The next morning, it was Sunday and she had one day off from the book fair, she was awoken by the Buzz. Not a pleasant way to wake up. She immediately jumped out of bed, grabbed her rapier and snug closer to the door.
"Who's there?" she called out, already assuming a fighting stance.
"Breakfast," came the answer from the other side of the door. A look through the spyhole confirmed her suspicion. It was Methos. Liz let out a long exhale and lowered her sword. She unlocked the door and let him in.
He breezed past her, wide awake and energetic, which seemed to be unfair and was also slightly annoying because she now became vaguely aware of how sleepy she actually still was. The adrenalin kick from before had left her system. Hadn't he said something about breakfast? Maybe it was in the white paper bag he was holding in his hands. She made a grab for it, but he just pulled it out of her grasp with an ease that made her want to smack him over the head. Liz crossed her arms over her chest and threw him an expectant look that seemed to say 'You'd better tell me what you're up to'.
Surely her impatience hadn't escaped his notice. However, instead of offering the promised breakfast to her, the first thing he commented on was the presence of her weapon. But not without his characteristic nonchalance, however. "Oh, a sword! And there I was worried you didn't own one. Do you only pull it out on your boyfriends? That would explain a lot..."
She closed the door behind him and turned to him. "Ooooh, so you are my boyfriend then?" she teased.
He took a step closer to her and took the weapon out of her hand, throwing it one the bed behind them after having giving it a short, but appreciative glance. "I hope I am the only man who sees you in your PJs in the morning and gets to do this." He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her nose caught a whiff of his cologne, the smell of fresh air and of freshly backed pastries, since he was still holding the paper bag in his hand, despite her efforts to snatch it from his grasp while he was kissing her. Food and sex were really two rather primal needs and right now it looked like she wouldn't even have to choose between those two.
She smiled against his lips, then pulled back to deliver the provocative retort that had just popped in her head. "I don't know. The concierge is also kind of cute. Maybe he can be persuaded to bring me breakfast."
"Why would you want someone as dull as a concierge when you can have me?" He took a step back. His hands were on her midriff. They felt warm through the thin satin fabric of her PJs. "Love the hair by the way," he grinned down at her. "And the toe nails... Black? Feeling down?"
She wiggled her toes on the carpet for effect, suppressing the impulse to smooth down her unruly hair. "With you around, sweetheart? Never," she was laying it on pretty thick in order to make clear that her words were meant to be ironic. "Now what was that about breakfast?"
Again he swatted her fingers away from the paper bag. "Best croissants in town. But we're going to eat out."
She sighed. Apparently her urges wouldn't be satisfied as easily as she initially suspected. So that was a definite 'later' on the food part, while the other thing, the sex, would be left to simmer for an indefinite period of time. "Okay,"she said somewhat unenthusiastically.
Of course with those sensitive antennas of his, he immediately picked up on her mood change. "Not a morning person?" he teased with that devilish grin still on his face. It was quite clear to her that if she said 'yes' now he was going to use that information against her.
"I am. I just don't appreciate being woken by the Buzz," she informed him curtly, then in an afterthought she decided to soften the blow a bit, by adding the next words: "There would have been a way around that, you know. You could have stayed the night."
"Oh, believe me I lay awake thinking about that for a long time tonight." His eyes now seemed darker than before. Maybe it was the effect of her words. Or maybe it was just the light. One thing she knew for sure, though, if he continued to look at her like that they would probably soon have an issue with the word 'slow' again.
"Okay," she finally said, stepping away from him and the building sexual tension between them somewhat reluctantly. After all she had promised to give this thing between them a try. She was not one to welsh on a promise if she really meant it.
"I'm pretty hungry so I guess I'd better hit the shower now..." She quickly marched over to her suitcase and started rummaging in it. It was difficult to keep herself from engaging into anymore flirtatious behaviour with him. It went against her nature. Also there was the added temptation of a king-sized bed nearby. She blinked her eyes several times and looked down at her hands that were rifling through her own clothes somewhat carelessly. As soon as she allowed herself to actually focus on what she was doing, if only for a second, her frustration with her inability to find something decent to wear drowned out those inappropriate thoughts. Since she would only be in town for five days, she had not bothered to unpack properly, which had been a mistake. It didn't make finding something specific in her suitcase any easier.
"This is going to take a while," she stated as she gradually became aware of the fact that every women eventually becomes aware of at some point or other in her life. She had lots of clothes at her disposal, but nothing to wear. "Feel free to grab my CD Walkman from my bag and some CDs. Mi casa esta tu casa and what not..." she said without turning around.
Moments later she heard him pick up her bag from the floor next to bed, the chaotic array of various objects she had stored there, rattling around in it softly as he did so. Obviously he had no qualms about rummaging through someone other's personal belongings. She should have been scandalised about his lack of boundaries, but for some reason she had almost expected him to behave like that.
"You sure carry a lot of stuff around with you," he whistled through his teeth. "Lipstick, a perfume bottle, a set of keys, probably the ones to your apartment, I assume, a single-use camera, a couple of books, a collapsible umbrella... Shall I go on? Do you even have an idea what's in here?"
"A girl needs to be prepared," she answered simply.
"And yet you almost never carry your sword around with you," he quipped back.
"Is this your way of telling me that I should start carrying it around with me because you worry," she threw him a teasing look over her shoulder. She had reason to be in a good mood, she had finally found something decent to wear in her suitcase.
"No. It's my way of stating the apparent and rather charming contradictions of your personality."
"You're lucky you put 'charming' in that sentence. For a moment 'contradictions' sounded a bit like 'flaws' to me." She turned around with her clothes over her arm.
He had taken off his coat and had draped himself over her bed in a charmingly casual pose. Before him on the bed he had spread out a couple of her CDs: Depeche Mode, a recording of the Three Tenors in Rome, Johnny Cash and some Spanish Flamenco tunes. She smiled at him, wavering somewhat in her decision to immediately go and have a shower. Lying there, casually leaving through the booklet of Depeche Mode's 'Violator', he was perfectly edible. Her mind immediately supplied her with a couple of rather graphic things they could be doing on the bed he was currently occupying.
She grimaced, remembering what she had agreed to yesterday. Of course, taking it slow was a good idea. It was only reasonable. It was just that she didn't do reasonable all too well. She had no experience with it. It was especially hard when she was being provoked like this, even if it was not done intentionally. He was driving her crazy. So she decided to retaliate by driving him just as crazy.
"Off to the bathroom now," Liz informed him. She walked towards the door and paused in its frame, throwing him a casual look over her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to join me? I could scrub your back, you could scrub mine..."
He looked up completely perplexed by the words that had just come out of her mouth. In fact her comment seemed to have him struggling for words if only for just a moment. She took a perverse pride in the fact that she had actually managed to render 5,000-years-old Methos momentarily speechless with just a flirty line. "This is not a question of want... You know that," he ground out. "Thinking with your genitals becomes less appealing from a certain age upwards."
Liz smiled sweetly at him. "Okay, so I take that as a 'no' then. You won't come into the shower with me? No problem. You could just come and watch. I don't have any issues with being naked in front of other people," she shrugged her shoulders casually.
"Are you sure you aren't the devil?" he gave her long hard look.
"Hardly," Liz laughed softly. "Just creative, I guess. You torture me by making a convincing argument for the slow path, I torture you by giving you a taste of what we are consciously depriving ourselves of."
"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."
She just smiled, entered the bathroom and closed the door behind herself. After a few seconds she could hear him switch on the telly in the next room. Soft voices and music were filtering through the door. Apparently he had decided against the CD Walkman option. She shrugged and took off her pyjama to step into the shower. After fumbling with the hot and cold taps for a while, she finally managed to find the right temperature.
The hot water hit her forehead and dribbled down on it comfortingly like a thousand fingers massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes and started humming softly to herself. The melody seemed to come to her naturally and for a moment it made her pause. Was it a song she knew? She continued humming the tune. Shreds of lyrics were emerging from her consciousness. Yes, she definitely knew that song. Liz reached for the shower gel, still thinking about it and then it hit her. She laughed, the sound of it echoing merrily from the tiled walls. It was actually the oddest song to be humming under the shower. But it amused her and it was certainly very catchy, so she decided to sing it. The walls of the bathroom were creating a pleasant resonance as she belted out confidently the first verse of the song.
"As I came home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be So I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be? Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you can not see That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me Well, many is a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more But a sow with a saddle on sure I never seen before."
At this point of the song she stopped, thinking about the Tuesday-verse. It had been a long time since she last heard or sung that particular song. While she stood there thinking, it occurred to her that the TV next door had been switched off, because she couldn't hear it any more. A grin appeared on her face and actually spread to Cheshire Cat dimensions. She finally continued her song, making sure she also sang the particularly raunchy sixth and seventh verse of the song for the benefit of her potential audience that was probably still lying stretched out on her hotel bed.
After she was finished with the shower, she rinsed off, stepped out of the cabin and wrapped the huge white hotel towel around herself. The air in the small room was warm and humid, so she decided to open the door to the adjoining room. Currently the bathroom mirror was too fogged up to be of any use anyway. She couldn't resist popping her head out of the door for a second. "Hey!" she said softly. "Still there?" Her wet hair was falling over her shoulder and laughter was shining in her eyes.
As was to be expected he was still sprawled on the bed, currently leafing through some shallow mystery novel with a flashy cover. She had casually thrown the book on the night stand on Friday evening after coming back to the hotel from the book fair. He looked up to her and flashed her an amused smile. "Still there. Not going anywhere. Was that "Seven Drunken Night"?"
"Yep," she nodded vigorously.
"I didn't expect you to be able to actually carry a tune..."
"Well, I've got many skills..."
"Doubtlessly," he said, leaving it up to her whether she interpreted his response as something negative or positive.
"Do you sing?" she asked out of the blue, unwilling to let him get away even with the slightest smidgen of smugness.
"Only in the privacy of the shower," he told her with a smirk.
"Pity, I couldn't convince you to tag along. I would have loved to hear you sing," she replied with a saccharine smile.
"Was that why you were crooning that particularly raunchy song? To lure me into the bathroom?"
"Well, apparently that didn't work," she winked at him teasingly, leaning against the door frame. "Now I'm scared I've offended your delicate sensibilities..." Liz covered her heart in a mocking gesture, voluntarily directing his gaze to her chest that was currently only shielded from his curious gaze by some terry cloth.
After his eyes had strayed from her face for just the fraction of a second, they settled back on it again and he shook his head with a smile. "Do you think you can offend the sensibilities of someone who was to his fair share of bacchanalia back in the day?" he paused for dramatic effect. Of course she hadn't managed to offend him. That was ridiculous. "Do they actually get to sing the last couple of verses in public, though?"
"No. Aren't you glad to have me now? There are certain perks to knowing an Irish lass," she let her natural accent surface in order to make the statement more amusing.
"Yes, definitely more then glad," he flashed her a shit-eating grin. She was half-inclined to throw her towel at him. But she was getting ahead of herself. They were not that far advanced in their relationship yet. She settled on shooting him a death glare of somewhat limited effectiveness due to the smile on her face. He continued talking completely unaffected by it. Apparently he wasn't done saying annoying things yet. "I hope your patriotism doesn't extend to the colour of your wardrobe. You're not going to come out there dress like a Leprechaun, are you? Green trousers, green shirt, green everything..."
"Well, sweetie, as a matter of fact, I could forego the wardrobe bit entirely if you'd prefer..." Liz threw him a sugary sweet smile.
"Is it sexual innuendos with you all the time?" he asked. His tone of voice sounded ever so slightly annoyed.
"Only when I'm in the right mood, darling. Somehow you do seem to have that effect on me," she purred. "Why? Do I make you feel uncomfortable, love? I could stop, you know..."
He briefly paused to think. Maybe he wanted to weigh his options. She actually had the audacity to watch him do it with a smirk on her face. Upon seeing that, he forewent further reflection and just said what was lying on the tip of his tongue instead. "No, I doubt that you could. It's just that I'm not a very modern sort of guy. It takes some getting used to."
"Well, you better get used it fast, love, because that isn't going to change any time soon," she smirked. With that she stepped back into the bathroom again. The bathroom mirror was no longer fogged up, so she could see herself in its reflection quite clearly. There was a sparkle in her eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. Her own smile looked kind of goofy to her, so she tried to suppress it. It was just too ridiculous. But when she thought of him again it was immediately back. She sighed and shook her head at her own antics. "Definitely in over my head," she whispered to herself resignedly, but there was still that pesky smile on her face.
Liz quickly got ready, dried her hair, brushed her teeth, put on some jeans and a plain, simple white shirt. The latter article of clothing briefly presented a small problem. Should she leave the three top buttons open or not? She postponed answering that particular question until she had put on some make-up, a bit of eye-liner and mascara. After having given herself one final once-over, she buttoned her shirt up, wrinkled her nose and unbuttoned the three top buttons again. There all done. She looked down at her still naked feet. Except for the shoes.
Barefoot she step out of the bathroom, her feet moving soundlessly over the carpeted floor. Methos was now leaning against the headboard of the bed, holding the book in front of his face. Apparently he was deeply engrossed in reading it, intermittently letting out sounds of disbelief or disgust. She grinned. Exactly her thoughts.
She discarded her initial plan of immediately getting her shoes and sneaked closer instead. Her rapier was now leaning against the night stand, she noticed as a passing thought. She couldn't care less about her sword now. She padded closer and closer. Obviously he was really distracted by the book or else he would have noticed her by now. Disgusting drivel tended to do that. Some book were just like a train wreck. You just couldn't pry your eyes away.
Now she was close enough. In one swift motion she plugged the novel out of his hands. He shot her a perplexed look, which turned into one of mild outrage when she snapped it shut and threw it over her shoulder dramatically. How she loved provoking him! It was like playing with fire. Before he could voice his displeasure, she was all up in his personal space, her face only inches away from his.
"I want breakfast now," she said simply. Then with her head inclined a bit to the right, pretending like she was regarding him more closely now, she added: "Or, since you refuse to hand over the paper bag, are you my breakfast?"
What she hadn't counted on, though, was his reaction. She actually let out a small squeal of surprise when she was unceremoniously flipped on her back and pinned to the mattress by his weight. He was fast, she had to give him that. "I think you got it all wrong. It's actually the other way around," his voice was right next to her ear. She shivered. Although only firm, but not unpleasant, the pressure around her wrists eased a bit. His eyes met hers. She could tell he was not joking any more, because there was no mirth in them. "If you don't stop it, you'll get your wish soon. I'm not a saint."
Liz was half inclined to say something along the lines of "Good, me neither," which would have undoubtedly added fuel to the fire. Probably nearly just as much as the idea of closing the distance between them with a kiss. She was aware of how unreasonable that was, but she did want him, especially now that his body was pressed up against hers and she had just discovered that somewhat darker, more domineering streak of his personality.
The temptation was huge, almost overwhelming, but when her eyes caught sight of his tattoo in the periphery of her vision, it was like a wake-up call. Like someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. She had not asked him about it yet. Why hadn't she? Albeit reluctantly her ratio started resurfacing from its short vacation during which it had been replaced by hormonal fantasies of kissing and sex. He hadn't moved yet. He was still looking at her expectantly.
Was that tattoo one more of those skeletons he hid in his closet? It would be most unwise rushing ahead without finding out first. Yet again it could just as well be something completely harmless. At any rate it would be smart to address the issue first before she let this progress any further. She was trying to trust him and open up to him, but unknowns like that made it that much harder. Plus, she wanted to give the two of them a chance to get to know each. Sex would probably foil that plan. That particular epiphany came as a shock to her and she quickly hid her emotional reaction behind an air of nonchalance and a sweet smile. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess."
Once more she was under the scrutiny of his piercing gaze, then his weight was off her body. She looked up at him in surprise. He was standing in front of the bed now, his hand extended to her. His mood had changed. Just like that it had gone back to normal again. In the blink of an eye. He certain was a very attractive and interesting paradox. "Come on then. Breakfast. A few steps down to the Seine. You, me, a nice bench by the river side and croissants."
"And coffee?"
"And coffee," he reassured her with a smile.
By the time she was sitting next him munching on a croissant and sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup she had to agree - it had been a good idea. Sitting here, eating, chatting and watching the boats certainly had its perks.
After the last of the pastries had been finished and the paper bag was no longer standing between them on the bench, she scooted closer to him. They were comfortable around each other, but not that comfortable yet. He still watched her every move with a certain cautiousness and there was a definitely the flash of a surprised expression on his face when she leaned her back against his side and stretched out her legs on the bench with a content sigh. After a moment, however, he laid his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching a small red boat slowly driving by on the river. After a while her eyes involuntarily and quite inevitably landed on his tattoo again. She sighed. So she would have to address it now.
"Listen, I've got to ask you something... It's been bugging me for a long time now...," Liz finally said reluctantly.
"What? Want to know my favourite colour? Music group? Food?"
Liz put down her feet on the ground and turned to him. His arm was still draped over her shoulders casually. She always found it easier to talk to him when she was able to look him in the eyes and read his facial expressions like subtitles to their conversation. "No. That's not it. But humour me nevertheless."
"Dark blue. Queen. Italian. Yours?"
"Burgundy," she hesitated, because she actually had to think about the next one for a minute, "The Cure. Shepard's Pie."
He had expected her to say something fancy when it came to food. This was sort of traditional and old-fashioned. He hid his surprise between his next question."What did you want to know?"
"The tattoo..."
"The tattoo," he repeated slowly, probably already trying to concoct a way to avoid answering her question. She was almost expecting him to make some kind of lame joke, except that he didn't.
"Maybe that's a conversation we should better have inside." Now that wasn't exactly a 'no'. She was surprised.
"Okay," she said finally.
"Okay," he replied. "Let's go to my place. It's just a few steps away."
So they started walking down the river side by side. After a few more minutes things started to look awfully familiar. And in fact, after a few more steps, there was McLeod's Barge floating peacefully as ever on the river in front of them.
"That's MacLeod's barge," she commented somewhat unintelligently. "Didn't you say you something about your place?"
"Yup. I did. My apartment is being sold."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'll figure something out," he smiled. She was sure he always did.
"I don't know why, but for some reason I don't like that smile of yours," Liz remarked. "Does MacLeod know that you're up to something?"
"That would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?"
She sighed, already feeling sorry for MacLeod. "The poor guy! You know, I actually quite like him. Is he home? I want to say 'hello'."
"No, paying a visit to some friends of his. Immortal Romeo and Juliet minus the tragic ending, at least according to him. I wouldn't worry too much about MacLeod. My plans for him and his barge are nothing but educational."
"Educational? Just like touching a hot stove is educational to a small child?" there was a slight hint of disapproval in her voice. She liked MacLeod and she was protective of the people she liked.
"Pff!" he scoffed. "It's nothing like that. MacLeod isn't defenceless. All in good fun. We all need to keep ourselves entertained, don't we?" He indicated the little gangway that bridged the gap between peer and ship, holding out his hand in an inviting gesture. His display of manners stood in stark contrast to his words from before. She finally took his hand after a brief moment of hesitation and stepped on deck. There was no Buzz. MacLeod really wasn't home.
They entered the living space under deck. She had been here before, but only briefly. This time she felt slightly uncomfortable though, like she was intruding. The place was all neat. Walls painted grey, the furniture posh, especially the cream sofa on which Methos let himself slump down without any further ado. He padded the place next to him. She remained standing and gave him a pointed look. He sighed.
"The tattoo?" she repeated her question from before, positioning herself opposite of the couch and out of his reach. "Before you open your mouth, don't bother telling me it was some sort of drunk mistake. You could have told me that out there..."
"You already know me far too well, huh?"
"No, it's just what I would have said. Remember, I'm not new to this game. After all lying was kind of my thing for a couple of years..."
"And now it isn't 'your thing' any more?" he enquired, crossing his arms behind his neck. His question was supposed to make this about her. Of course it was an attempt of distracting her. A lame one, but still she couldn't be angry with him because of it. It was a valiant try.
"Well, we all tell our share of white lies every day... I think that should answer that question. Which brings me back to my initial one and don't bother lying. What is it about the bloody tattoo?" she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for his answer with her eyes clued to his face.
"Why is it that we always end up at this point?" he asked with something akin to frustration in his voice.
"What point?" she asked with mild irritation in her voice.
"The point where you're asking about things I'm not comfortable telling you," he sighed.
"Because I'm observant, I guess," she finally answered after a few moments of contemplation. "And I am curious by nature." The way she said those words made him inevitably hear the unspoken challenge 'Deal with it!' as subtext.
"Have you ever heard of the saying curiosity killed the cat?" he asked in an unnerved tone of voice.
She grinned. "Yeah, the cat, but not me..."
He gave up the pretence of being comfortable and changed his position. Now he was slightly hunched forward, with his arms resting on his knees, his body language making it clear that he was about to say something grave and important. "Let's do some damage control then, shall we?"
"Damage control?!" she repeated slightly scandalised. "It's not like I'm going to go out there and tell your secrets to the whole wide word..." Her chest was rising and falling in quick intervals. She was actually angry at him.
"Why not? For all I know you could be," he gave to think.
Her eyes flashed dangerously at him, but she had herself under control, if only just barely so. "Why would I do something like that? In case you haven't noticed I do actually like you..."
He brushed her last argument away with a tired wave of his hand. "Let's forego feelings for a moment here..."
"Alright," she looked at him through narrowed eyes. It was clear she didn't approve of his suggestion, but she was willing to relent. "Let's do that then," she said. Her voice was low now and had a certain edge to it.
"This is something that involves other people as well...," he clarified.
"So you want to know whether I will expose their secret or do something equally foolish, I assume," she shot him a taxing look, waiting for him to acknowledge her words in any way. He nodded slowly, so she continued. "What personal gain would that bring me? I just want to be left alone, basically. If I was willing to piss of a large group of people, there would have to be something in it for me. If the risks outweighed the benefits, that would be foolish."
"What would it have to be?"
"You want to know what would cause me to betray the trust you put in me, is that it?" she finally asked after a while.
"Yes," he said eventually.
She thought about that for a while before she finally spoke again. "My life? My well-being? The life of a friend, I guess..."
He gave her a long, hard look. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, asked the following question: "Have you ever heard about the Watchers?" There was no response from her, only a blank stare that told him to go on. He sighed. "Well, have you?"
"No," she hook her head. "I suppose they watch something?"
"Yes, immortals," he clarified.
"And you're a member of that particular organisation?" she asked finally.
He nodded and waited for the information to sink in. Eventually it did. Liz just stared at him for a while then let out a raucous and incredulous laugh. "Fuck!" she swore finally. She looked at him again. This time a bit longer. His face was serious. Then again his face would also be serious if he had told her an obvious lie, like something along the lines of a flying saucer landing on top of the Eiffel Tower.
"Fuck," she said again. This time though in a lower voice. So god help her, she was actually starting to believe him. Gradually some weird coincidences from her past started to resurface from her memory. Like for example the fact, that she always saw the same woman standing there at the tube station when she went to work or came back home. Weirder yet, the fact that she had actually seen her in Paris this week. It was starting to make sense now. All those little pieces were starting to come together in her head, but her mind was still struggling with the news.
"You're a Watcher, but you're also an Immortal?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Okay," she said weakly, finally sitting down on the couch next to him, suddenly feeling exceedingly exhausted. "So what about this Adam Pierson persona?"
"A ruse. I pretend to be my own Watcher, so they'll leave me in peace."
"So every Immortal has a Watcher. Including me." Her words were not a question, more like a statement or a summary of the situation.
"Yes," he said with a certain finality to his voice.
"There's some person out there watching me with a spy glass like some fucking perverted version of an ornithologist?" her voice was rising a bit out of incredulity.
"You're freaking out now, aren't you?" he observed turning his upper body towards her.
She paused to think for a second. Was she freaking out? She definitely had some trouble wrapping her mind around this news. "I don't know," she said finally. It was the truth.
He hesitantly reached out to take her hands in his. They were ice cold. "This better not be you trying to be all educational and what not," she shot him a stern look, but didn't pull away from his touch.
"No, the truth and nothing but the truth," he reassured her. "Scout's honour."
"Did they even have boy scouts in Egypt? What were you selling? Pyramid shaped biscuits?!" He laughed softly. But Liz was not in the mood for laughing. She let out a long breath. "Okay." Another deep breath, in and out, in and out. Calm down. "Okay," she finally said again. "No reason to get all upset. There's just someone out there writing down what I do every day in some bloody notebook. Stay calm, Liz. Stay calm," she told herself.
"You're not calm," he observed. "And you're talking to yourself."
"Can you really blame me?"
"No, but what I am more concerned with right now is what you are going to do with this particular piece of information," he said with a serious expression on his face.
"What am I supposed to do with it? Shout it from the rooftops? Strikes me as most unwise... That would make a lot people pretty angry. And I don't need any more trouble than I already have," she reasoned.
"Good," he nodded in satisfaction, "I'm actually amazed how well you're taking the news."
"Well?! You call this well? I'm practically reeling from the shock...," she shot him an incredulous look.
"Poor thing!" Even in her state the sarcastic drawl in his voice, albeit mixed with a smidgen of sympathy, was unmistakable. "Should I distract you?"
"Distract me? How are you going to manage that? Are you going to step on my foot, smack me over the head or..." She was silenced by his mouth on hers. Initially she was impassive because the kiss had come so unexpectedly and she wasn't sure she was in the mood for kissing now, but soon enough she relented. The turmoil of emotions she had felt upon his revelation was eventually channelled into a single one: passion. She could feel his hands on the small of her back urging her closer. There was something dangerously appealing to his touch, because her shirt had slightly
ridden up giving his fingers access to a small area of soft and warm skin. The circles his fingers were rubbing there, the way he kissed her, it all made her melt into him. She was only a second away from climbing onto his lap, but then they were quite rudely interrupted. The Buzz. MacLeod was apparently coming home.
Reluctantly she pulled away from Methos whose eyes seemed to sparkle at her saying something like 'What? You don't want to play any more?'. She gave him an affectionate shove paired with the admonition to behave himself. He just laughed at it. Of course, she was well aware of the fact that telling him something like that was only wishful thinking at best.
"You won't guess..." MacLeod started, stepping through the door and abruptly stopped in the middle of the sentence when he saw them sitting on the couch. The scene looked a little too innocent to be actually quite that innocent. Being an immortal MacLeod had never had the dubious pleasure of walking in on his teenage son or daughter to catch them making out with their high school sweetheart, but today he had come pretty close to experiencing that sensation.
The way the two other occupants of the room reacted to his arrival was not very much unlike that of two teenagers caught in the act. While Methos was looking unbearably smug, Liz was unsuccessfully trying to cover up her embarrassment with an act of nonchalance. She didn't quite succeed in doing so, though, but her attempt was admirable, because the only thing that betrayed her was a slight flush colouring her cheeks pink.
"Hi," Liz finally managed to get out and followed up her greeting with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I didn't mean to intrude on you like that," she put heavy emphasis on the word 'I', which earned her a death glare from Methos and the muttered word 'traitor'.
"I'm sure you didn't," Duncan's face relaxed a bit.
She got up to shake his hand. They met in the middle of the room.
"It's good to see you," she smiled, really meaning it.
"Good to see you, too," he answered, saying the words with so much earnestness she actually believed him. Apparently he was quite forgiving about the fact that she had just made out with his friend on his couch. Still, she wasn't keen on any open display of affection in front of MacLeod, so she put a safe distance between herself and Methos, sitting down opposite of the couch, on the three little steps that led up to the exit of the room. Methos threw her a disappointed look, but took the chance to fully stretch out on MacLeod's couch, which was apparently something the Scotsman was less understanding about.
As a consequence his words to Methos were unsurprisingly less affectionate. "Still here?" he greeted the other man casually.
Methos just gave him a humourless smile. "Apparently. How are the two love birds?"
"Well, they weren't half as affectionate with each other as you two. In fact they are getting a divorce," Duncan announced, taking off his coat which he hung up on a little hook next to the door.
"Let me guess, she's the one who wants the divorce..." Methos concluded finally.
"Yes. But I won't let it happen. And that's were you come into play," Duncan announced, looking at the other Immortal with a mad sparkle in his eyes that let Liz fear that he already had some sort of crazy plan up his sleeve.
"Good luck with that," Liz groaned. "Are you sure you want his help? You do want to stop the divorce, not accelerate the process, don't you?"
"I do get your scepticism, although I have you know that it's slightly offensive," Methos gave her a lingering glance, devoid of any true spite, "nevertheless, I'm dying to hear about that little plan of yours, MacLeod. For some odd reason I just can't see myself playing cupid for your friends."
"All in good time," MacLeod smiled sweetly. For some reason his smile made Liz shudder. No, she had definitely misjudged MacLeod the first time she had met him. He was not as sweet as he appeared to be. "Anyone up for a bit of tea?" To her his invitation to tea was rather an invitation to leave.
"To be honest, MacLeod, I'd better be going. I'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon and there are a couple of work-related things I have to sort out before..."
"You're going to leave me at his mercy, aren't you?" Methos interrupted her.
"Isn't it actually the other way around?" she said coolly, which MacLeod comment with a loud 'Ha!'. "Just promise you won't do anything terribly stupid, okay? I've grown rather fond of you two and quarrelling lovers are usually something to be avoided. Especially the sword carrying variety." She had already gotten up, ready to depart from the room any second now that she had said her words of goodbye.
"Oh, please! Telling MacLeod not to do something stupid is like telling him not to breath. I'll have my tea with a dash of milk, two lumps of sugar by the way," Methos said casually as he got up to see her out. Quite predictably there was an exclamation of protest from the general area of the kitchenette, which Methos graciously ignored of course.
"Sorry, Duncan," Liz called out, adding a sheepish "See you around!"
"You're lucky if he doesn't put arsenic in your tea now," she informed Methos when they were up on deck.
"Be honest, you don't really have any work to do today, do you?" Of course, her little white lie hadn't escaped him.
"Nope," she grinned. "I just don't want to find myself in the middle of some messy lover's tryst. I've got enough on my plate dealing with you already."
"Oh, please. Dealing with me? I'm a charming, handsome, intelligent individual," he pouted. She was slightly scandalised by actually seeing him do it. That and also a bit charmed. He did do cute rather well.
"Among other things," she smiled and briefly kissed him on the lips, then decided the kiss had been too brief and gave him another longer one.
"You're sure this isn't about what I told you before?" His brown eyes were serious, so she also gave his question some serious thought.
"No, it isn't," she said firmly and added, "See you around tonight?"
"Yes," he smiled. "I'll give you a call once we've seen MacLeod's tragedy of the week through..."