A/N: THANK YOU to Cameo Cat for feeding me the opening song. I can't tell you how hard I laughed at "I'm Calm" when I first read it. That was a stroke of brilliance (and one I'd never heard before). Thank you, readers, for sticking with me. (Review button? It's super easy! Call it a late Christmas Gift!)

Story Note: Four days have passed since the last chapter.

Canon Note: STILL sitting in between the episodes "Methos" and "Finale." I promise, I'm not going to destroy the canon timeline.

Dancing Lessons

I'm calm,
I'm calm,
I'm perfectly calm,
I'm utterly under control.
I haven't a worry:
Where others would hurry I stroll.
I'm calm,
I'm cool,
A gibbering fool
Is something I never become.

I'm calm,
I'm calm,
I'm perfectly calm,
Indifferent to tensions and shocks.
Unruffled and ready,
My nerves are as steady as rocks.
I'm calm, controlled,
So cool that I'm cold

- 'I'm Calm' from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

Under orders to fill in at Shakespeare and Company, Methos found it impossible to not think about Don Salzar while unpacking boxes, shelving books, or simply staring out the front window. Between missing his friend and the clouds pressing down it was difficult to stay out of a surly mood and he was glad no customers were willing to brave the rain.

The skies over Paris had been gray and threatening for two days before they gave in and released their rain in a slow, steady manner that soaked everything, seeped cold into bones, and oppressed spirits. Now, after three days of rain, the clouds were empty at last, but refused to move along and give way to the sun.

The only upside Methos found to being stuck at the bookstore, when not filling his role as a grad student, was the time he had to finish the last little bit of work remaining for the database of Immortals he and Don had been creating. The completion made him want to celebrate, but it also made him feel the sting of Don's loss since they wouldn't be celebrating together.

The world was already forgetting the vicious murder, the quiet old man, and his obscure book store. Methos knew that over time his own memory of Don would grow hazy, but that was a few hundred years away. Today, he missed his friend more acutely than he had since the murder. Today, he walked with his collar turned up against the wind a little higher than it needed to be. Today, Methos wanted to share his pleasure at the completion of the database and he was alone.

Or was he, really? Their conversations had showed him that while Amy had a code of honor, she didn't exactly share a moral code with MacLeod. In fact, there were even instances he found where her ethics, especially regarding survival, more closely matched his own. Perhaps she would understand his deeper reasons for being inside the Watchers.

They had both been quite busy since their trip to Zurich four days ago and hadn't even had the opportunity to grab lunch together. Yes, it was definitely time to drop back by her apartment and see what kind of conversation could be started. If he were lucky, he'd be able to goad her into some sort of debate and they could both enjoy the distraction for the rest of the night.

His mind made up, Methos acquired a decent bottle of wine - just expensive enough to be worth it, but not so much Adam Pierson wouldn't be able to eat for a month - and knocked on Amy's door at about five o'clock.

Amy was standing in front of her cracked mirror - wearing her sweats and a large shirt she'd stolen from Paul - trying to force her hair into submission and cursing herself for letting her father talk her into the coming torture. The attempt to get her hair into an arrangement elegant enough to fit in with the crowd, but not so elaborate that she would draw excess attention to herself, had her so frustrated that she was considering refusing to go. She didn't understand why the task of doing her hair seemed to have her so rattled.

The knock on her door startled her badly enough that the bobby pin flew from her fingers and the curl she had been trying to pin up sprung free of control. Amy cursed one more time for good measure as she hurried to the door.

"Dammit, Mac, I'm not even close to rea -" She hadn't considered it might not be MacLeod, so finding Methos on the other side of the door threw her so much that she couldn't find a better response than the stunned "Oh!" that slipped out of her mouth.

Methos slumped just a little and lowered the bottle of wine he had lifted to show off as he heard her opening the door.

"Well, I know I'm not tall, dark, and handsome like MacLeod, but I always thought I rated at least a 'hello.'" His mouth drew down in a fake pout as he started to turn for the stairs.

"No! I'm sorry," she grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled Methos inside the door so she could shut it. "I'm…" her hands waved ineffectively in the air, as she searched for the word. "Bah, it doesn't matter. What's up?"

Amy vanished into the bedroom with a wave at the couch. Methos set the wine on the small coffee table, wondering why she was wearing more makeup and jewelry than usual.

"Well, today I put the final touches on a project Don Salzar and I had been working on together and I'm tired of being stuck in the bookstore."

"Big Watcher thing?" In her room she removed the few bobby pins she had managed to get into her hair. Once they were tossed on the dresser, she rejoined Methos in the living room, braiding her hair into a fairly complex design.

"More like unsanctioned Watcher thing and now it's ready to present."

Amy finally noticed the bottle of wine. "You came to celebrate, huh?"

He couldn't miss the regret in her drawl and didn't understand it. "And that sounds like you don't want to."

"Trust me, I'd rather celebrate with you than go to this thing, but I have to leave in a half hour or so..."

"So don't go. Play hooky instead!" Methos went over to the kitchen area and rummaged through the few drawers until he found a corkscrew.

"If I hadn't promised Dad months ago, believe me I wouldn't be there." She finished the braid, covering her ears as usual, and letting the remainder fall down her back in loose waves.

The Immortal handed Amy a half glass of wine, disappointed he would be alone tonight, after all.

Amy, finally stopping long enough to study her friend, realized he was on the verge of sulking. "Adam, we've been so busy, I didn't think about giving you a heads up about tonight. And I'm so wound up, I didn't even notice," she gave a small wave towards the bottle. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Methos waved a hand in dismissal, forcing nonchalance in his voice as he sat back down. "A toast while you can?"

She lifted her glass, "Here's to finishing unsanctioned projects."

"Here's to no more road trips with you!"

Amy choked on her swallow, then with an ornery smile rejoined, "To perjury!"

He laughed. "All for a noble cause!"

Amy was surprised to discover she could actually enjoy the wine he had brought - she didn't care for alcohol in general. It would be so easy to call Mac, cancel the plans and stay on the couch in her sweats, watching the sunset over Paris while finishing the bottle of Merlot with Methos.

Except for her dad. And a very particular delivery she had to accomplish during the evening. With a heavy sigh of regret, Amy set her glass on the table and stood to return to the bedroom.

"Feel free to stay, you can even talk all you want, but I have to finish getting dressed."

Methos leaned over the back of the couch and called after her, "I can help you with zippers and irritating microscopic buttons, you know!"

"I'm sure you can," she called through the closed door. "No, thanks."

"I know! I'll crash this thing of yours, and you'll have a reason to leave early!"

Her throaty laugh was muffled by the closed bedroom door. "Actually, that's not a half-bad ide… No! It would save my toes, but no."

"What? Save your toes?" Methos' eyebrows twisted down in confusion as he tried to decide if he had missed a major portion of their conversation.

"The Russian Ambassador. He's a frightful dancer and a dirty old man, and if any woman doesn't have an escort, he will not leave them alone! Back when I told Dad I'd be there, I asked Mac to escort me to keep potential dance partners at bay."

Methos was even more confused. "Ok, so you don't want to go and there's at least one person there you can't stand. Why are you going where again?"

"It's a ball at the Russian embassy and I promised my dad I would be there." Her voice was suddenly very clear as Amy opened her bedroom door and stepped through.

Methos looked up - the word 'ball' had grabbed his attention - and Amy became unsure of herself.

"Why are… what are you looking at?" She craned her neck, nearly losing her balance on her heels, trying to see the back of her dress. The look on his face made her fear for the condition of her dress. Not finding anything, but still worried, Amy held out a necklace and asked for help.

In an embassy full of pretentious women in heavy gowns, heavier jewels, and thick makeup, Methos knew Amy was going to stand out in elegant simplicity, despite trying to fade into the background. She had added a touch of lipstick and eyeshadow to her usual eyeliner-only makeup. To the two rings she wore everyday she had added a single, thin bracelet, small emerald drop earrings, and she held out a matching emerald and diamond pendant for her neck.

The dark plum gown flowed over the athletic curves she usually hid. The bodice was a low cut v which showed only a hint of cleavage, but when she turned so Methos could help, her entire back was exposed down to her hips, save for the wide straps crossing between her shoulder blades.

As he lifted the chain over her head and brushed her hair aside, he fought back his very male reaction and cleared his throat. The tremors working across her neck under his fingers didn't help.

"Your hair is blonde again. Looks better." His fingers twitched just so, and suddenly, he could see himself burying his hands in her hair and…

Taking a deep breath, Methos tried to shift his focus away from the warmth under his fingers.

"Figured somebody'd make a big deal if I showed up with a different color than I've always had." One bare shoulder rolled in a shrug as he fought the tiny clasp. "And I hated that dust bowl brown."

So did I. "Hold still!" he chastised instead. She froze.

"And just how are you going to hide your armor under here? Or is it going to be in your coat? I know, MacLeod convinced you to not wear it so he could openly carry his sword! There!" He nearly hollered in triumph when the tiny clasp finally submitted and allowed itself to be fastened.

Entirely without guile, Amy answered his question in a way he never would have imagined. Before turning around, she pulled a shoulder strap off to the side to prove she had armor underneath there as well, exposing cleavage that the dress hadn't. Then to make matters worse, she put her hand to her hip and slightly pulled the skirt away from her backside enough to show the edge of her armor hiding underneath.

"It's designed to be reconfigured as I need."

Methos turned a startled exclamation into a cough as he centered the clasp on her neck. He moved her hair back in place and allowed his fingers to lightly trail down her shoulders for a moment. "If your goal is avoiding the ambassador's attention, you're going to fail miserably."

"What are you…? This is the only dress they had in my size that wasn't something a hooker would wear, what's wrong with it?" Panic was starting to set in once more as she spun around to stare at Methos.

"Other than you look female, for once? What's bitten you in the ass tonight, hmm?"

Amy suppressed the urge to punch him by putting her thumb and middle finger to the bridge of her nose and rubbing hard. She could not take a chance on tearing this dress. "I don't know. I keep telling myself, 'it's just a job, it's just a job.' But it's not working."

"Has it been that long since you've had to actually dance, not just throw yourself around inside a club?"

"I bet I can out-waltz you, old man!" Amy propped a fist on her hip with a familiar jut of her chin.

Methos laughed and raised his hands into position. "Don't challenge a man who was alive when the dance was invented!"

Amy hesitated, concerned about how much time remained before Mac would arrive.

Methos took it to mean she was conceding his challenge. "Afraid you'll lose?"

She took one swift step and settled between his arms, taking his left hand, and shivering slightly when his right came to rest lightly on her back. "I'm surprised you're not telling me you invented it yourself."

"As a matter of fact..." he laughed at the face Amy pulled and began leading her to a melody playing through his memory.

With her eyes fixed firmly on Methos' shirt buttons, she tried to push her anxiety to the side and willed her breathing to slow. Something about the warmth of his fingers on her skin and moving in the familiar pattern calmed Amy's mind. She was able to change her focus from the little details which had so frustrated her, to her tasks in the night ahead.

"Ready to give up and stay here yet?" Methos smiled at the top of Amy's head while gently pulling her closer.

"Tempting, but I do have a job to do and it's far more important than me not wanting to be there."

Methos could feel Amy's tension melting away under his fingers and was pleased. When she let her head rest against his chest and began to move with natural grace instead of mechanically, he smiled again and enjoyed it for a moment before guiding her into a spin to finish out their short waltz, holding her extended hand at shoulder height.

"Thank you, that seems to have..." For the first time since stepping out of her room, Amy stopped long enough to look directly into his eyes. "...done the trick," she trailed off.

Methos didn't bother masking the appreciation in his gaze. Amy didn't say a word, though the pink flush covering her face told him she understood.

Amy wasn't above admitting to herself that she really liked the spark in his eye and the way it made her feel. This was the first time that kind of attention had been directed at her, but there was no room in her life for for such distractions. Not now, and not for a very long time. Not with the family obligations that were going to come crashing down on her in the future - however long she could hold that off.

Methos stepped closer, still holding Amy's hand, and bent forward ever so slightly.

Closing her eyes, Amy avoided his gaze while trying to regather herself.

Methos smoothly stepped past, and pulled her wrap from the coat rack by the door. Playing the part of the gentleman for once, he settled it around her shoulders, saying, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Amy forced a laugh, thankful for a way to return to familiar footing. "Somehow, I think that particular list would be very, very short if you were honest." She smiled at the dip of his head. "You coming down or locking up for me?"

"MacLeod is picking you up here?" She nodded. "Then I'd prefer to stay up here until he's gone."

"Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow? We'll finish celebrating your project then?"

He smiled and dipped his head yet again, then Amy was out the door with one more look back over her shoulder.

Next: Sunday, Bloody Sunday