No sooner had she stepped foot inside her hotel room, her cellphone had started ringing. She knew it couldn't have been Methos because only about half an hour had passed since she had last seen him. It would have been ridiculous and childish and entirely not his style.

Those last thirty minutes or so she had spent walking along the Seine slowly, thinking about what he had told her. It was hard to wrap her mind around the idea that there was a secrete society documenting each and every move Immortals took.

Naturally the idea had inspired a slight onslaught of paranoia, so she found herself throwing a cautious look over her shoulder more and more often now. Small noises like footsteps made her pause in her step and whip around. During her walk back to the hotel she simply couldn't shake the odd feeling that she was being watched. Now in the safety of her hotel room, entertaining the thought that someone was monitoring her activities was much less disconcerting. Nevertheless the ringing phone made her flinch. It had put an abrupt end to the thoughtful silence that had filled the room and presented a most annoying inconvenience. Something had to be done about that ringing and quickly. She could either pick it up or ignore it. But there was no ignoring it. It just went on and on.

"Liz Gilbert," she finally hissed into the phone. Her voice was close enough to an actual snarl, unfortunately the caller on the other end of the line didn't seem to be impressed by it.

"I'm going to leave." Announced a distinctly British sounding male voice through the telephone. The accent was upper crust, probably carefully cultivated in some place like Eton or Fettes. The caller's identity momentarily puzzled her, because she could not place his voice. Yet it did sound kind of familiar... She was almost tempted to ask who she was talking to, but the question became redundant soon enough.

"I am a best selling author. My last novel is currently leading the charts. Do you have any idea who I am?" The word 'no' was hovering in the forefront of her mind for a moment, but she refrained from saying it out loud. It would cost her some money and cause a lot of trouble. It was one of her clients. Pompous ass.

"A press conference, followed by a book signing?! Who do you take me for? Do I look like a marathon runner to you?" Ironically the author in question was far from looking athletic in any way. Again she bit her lips.

"Sir, if the schedule is too tight for you I'm sure we can figure something out," she said politely her English accent sounding particularly stiff because she was trying hard to suppress her annoyance. Did that man actually have any idea who he was talking to? She had already been around back when his grandfather soiled his diapers.

"It's not only the schedule. Have you seen the posters that advertise my latest novel here? They make me look fat! Like a whale!" 'That's because you are,' her brain supplied, her mouth however said: "I assure you, there's nothing wrong with those posters. You look perfectly handsome in those shots."

Instead of an answer there was an unnerved huff on the other end of the line. One that said that she had clearly no idea what she was talking about. Liz already had an odd sense of foreshadowing like this unnerving author person was going to steal a lot more of her time today. Working as an editor, she had already met her fair share of authors and some of them really were little divas.

This compatriot of hers was a particularly persistent and highly aggravating specimen as she had learned from her past dealings with him. With a sigh she surrendered herself to her fate and did something she most definitely did not enjoy. She had to kiss up to this guy, because he was important. Worse still, his appearance tomorrow was to be one of the highlights of the book fair. As tomorrow would be the final day of the event and her editing house wanted to leave a good impression, a lot of responsibility rested on her shoulders. Either she made this work or she could wave her job goodbye. A job she loved. A lot.

So around seven in the evening she was sitting across from said annoying author treating him to a luxurious dinner, including champaign, hors d'oeuvres and desert. The boredom of it was overwhelming, his voice aggravating, the words out of his mouth vapid concoctions overladen with complicated words and devoid of any true meaning. In short migraine inspiring. How people could actually subject themselves to reading his works willingly was beyond her now that she knew him better. Before today she had actually counted herself among his readers. Now her appreciation of his books was considerably lessened by the knowledge of how instantaneously dislikeable the guy truly was.

Again her cellphone rang. Now, however its ringing was music to her ears. It was a pleasant excuse to step outside for a second. Her "burden" only looked at her with a mild look of irritation, obviously he was not really appreciative of her company either. Yet it also seemed to bother him that he didn't have her undivided attention all the time. Eventually he waved her off with a disgusted and resigned hand gesture. This time, unlike before, she was looking forward to answering the phone. She had been waiting for this call all day, nervously checking her watch every twenty minutes or so. The fact that she was worried for him was news to her. Unsettling news mostly, because being worried about another person usually led to things more complicated. She was in over her head, but her hormones clouded her judgement enough to make her disregard that fact. Not completely, but in way that she only briefly acknowledged her own stupidity and then continued with it unflinchingly. Again, it had to be repeated, she was in way, way over her head.

When she heard his voice on the other end of the line now, she was extremely pleased. It meant he had survived this afternoon and MacLeod's brilliant plan hadn't cost him his head. His very handsome head. She smiled and for once didn't trouble herself with hiding it. "Hey, good to hear you voice. Glad you are okay."

"No thanks to MacLeod and his friends, though. Had a couple of close calls today."

"Poor, baby," she cooed into the cellphone with an ironic smile on her lips that miraculously also managed to convey itself through the tone of her voice.

"Finally someone who cares." Cue irony. He was smiling as well. Even without seeing him now she could easily hear those things in his voice.

It was a pity she would have to shoot him down. When it came down to either spending an evening with that pompous snob waiting back at the restaurant for her or Methos who would doubtlessly keep her entertained all night with his sharp wit and his deliciously ironic remarks, the choice wasn't really that hard. But this wasn't a holiday. She was here on a business trip and she was not going to let herself be swayed by her feelings into acting irresponsibly. It could cost her job her and a lot of money. She wasn't going to take that risk. "Listen, about tonight...," she started regretfully.

"Are you suddenly having second thoughts?" His question was not unexpected and certainly not unreasonable from his point of view. Less than twelve hours ago they had been kissing and now she was about to shoot him down, despite the fact that she would be leaving town the next day. Of course he would ask himself what he had done wrong.

"No," she answered quickly and determinedly. As astonishing as it might have sounded, she wasn't experiencing a sudden onset of cold feet. Even given the fact that he had sprung his story about the Watchers on her only this afternoon. She was a big girl and could stomach a lot. That alone wasn't enough to deter her. He was too attractive to her for that. Attractive from an intellectual point of view as well as from a physical. But how was she going to convey that to him without being distastefully blunt?

A short pause. Apparently he was considering how to best continue this conversation as well. They were both people who would rather try to communicate how they felt by subtly insinuating things rather than openly stating what they wanted to say. "Is it the slight age difference?" So he was trying for a some light-heartedness to make the situation less uncomfortable.

She grinned. "This might come as a surprise to you, but no."

"Hmm... my Grecian profile?"

"Sheesh! Now you're really grasping for straws, aren't you? Or is it just that you're fishing for compliments?" she started walking up and down the pavement. It was difficult to diffuse the situation. How do you shoot someone down you care for? How do you do it without telling him you care for him? Especially when all you want to do is spend as much time as possible with that other person... It occurred to her, as she waited for his response, that this situation was deeply ironic and probably payback for the many times she had played with other people's feelings.

"A little bit of both actually," he said coolly.

She let out a mock sigh. "You really want me to say it out loud, don't you?" She was ready to say just about anything save 'I love you' to make him forgive her for choosing to spend her last evening in Paris with someone other than him.

"Yes, that would be nice. After all you're seconds away from shooting me down, aren't you?" She could just picture him standing there, with a funny little lop-sided grin on his face. His posture ever so casual and relaxed, like nothing in the world could faze him. The picture was irritating, yet charming. To adjectives she had come to associate with him a lot.

"Alright. I think you're handsome, okay? And now shut up!"

He laughed. "Just a bit of advice? Not helpful, telling someone to shut up when you're talking to them over the phone."

"Smart-ass."

"Thanks, so why are you blowing me off again?"

She blew out a long breath. So she would have to explain herself to him after all. "Have you ever heard anything about a book called 'Blood Moon Over Venice'?" she asked him gravely.

"Nope, sorry, doesn't ring any bells," he said simply.

"Love, honestly, sometimes I think you're living under a rock," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It's the number one best selling novel right now?" she supplied hopefully. No reply, no sound of recognition on the other end of the line. Just waiting silence. Eventually she decided to continue. "Written by possibly THE most annoying person on Earth? The one I'm currently having the pleasure of having dinner with and who's determined to turn the rest of my stay here into a living hell?"

"Ah, okay. Let me think about it... No. Sorry. Still nothing. Sounds delightful, though. I can understand how you would like to trade the pleasure of my company for that. Especially on your last night here." More irony to cover up a simple heartfelt feeling. He had wanted to see her again, even though he was joking about it now. She could tell from the tone of his voice.

"Oh, don't tempt me!" she ran her hand through her hair in mild frustration. "Imagine the most condescending person you have met... Are you doing it?"

"Hmhm, sure," she could hear the unmistakable sound of a beer bottle being opened over the line. She even heard him take a sip. "So I'm imaging you, but only a bit worse, right?" She sighed and decided to let it slip for now. After all he was the wronged party and had a certain right to mock her. But all in good fun and only a bit.

"I'm this close to killing him," she stopped walking and raised her hand in front of her face to indicate with her fingers how close she actually was to killing the guy. The gesture was clearly more her benefit than for his since it was a conversation over the phone. "But then I would have to explain to the police why Mr. FamousBestsellingAuthor is dead and I would probably lose my job. And there you go... A whole bunch of stupid reasons why I can't see you tonight..."

"So tomorrow then?" he asked simply.

"I'm sorry. I can't. Book fair. Then I've got a plane to catch," she explained her voice sounding somewhat frustrated and apologetic. She let out an annoyed huff and shot a death glare through the window front of the restaurant towards her table. FamousAuthorGuy was looking rather nonplussed. Well, tough! She didn't give a damn. After all he had ruined her evening.

"Okay," that single word was rather long drawn. "So what now?" Aha, again he was granting her an opening. A way out. Silly man! Too late for that anyway.

She shrugged her shoulders. "We're smart people. We'll figure it out." It was not like her being overly emotional about the issue. She was a practical sort of girl. Come to think of it, there wasn't much of a problem really. She had money, ergo she could buy plane tickets, ergo she could see him whenever her time allowed it. Hopefully he would have an equally uncomplicated view on the matter.

"It's a rain check then, in case you haven't figured that out, smarty pants," she teased him in order to hide her own insecurity from him.

"Good," he said finally.

"Good," she replied. "I'm going to hang up now, okay? Take care."

"Take care," he said and with that the conversation was over.

Liz turned towards the entrance of the restaurant again, but hesitated to enter momentarily. Right now it seemed impossible for her to find that mind set again that allowed her to endure constant criticism with a nonchalant screw-you-smile. She took a couple of deep breaths and promised herself to order a big glass of Chardonnay once she was inside.

It was very early in the morning when she left her hotel room with her suitcase already packed. Her schedule for today was tight and she was actually looking forward to very few of the things on it: morning and early afternoon at the book fair – yay! There lots of smiling was required that would make her face feel like it was going to be frozen in that same artificially cheery expression for all eternity. Literally. Then airport, flight home and hopefully, soon after, she would be allowed to take a little nap in her own bed.

But before all that, she had one more stop to make. And that one wasn't a bother at all. She waved a cab over with a smile and reached inside her handbag. Her fingers almost automatically closed around the worn paperback she was carrying around in it. It had been hidden away in her suitcase and while she had been packing yesterday, she had quite inevitably come across it in the process. It was a book she always had with her, because it gave her a sense of orientation. It served her as a reminder of who she was. Alright, not exactly who she was. However, the woman in the book, a character she had supposedly inspired the author to create back in the day, embodied a lot of the qualities she really did possessed, plus some she wished she had.

She got out of the car and walked down to the Seine, where MacLeod's barge was floating peacefully on the river. She could see a person moving on deck from a distance. The broad shoulders and the dark long hair told her it was MacLeod. She waved at him. After a few seconds he had spotted her and waved back. As she moved closer, she was quite inevitably hit by the Buzz, this time blatantly redundant because both Immortals were already aware of the other's presence.

MacLeod was wearing track pants, tennis shoes and a plain black T-shirt, so quite obviously he was headed out for a run. Her unexpected appearance did not seem to bother him, however. He was smiling warmly at her when they exchanged their 'hellos'.

"Out for a run?" she stated the obvious.

He looked down at his own outfit. "Guilty as charged."

"How far?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. As far as I can run in about an hour."

Liz smiled at his response. MacLeod didn't need to show off about those things. He just did them, which made him all the more likeable in her book. Liz tore herself from her reflections about the character of the Scotsman and reached inside her handbag to shortly after produce the aforementioned book and a CD from it.

"What's that?" he asked in a somewhat surprised tone of voice. He looked down at the two items. "''Sherlock Holmes the complete stories' and 'Violator' by Depeche Mode?"

She suppressed a comment along the lines of 'Oh, goody! You can read!'. That degree of playful sarcasm was normally reserved for Methos. But this was MacLeod, someone less fond of ironic barbs, so she chose to say the following words in a rather benign tone of voice instead: "Yeah, I know. Odd combination, right?" Duncan nodded. She smiled.

"Have I ever told you about the time I met Arthur Conan Doyle? I think I hit it off with him right away," Liz grinned at him bashfully.

"No, can't say you have..."

"Well, when we next meet I should. It's quite a story. Something to be shared over a good drink," she informed him proudly.

"I'll make sure to remind you of it," he grinned.

"You'd better." A moment of silence passed between them.

"You know he's not in, right?" Duncan said finally. He was obviously aware of the fact that she hadn't come to see him and make small-talk over inane things like running and Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Yes... Yes, of course, I know. Could you please give him these from me?" she held out the book and the CD to him. MacLeod took them from her with an amused smile.

"It's got a dedication on the inside. He'll get it," Liz explained.

"I'm sure he will," MacLeod assured her.

"I'll have to leave now. Got an appointment in twenty minutes. I can't be late for that," she was already turning to leave. MacLeod gave her a last friendly smile. Before she put her foot on the gangway she turned one last time, however. "Will you do me a favour, Duncan?"

"What?" the Scotsman asked expectantly.

"You boys will look out for each other, right?"

"Course," MacLeod smiled. Actually it was a bit a 'cat-got-the-canary' sort of smile. He was probably going to tease Methos about it mercilessly later on. Liz didn't particularly mind. A little bit of teasing had never hurt anyone.

She gave him one more curt nod, before she turned to walk away.

With a sigh MacLeod closed the tome of poetry that he was holding in his hands. "So how did apartment hunting go?" he eventually asked. Mere seconds ago Methos had made a dramatic entrance by breezing into the cabin of the barge. After the older Immortal had made a couple of ill-humoured and snide remarks about the in general much too high rental prices in Paris, which had effectively brought about the end of MacLeod's much too short period of rest and relaxation, Methos had let himself fall down on the couch with a frustrated huff. To MacLeod great irritation, he had also put his feet on the coffee table yet again. Duncan stepped up to him determinedly. After glaring couldn't persuade him to stop using the coffee table as a footrest, he casually shoved Methos's feet down from it with his arm.

"How do you think it went?" Methos threw him a rather nonplussed, acidic gaze and leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, you can't stay here much longer, I'm afraid. Amanda's called today and told me she'll be heading to Paris soon. So unless you want to play fifth wheel... ," Duncan said cheerfully and not without a certain malicious satisfaction. He liked the other Immortal, but his particular quirks and eccentricities were starting to get on his nerves. He wasn't what on would call an ideal flatmate. There were for example Methos's noisy meditative exercises that apparently required him to sit around motionlessly for hours whilst emitting strange vowel sounds. Of course, he meditated mostly in the wee hours of the morning when MacLeod wanted to sleep.

"Subtle," Methos snorted and looked at MacLeod reproachfully. "How 'bout a nice bottle of beer? Maybe it'll help me ignore the fact that you're practically throwing me out like a bag of one-week-old garbage."

MacLeod shook his head with a grin. "More like 5,000-year-old. Now that you mention it, we're fresh out of beer. I drank the last one yesterday evening celebrating what I thought was your definite departure."

The expression on Methos's face turned dangerously sour, so MacLeod wordlessly held the book and the CD under his nose which Liz had given him earlier. Those two random items would be interesting enough to distract the older Immortal from unleashing his bad temper on him, which, in turn, would spare him the trouble of having to come up with another witty repartee. As a matter of fact Methos merely raised his left eyebrow and regarded the proffered book and CD sceptically, instead of making a sarcastic comment. "Care to explain what I should want with these things?"

"Your girlfriend dropped them off for you earlier." MacLeod made sure he put a sufficiently heavy emphasise on the word 'girlfriend' and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Am I wrong or wasn't it you who said yesterday that getting romantically involved with another Immortal was too complicated? Or is that just a rule that applies to everyone else but you?"

"Nope, I'm definitely no exemption from that rule. It is complicated," he said ill-humouredly and quickly took the book and the CD from MacLeod's waiting hands. Methos inspected both items closely with a critical gaze, taking in the worn and dog-eared cover of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes as well as the slightly scratched surface of the CD.

"So why are you getting involved with her then?" MacLeod interestedly.

"Why?" Methos smacked his lips pensively and got up from the couch. "Why indeed?" He was tapping the edge of the CD against his chin pensively as he walked over to the stereo. "Why do people ever do anything?" He opened the CD case. "Because they can't help it." A bright yellow post-it note was attached to the disc that spelled out the words 'Play me' written with a black felt pen. He pealed off the post-it slowly and deliberately. There was a crooked smile on his face when he grumbled up the piece of paper, opened the CD-player and replaced MacLeod's opera CD with the Depeche Mode album. It started playing immediately. The electronic beats were loudly blaring through the speakers.

"Turn it down!" MacLeod screamed over the noise.

Methos followed his request with a sardonic smile on his face. He sauntered back towards the couch casually, while Dave Gahan was singing softly in the background. As he passed the coffee table, he let MacLeod's CD drop on it carelessly, an action which Duncan commented with a disapproving "Hey!". Methos had slumped down on the couch again in the meantime and was already leafing through the first couple of pages of the book Liz had given him.

Soon he stumbled across her handwriting that was all swirly and elegant letters. There was a dedication. His eyes quickly flew over her words. They were sweet and simple.

Adam,

I would have loved to see you yesterday. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to be. So until we next see each other, I'll leave you 'two old friends' to keep you company. In case you should, let's say, eventually (in a week or two) grow tired of them and feel the need to give them back, I'll leave you my address...

Liz

MacLeod cleared his throat to draw his attention back to him. Methos looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"Well, she seems to have developed a certain interest in you," Duncan remarked.

"What makes you say that?" If MacLeod wasn't mistaken there was something akin to genuine interest sparkling in Methos's eyes, though he did do a rather brilliant job at hiding that interest behind his usual nonchalant act.

"Oh, I don't know, Old Man," the Scotsman shrugged his shoulders casually. "Where to start?" He pretended to give the rhetorical question some thought before he continued talking. Obviously he was under the misconception that he had the upper hand for once and was enjoying himself quite a bit because of it. "The book and the CD maybe? The fact that she keeps finding excuses to turn up here...," MacLeod supplied.

Methos smiled a thin humourless smile. "You think I haven't noticed? I'm not that cold-hearted, MacLeod."

"And?" He waited in vain for the other Immortal's answer, so he continued. "Do you feel the same way about her?" The question was certainly a bit too blunt, a bit too intrusive for Methos to answer it truthfully. MacLeod was aware of that, but he was willing to try his luck anyway.

"So you want to talk about feelings now? I wonder what's next. Are we going to paint each other's toe nails? Before you get your hopes up... I'm not up for that," he wrinkled his nose in mock disgust and stood up.

Duncan made a face. He should have known that that approach wouldn't work with Methos. "I'm asking because you're my friend and I'm worried."

"Worried about what exactly?" Methos's eyes narrowed, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that certainly indicated that the conversation was heading in a direction he was not particularly pleased with.

Now MacLeod himself rather wished they still had one of those beers. This conversation was turning out to be more exhausting than he had expected. He frustratedly ran a hand through his hair, managing miraculously to not disturb his ponytail. "Look, she's one of Amanda's closest friends. I know who she is. I know about her history. That she was a courtesan. I read up on her, her temper, the way she manipulated people into getting what she wanted. Did you know she even managed to manipulate a king into giving her a title? That's how good she was at it..." MacLeod had said what he wanted to say and was now looking at Methos expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Methos let out an amused chuckle and petted MacLeod's shoulder in a condescending way. "Really, MacLeod, I don't know whether I should be touched or offended." MacLeod had thought Methos's reaction would be a tad bit more dramatic. This was anticlimactic, unexpected and on top of that irritating. "Of course I know about her past."

"So what then? Are you playing with her? What do you want with her?" MacLeod's voice was starting to acquire a certain sour tinge, probably thanks to his flaring temper. He didn't like being treated in a condescending way.

Time went ticking by as MacLeod was waiting for Methos's answer. As a matter of fact after several more seconds had passed, he was starting to believe Methos wouldn't answer him at all. Just as he was about to give up and wave his hand at him dismissively, Methos spoke again. "It started out as a game," he said slowly and hesitantly as if he was deliberating ever single syllable of that sentence.

"And now?"

"The stakes have risen. New rules," Methos shrugged.

"Why?"

"We both might not be playing anymore," Methos told him, before he breezed past him towards the stereo.