade.  Dave strapped all sorts of shit to me, hotshot.  I promise I'll fire at will, kill shots only, extreme prejudice.  I'd like us both to make it out okay and use up any excess adrenaline in a much more enjoyable fashion -- alright?  <i>Both</i> of us."  She squeezed his hand again.  "Take a prisoner -- hell, take more than one.  But you'd better be hauling ass out of this hellhole with me, or I'm going to be seriously pissed.  Got it?"</span></span>