Liz was terrified. And she wasn't one to be scared easily, but this was simply too much. It had been going on for days now. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she had the feeling of being watched. At the supermarket, when she made her way from the tube to her apartment at night, when she took a stroll in the park or headed out for a drink with her mates. Every single bloody time. It was not a vague suspicion. No, she actually had confirmation for it. Because every time she felt those watchful eyes on her, every time she felt those little hairs at the back of her neck rise, coincided with her senses being flooded quite unpleasantly and memorably by the strong onslaught of the Buzz. How convenient for whoever was watching her! The Buzz left her without any orientation and made it impossible for her to find or track down who was watching her.
After several days of this she was a wreck. To make matters worse he hadn't called her in weeks. Weeks. No word from him, no word from Amanda. No one seemed to bother returning her calls anymore. She wasn't used to rejection. Like a rat it was nagging and nibbling at her self-esteem reducing her to a fearful shadow of herself. This was the last thing she wanted to be: the perfect carbon copy of some pitiful damsel in distress. Depended from the help of other, unable to get anything done herself. So she called in sick, because her own four walls were the only place she still felt safe at. Because she was filled with self-loathing and no longer felt ready to expose herself to the harsh reality of the world outside her door. A door she had locked and bolted by now. Of course, she had a suspicion who was behind it all. She would have been stupid not to. Her name had haunted her ever since she had fought Friedrich and won. His last words, the threat he had flung at her, had been quite memorable. It made her wonder who had ultimately won the duel. Her or him?
Helen! There it was again, that name. She was out to get her. Of course, she had had it coming for a long time. In a way Friedrich had been right. She deserved it. It was a belated revenge for ever men she had made a fool of, for everyone she had tricked and manipulate. But hadn't she made some friends as well? Weren't there people who liked her? She couldn't be all bad if people liked her. She had changed. Hadn't she grown a conscious after her first death? Wasn't she worth saving?
Finally she picked up the phone, for a moment unsure whether she should call Methos or Amanda. In the end she chose to dial Amanda's number, because Amanda had always been by default the one person she could count on. The one who had never let her down and accepted her for who she was. She let out a breath of relief when she finally picked up the phone. Liz didn't leave her any time to say anything, however. Before Amanda could speak she had already burst out with her plea for help. "Amanda? Amanda, you have to come. I need you here!"
After things with the Watchers had gone sour, Methos had simply packed up and left, determined not to return to Paris for quite some time, possibly a decade. What had seemed like some grand dramatic exit, only befitting of his righteous anger and disappointment, had turned out to be rather anticlimactic. Standing at the airport underneath that oversized huge black sign that displayed the countless departures and arrivals of all sorts of airplanes in yellow letters, he couldn't help but feel relieved, which was odd because he had been counting on still feeling angry by the time he got here. The disappointment was still there, but the anger had disappeared, replaced by, well, relief. It was hard for him these days to work up the energy for a real fit of anger anyway. Ill-humour was easy, it was his default mood when taking refuge in sarcasm and irony didn't work, but anger required passion and passion was something for people who were still idealistic. He had already weaned himself off idealism effectively a couple of centuries ago. Or so he thought, because only hours ago he had been quite literally shaking with anger. Now, however, it was gone. He was free of that particular emotions and free to leave. Another burden off his shoulders that made walking away easier.
Surprisingly he already had a precise idea where he wanted to go. He had wanted to go there for quite some time, ever since before Joe's abduction, before things with the Watchers had escalated. But with his luck she didn't want to see him anymore. After all he knew her temper. And who could blame her? Weeks had passed since he had last spoken to her, except for that one short and a bit awkward phone call during which he had thanked her for the book and the CD she had left him with before she had flown back to London. London. Yes, that was precisely where he was going to go now.
Almost as quickly as Methos had made up his mind he had bought a plane ticket and about an hour later he was sitting on board of a plane to London waiting for second thoughts to come and admonish him that what he was doing was foolish. Quite surprisingly they didn't come. Not halfway through the flight, not after they had landed, not even when he sat in the cab that would take him to her apartment. When the cabbie asked him for the address, he didn't have take out the book to look at it. He had it memorised. Yet another thing that surprised him. Or maybe it shouldn't have, because he had re-read the dedication she had scribbled on the third page of the book a couple of times in the last weeks.
After a relatively short drive they were there. He refused to make small talk about inanities like the weather and the reason for his stay. What was the reason for his stay anyway? What would he tell her when she asked? That he had missed her? Being with her was easy compared to the pathetic mess with the Watchers. He needed her light-heartedness right now, her tendency not to dwell on serious matters for too long, even her constant flirting that he admittedly sometimes found somewhat annoying. But for some reason he knew today he wouldn't find that habit of hers irritating, he would find it rather reassuring and comforting. He really had missed her. But he wouldn't tell her that. The truth was sometimes just too unthinkable to be spoken out loud.
Notting Hill. Nice part of town. White facades, iron fences, green doors with golden knockers. He got out of the taxi. The right house was indicated to him by the driver. Methos nodded at him politely, took his bags and paid the man wordlessly. He reckoned he might have actually given the cabbie reason to suspect he was mute if it hadn't been for the muttered address at the beginning of the drive. Well, he couldn't care any less. Nevertheless he made sure to tip the good man sufficiently before he drove off again.
He approached the door, carrying his duffel bag over his shoulder. There was her name next to the doorbell. So he was in the right place. With a shrug, because honestly, what good would hesitance do now, he rang and waited. With his luck she was on one of her little errands right now anyway. He checked his watch. Six o'clock in the evening. The sun had already set. It was starting to get dark and a little bit chilly.
The Buzz hit him. For once he didn't reach for his sword. The door was suddenly opened. And he found himself quite unexpectedly grabbed by the arm and pulled inside. Instantly he regretted his carelessness because one of the key rules to survival was never to forget reaching for your sword. Especially since the tip of a sword was now hovering only inches from his nose. His eyes grew large in surprise, then they settled on Amanda's grinning face and quite inevitably narrowed in disapproval.
"Amanda," Methos drawled out her name with a disdainful note to his voice. "We really have to stop meeting like this," he remarked and brushed her sword away with the back of his hand. He dropped his bag to the floor casually, effectively showing her how unimpressed he was by her waving around a sword in front of his face.
Amanda lowered her weapon, but didn't have any time to retort. Another female voice, one he knew quite well, called a worried inquiry down the corridor. "Who is it, Amanda? You wouldn't be as stupid as to let her in, would you?"
"No. Don't worry. It's not her. It's much worse, Liz," Amanda called back with a grin. Apparently she knew more than him and quite possibly also the identity of the mysterious 'she' that had Liz so worried.
"What?!" Liz's voice rose an octave. "I'm not supposed to worry, but it's much worse? Are you crazy?" The woman in question popped out her head from behind the door at the end of the corridor and immediately paled when she laid eyes on Methos. "You?!" She stepped out from behind the door. Her long hair was a wild mess, she was clad in grey track pants and a loose fitting white T-shirt. Not glamorous as far as outfits went, but she was still beautiful to him.
"Yes," he said simply, because now was not the time to tell her about Watchers, conspiracies and about some friendships that were currently hanging in the balance.
She slowly padded towards him. She was barefoot. After the first few steps he could tell she became self-conscious by the way she kept running her fingers through her hair and tugging at her T-shirt. Self-conscious was not at all like her. It had him worried, so he met her in the middle of the corridor. They stopped in front of each other, unsure what should happen next. What was the appropriate greeting? A kiss? A hug? A handshake? Maybe she was trying to work out whether she was supposed to be angry with him for completely dropping off the radar for as long as three weeks. There were certainly a couple of conflicting emotions playing across her face. He decided to act before she could possibly decide on throwing an angry fit. "Hi," he said softly.
"You're here." She briefly grinned at him, then fought the grin down. "I should be very cross with you, you know."
"Why? Because I should have called in advance? I can see how that would make you cross. This is clearly a bad time for you." His words were sarcastic as ever, but he tried to convey he wasn't serious by his tone of voice and by the way he was looking at her. Her reaction still came unexpected to him, however. He had expected her to at least kick him in the shin, to start screaming or maybe grab the vase that was standing on the little table next to them and smash it on the floor in anger, any of the above really, but he hadn't been prepared for what she did next.
"Shut up!" she told him simply in a rather benign tone of voice before she got on tiptoes and hugged him quite fiercely. He could feel her chin on his shoulder, then her warm breath fanning against his neck. He encircled her waist with his arms and pulled her closer. She let out a sound of contentment that was somewhere between sigh and exhale and made him want to kiss her even more than he already did, but he held himself back because the last thing he wanted was to give Amanda any extra ammunition.
The hug lasted longer than it normally would have, had it been merely a welcoming hug between friends. Hugging was fine by him, nevertheless her behaviour was starting to have him worried. She was rarely that open about her feelings and practically never allowed herself to be that vulnerable. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly, running his hand over her hair in a gesture of reassurance.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" she said and finally stepped out of his embrace. Her eyes were shining suspiciously. Behind them Amanda cleared her voice noisily.
"Don't believe a single word she is saying. She anything but fine. But still an excellent liar, even under duress," Amanda told him as she passed them by and sauntered towards the door, carrying her sword casually over her shoulder like one would carry a walking stick or fishing rod. Her departure was apparently meant to be understood as an unspoken invitation to follow. And he took it as such, especially since the corridor was nice, but not hospitable, even though its walls were decorated with lots of framed black and white photos and a golden mirror that was hanging over a small table on which the aforementioned vase was standing, miraculously still intact since Liz hadn't thrown a tantrum. Liz... He turned around to see her still rooted to the same spot as before.
"You're really not okay, are you?" he finally said.
She didn't say anything and stubbornly as ever just looked away, suddenly taking an immense interest in her toes. He held out his hand to her, making sure it invaded her field of vision in the process and briefly wiggled his fingers at her invitingly. "Your toes are cute, but surely not that fascinating."
Liz shot him a surprised look - yes, he really had just said that – and he used her distraction to grab her hand and tug her along after him. Through the door they went and entered her living room, a nice room with comfortable looking Oxford leather sofa in the centre. Over its side a multicoloured blanket had been thrown quite hazardously. There was a table in front of it, entirely covered in books on two of which two steaming cups of tea were standing. The rest of the room, as did the part of it that had first drawn his attention, spoke volumes about its owner. Next to the sofa, on the wall, covered in dark red wallpaper, he spotted a framed poster that was announcing a burlesque show and depicted a scarcely clad, voluptuous dancer. Right next to it there was the self-portrait of a very solemn and serious-looking Frida Kahlo.
Her voice, suddenly more reassured and almost harsh in contrast to before, ripped him out of his reverie. "Stop dissecting me," she threw him a chastising sidelong glance which was shortly followed by a shyer "please" paired with a smile.
Amanda had in the meantime taken a seat on one end of the couch and picked up her cup of tea. Of course her curious eyes were fixed on them, which made him in turn feel like he was being dissected. Her watchful gaze irritated him just as much as the assumption that Amanda, being Liz's closest friend and confidant, probably already knew all about their relationship. And if that wasn't the case she would without a doubt be able to fill in all those little blanks Liz had consciously left her in the dark about, just by watching them.
He blinked a couple of time and focused on Liz again. "Sorry, bad habit," he tried to appease her. "Some people should just mind their own business." A glare was thrown in Amanda's direction for good measure.
Liz's eyes fell on Amanda, too, but for another reason. They settled on the cups of tea, then widened in realisation. "Oh, I'm being rude again. You probably want something to drink too."
"Just point me in the direction of your fridge and I should be fine," he said benevolently and shrugged his shoulders. She shook her head and motioned for him to follow her to the adjoining room which quite unsurprisingly turned out to be the kitchen.
"Don't be too long, you two love birds," Amanda called after them mockingly, which made Methos cringe and momentarily debate whether he quickly wanted to pop back into the living room and lay his fingers around her neck.
Liz had already started rummaging through the contents of her fridge, offering him a wide selection of food and beverages as she did so. She seemed obsessive, almost relentless in her task, as if it was meant to distract her from something more important and serious. For some reason that must have entirely escaped him she even became convinced at some point that she had to fix him a sandwich. He declined politely, then declined more vehemently, but still politely and when she still refused to listen, finally stepped up to her, to gently pull her away from the fridge and close its door. They were standing very close now. She was leaning against the fridge, he was blocking her body with his. Their eyes met. He saw insecurity and fear in hers. He knew for certain she wasn't afraid of him. It was something else. And it had to be quite something if it had her feathers ruffled like this. He was determined to make that look disappear. She was not meant to look so haunted, so he bent down and pressed one soft but lingering kiss to her lips. "Calm down," he said when he pulled back and let the back of his hand trail down her cheek tenderly.
"I'll try," Liz smiled and a little of the old her, the spunky, witty and flirtatious woman he knew, broke through in that smile. He couldn't help but reciprocate that smile then and there. And because it was true and because he could as well tell her the truth now, without trying to be clever or witty or mysterious, he decided to say that long overdue 'I've missed you' he had earlier that day decided not to say. Even though he had thought it inappropriate before. Despite the possibility that she might find it trite. Despite the fact that it was indeed probably very trite.
He swallowed his pride and just said it: "I've missed you."
Liz looked surprised, even a little flabbergast. Probably because his words had sounded so convincing, which was quite easily possible because they actually had been spoken in honest. Apparently she was starting to realise that to. "You're serious now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
She looked at him long and hard as if she was trying to figure him out or possibly reassure herself of his honesty. For once her eyes were free of any mirth, playfulness and flirtation. Then the verdict was out and she finally nodded slowly. "I've missed you too."
"How much?" he teased unable to resist temptation.
She laid her hand on his chest. For a second he thought she was going to give him a playful shove, but she didn't. "Too much." Still serious. That was a new one. "Why didn't you..." she abruptly stopped, before she was able to finish the sentence.
"Why didn't I call?" he supplied.
"Yes," she nodded finally.
"It's a long story," he sighed.
"Will you tell me?" she inclined her head to the side, probably just to have a better look at him. It was a move performed without any calculation. He could tell that it was, because he had never seen her look at him like that.
"If you want to hear it..."
She nodded slowly, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, then looked directly in his eyes again. There was a certain concentration and tenseness in hers. She had still a question burning under her nails, he could tell. "How are you?"
"You want an honest answer now, right?"
"Yes, that would be nice."
He cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to the other. "Well, I've been better. But that doesn't matter now. Tell me what's going on."
"I will. In a minute," she sighed. "But while we're here, inside the kitchen, in this very moment, I'd like to pretend it's just you and me. It's silly I know..."
"It's not," he told her firmly.
She smiled. The skin around her eyes wrinkling ever so slightly. But the smile was no lasting one, it disappeared within seconds. Now her gaze was much softer again as she reached out her hand to caress the side of his face. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. The tenderness and fragility that her gesture displayed wouldn't usually have been there. It was rather honest and upfront as far as gestures went. It didn't leave him much guess work to do when it came to the depth of her feelings for him. He abruptly opened his eyes and looked at her. A bit of the wonder was surely transparent on his face. Liz smiled at him again, probably at the stupid expression on his face, and then closed the distance between them by pressing tiny peck to his lips. Did she love him? It seemed more and more likely. He was surprised by how happy that realisation made him, but also how frightening it was.
How could that have happened? Hadn't he carefully tried to stay clear of developing any deeper emotional attachment to her since strong feelings had the pesky tendency of lowering Immortals' life expectancy considerably? Apparently trying had been of no use. Of course he was being cynical again, but it was a knee-jerk reaction. After centuries of being cynical, it was difficult to attempt optimism again. However, there was still the undeniable fact that he had feelings for her. Quite strong ones. He might as well be honest about it and call those feelings love. An immense realisation. Love didn't come easily to him. The last time he had felt it was with Alexa. Before that centuries had passed without anyone inspiring that feeling inside of him...
Running would have been the sensible thing to do now, but he was old and running just wasn't dignified. Staying was probably a bit foolish and arrogant, but the alternative was completely out of question. This was not some stupid period drama where the impropriety of a newly blossoming love forced the main characters apart. He would stay and see how being in love with each other would work out for them.
"What are you smiling about?" she remarked.
"Oh, nothing," Methos kissed her on the cheek, still smiling. "I'll tell you eventually," he said.
"Eventually," she repeated almost mockingly. He grinned, then positioned his hands on her shoulders to gently manoeuvre her away from the fridge, so he could open it. Out of all things she had offered him, she had forgot to offer him a beer and there at the back of the upper shelf was a green bottle of lager with his name on it.
"What are you doing in there?" Amanda's voice could be heard from the living-room. "Keep on your clothes, will you!"
They returned to the living-room somewhat reluctantly. Liz sat down next to Amanda on her usual spot on the sofa, while Methos artfully draped himself over the armchair which was standing opposite of it. Maybe the many century had eroded social conventions like polite hesitance completely, because that would explain why there was nothing even remotely resembling polite hesitance about the way he was sitting there. Honestly, he was actually more lying than sitting, with his feet dangling over one armrest of the heavily cushioned leather chair and his back against the other one. Liz grinned. For some reason she found his behaviour charming and also a bit reassuring, because she had expected no less from him.
"Can't you just for once sit properly, like a normal person?" Amanda murmured ill-humouredly next to her.
Methos ignored her and took a swig from his bottle of beer. After that, since nobody had started to talk, he looked at the two women expectantly. "So is somebody going to tell me what's going on or do I have to start guessing?"
Amanda motioned at Liz who suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She had already told him a lot about her past, but talking about Friedrich was another thing entirely. Although she had changed and matured in the last couple of decades, this particular story still put some of her not so fine qualities on display. The passing of time hadn't eroded all of her flaws. There was, for example, her temper, not to mention the fact that she sometimes could be rather fickle, opinionated and bitchy. She knew all those things about herself and she wasn't proud of them. Most of the time she chose to ignore her own flaws and covered them up with a couple of layers of fake self-assuredness. Today however the capacity of faking self-assuredness eluded her. Just when she needed it the most.
"Well...," she began and cleared her throat nervously. She could feel his expectant eyes on her and that didn't make things any easier. "Okay. I guess there's no way around telling him, is there?"
Amanda nodded her consent with a brief smile.
"Alright. Then let me start at the beginning, I guess." A brief pause followed, during which she tried to collect her thoughts and find the right words. "When I was younger, I was quite foolish. Still am now," she chuckled nervously at her own joke though the other two occupants of the room remained silent. Bummer! Tough crowd. "Being rich and famous wasn't enough for me. I wanted to have a title of nobility to call my own." Liz sighed. She would have to mention that sordid affair. "So meeting Ludwig was really a nice coincidence. And so was him taking a liking to me almost immediately." She paused looking down at her hands. Unbeknownst to herself she had picked up the blanket next to her and started twisting the fabric between her fingers nervously.
"We're talking about Ludwig I of Bavaria, aren't we?" Methos asked simply.
She looked up and met his eyes across the room. "Yes," she answered almost ashamedly. Apparently he had read up on her quite thoroughly. Not just a brief peak in some book then.
"And when you say liking you really mean, he fell in love with you...," he supplied matter-of-factly.
Liz nodded, trying to not be disconcerted by the fact that she could feel herself blushing. Heavens, she really had to stop doing that when he was present. It was turning into a bad habit.
"In the beginning all went well. Except for the fact there was this young officer - Friedrich. He kept telling Ludwig to be careful and not to trust me. He was quite literally a thorn in my side. And since I hadn't managed to hit off things with Ludwig yet, I decided to silence Friedrich by...," there she her voice died down and she looked away embarrassedly.
"By bedding him," he finished her sentence for her. A rather long pause ensued after that.
"She really tells the story much better when she's drunk," Amanda tried to ease the tension by cracking a joke. After all there seemed to be quite some tension in the room judging by the way Methos was staring intently at Liz and she was carefully avoiding eye contact with him. It was clear that Admanda's feeble attempts at humour wouldn't be crowned by success, so she coughed lightly, then muttered a quiet "Oh dear!" and fell silent again.
"You're angry," Liz remarked after she had dared to throw him a shy and rather brief look from underneath her eyelashes.
He had changed his position during the course of her story. Now he was sitting slightly bent forward with his arms on his knees, the bottle of beer dangling from his right hand. He thought for a moment before he answered. "Not angry. Just not particularly pleased with the way this conversation is going. But I'm in no position to judge."
"Fair enough," she said finally.
"So I assume it doesn't end there. You've yet to mention that infamous 'she' Amanda and you keep bringing up. That is unless you really had a more profound and life altering impact on dear Friedrich's life than you've let on," his flawless pronunciation of the German name didn't escape her just like his sarcastic remark.
Usually she would have just smirked and continued, but not this time. This time all she could do was to let his acerbic wit wash over her and feel a tiny bit of its sting. "Well, no," Liz said dejectedly. "I'll get to that point eventually."
"Alright," Methos conceded, folding his arms over his chest as he stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back in the chair. His pose and his gaze both said something a long the lines of "Continue!"
"Friedrich was not as naive as I thought. So it was only a matter of time until he saw right through me. And then things started getting really uncomfortable. I went to Ludwig and used all my charms to convince him that Friedrich was giving me trouble and had to be transferred to some place far, far away."
"And? Did you get your wish."
"No, not immediately, so I made a scene. Actually it was more than just one scene, more like an impressive little series of scene... When Ludwig eventually came around, I rethought my plan. Men don't enjoy complication too much. A bit of complication might be interesting. Too much of it is tedious. So I asked Ludwig to let Friedrich stay in Munich, which was a good decision, since Ludwig thought me to be forgiving and merciful, which, of course, I wasn't. I was just being practical."
"Let me guess, that Friedrich of yours, he turned out be an Immortal," Methos said. "People like that always do."
"What kind of people?" Liz asked.
"The ones that hold a grudge."
"Yes," she answered simply. "He sought me out a couple of months ago. We fought and he nearly beat me. It was only dumb luck I managed survive, let alone win the fight."
"The duel in the park a couple of months back?" he enquired.
She only nodded gravely. Talking about the past had drained her. Having to confess her sins to someone whose good opinion mattered to her was excruciating. But they weren't done yet. She hadn't told him about Helen yet.
"Who is that mysterious 'she' you've mentioned? Girlfriend? Wife?" He was sitting on the edge of his seat now. The by now empty beer bottle had been positioned on the table.
"More like life partner," Liz said dejectedly. "He threatened that she would come and get me. And she's already watching me..."
"So you've actually seen her?" he asked her.
"Just this once." She shuddered at the memory. There had been this face in the crowd. Those angry accusing eyes staring at her. The mere thought of that person, that woman that was out to get her made her uncomfortable. Her fingers that were still holding the blanket tight, dug deeper into its fabric.
Amanda decided to pick that moment to resurface from her prolonged period of silence. As ever she was her champion, her ally who always came through for her no matter what. "Now would be ideally the time for you to say something comforting and nice..."
Methos ignored her, his eyes were still fixed on Liz. "What a mess you've made," he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, it was merely a matter-of-fact remark.
"Yes," she hung her head. "I realize that."
"You bastard!" Besides her Amanda took a deep breath, probably about ready to further unleash her anger at Methos for his remark. Liz threw her an admonishing look and she stayed silent, but not without crossing her arms over her chest in frustration.
"She won't stop until she's taken your head, will she?"
"No, I suppose not."
He made a long somewhat humming 'hmh' sound and regarded her pensively. "I don't want that to happen." She looked at him in surprise as did Amanda. His words were uncharacteristically frank and devoid of any sarcasm. Of course, they were still a noticeable display of egoism. The 'I' in the sentence was rather hard to overhear, but she was willing to let him get way with it, because in the end all he was saying was that he wanted to make sure she stayed alive.
"So what does that mean? Are you going to help us or not?" Amanda was much quicker to ask those questions. Liz was still struggling with her emotions, unable to speak her mind like her friend just had.
"Do I have a choice?" His question made it sound like he hadn't, so she felt obliged to answer, but yet again Amanda beat her to it.
"Of course, you do," Amanda said simply.
He shook his head with a humourless smile on his face. "Well, who's to tell me that I'm not being manipulated like Friedrich?"
Liz looked at him in surprise. Her eyes were wide and fearful. His words had shaken her to the core. "You really think I would manipulate you like that?" Silence. He just held her gaze calmly. So no answer from him. She couldn't give into her feelings now. This was not the time to crack. She couldn't break down now and after much persuasion, her emotions could be reigned in again. After the first wave of panic had washed over her, after a few excruciating seconds had passed during which she started questioning each and every little thing about their relationship, the initial, paralysing shock had worn off and she was able to form clear thoughts again.
Thinking about the situation rationally, she could understand where he was coming from. Of course, he had every right to ask a question like that, given what he had just learned about her past. It was the only logical thing to do. Maybe, if she had been in his position, she would have asked the exact same thing. Nevertheless, his distrust was still hurtful to her. As was his silence.
"Will you let me strangle him now, Liz?" Amanda hissed next to her angrily.
"What good would that do?" Liz said quietly and rather dejectedly. She stared down at the floor, then looked up again at Amanda with a pleading gaze. "I think this is something between him and me. Amanda? Will you give us a second?"
Amanda seemed hesitant to comply with her friends request. "What if I say no?" She stuck out her chin challengingly.
"Please?"
Amanda looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "But just so we're clear – he gives you any trouble, I'll be back to kick his ass in a second." Having said those words and thrown a couple of menacing, dark glances into Methos's general direction, she was gone.
After Amanda's departure an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. He was staring at her. She was trying to figure out what to tell him.
"So?" he finally supplied impatiently, after what felt like an eternity had passed, though that eternity could have probably been measured in seconds, not minutes.
"So?" she repeated irritatedly. "What good would manipulating you do?" she finally asked. His simple question had erased any semblance of rationality from her mind. It implied he didn't know her at all. It implied a lot of things she didn't particularly care for. "Manipulating you would gain me nothing. Nothing at all. You are not the chivalrous type. I know that by now. Besides I don't need someone to fight my battles for me. I don't need to be rescued. If I wanted that, I'd give MacLeod a call. I can take care of myself. All I need is someone to tell me that this is going to be alright..." Her hands were shaking slightly thanks to the combination of hurt and anger that had flooded and taken over her system.
"Surely that's not all..." There it was again that taxing look of his. The one she knew from their first meeting. Where they back to square one now?
"So you want to hear it all then? You want to hear what I want from you? I don't want you to fight her. As a matter of fact I don't want you anywhere near her. What do you think will happen when she finds out about us? What if she already has? I should be telling you to leave now. But I'm not doing it. Because I'm selfish..." She paused momentarily struggling with herself, because even though it was necessary, she still wasn't ready to say what needed to be said. It was time to exercise a muscle she rarely flexed. Altruism certainly wasn't something that was constantly on the forefront of her mind. She made a conscious effort and shoved herself in the right direction. For his sake mostly.
"You know what? I still might have it in me to be a bit selfless. So leave, Methos! Leave! Don't stay here! Staying here is dangerous and stupid. And senseless." Having said that she stood up and turned around abruptly to walk towards her bookshelf. It was easier if she didn't have to watch him leave. Now she was standing there with her back to him, silently fuming as she was staring at the titles of the books in the shelf, while she kept trying in vain to slow down her racing thoughts.
The springs in the armchair sighed when he got up. Surprisingly she could hear his footsteps coming closer and not walking away. But he didn't go the whole distance. He stopped somewhere behind her, close enough for her to feel his presence, but still out of reach. It was irritating, the way he was standing there without saying anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he wasn't sure about what next step to take either. Or maybe he was waiting for her to say something.
"You know, it's just occurred to me that if this were some sappy romance novel, things would be going a bit differently. Stupid, really," she scoffed and shook her head.
He still hadn't moved. What was he doing? Staring holes in the back of her head? She turned around to look at him. His face was guarded and thoughtful. "Still there," she observed. "Weren't you going to leave? This is your chance out."
"No," he said simply and she couldn't help but gape at him.
"What no?"
"'No' means I'm going to stay," he clarified, because obviously his simple statement needed clarification. His face was still ever so serious and collected and ever so devoid of any emotions whatsoever. So she concluded that his willingness to stay was only a small concession. He could still leave if he chose to do so. If what she told him didn't agree with him.
"Do what you want," she said coolly.
"Look, all I want is to understand how you went from being a scrupulous courtesan to well, this," he motioned at her helplessly, for once betraying one of his feelings. Helplessness, now that was something. Something she hadn't quite expected. He seemed close to the end of his wisdom concerning her.
"Whatever in the world do you mean by 'this'?" she looked at him critically wrinkling her nose in apparent distaste for the word 'this'.
"This you. The way you are now," he said impatiently.
"Time passes for all of us. I made mistakes, mostly rather painful and memorable ones, and I learned from them. I loved, I fucked up, I lost. End of story. I didn't have some big epiphany if that's what you want to hear. I'm still me. Only older. Sorry to disappoint," Liz tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. His questions were pointless. This was pointless. If he hadn't learned to trust her by now, he certainly couldn't concoct trust by interrogating her about her character.
"Yes, but why not revert to your old ways?" She could see he was really interested in her answer. He had even taken a step closer to her. Her foot ceased tapping. She wasn't sure she could answer his question. It was complicated and honestly she hadn't given it much thought before.
Her gaze wandered from his face to the floor. She was staring thoughtfully at the feet of the sofa behind him, when his voice brought her back to the present. "Are you not going to answer me?"
Her eyes focused on him again. She looked at him, taking in the soft and waiting expression in his brown eyes. No recriminations there, no judgement. He truly only wanted to know. And to her own surprise she found herself wanting to tell him and so she did, in spite of the fact that this was a very intimate topic and she was giving away more about herself than she had initially intended.
"I can't go back to who I was. I've outgrown my former self. That's not me anymore. Or rather it is me, just not that much anymore. I guess, this doesn't make much sense. Not to you anyway. It hardly makes sense to me."
"Well, believe it or not, strangely it does," he said softly and she did believed him. After all he was over 5,000 years old. So it was safe to assume he knew quite a lot about life in general and the impact the passing of many years had on one's character.
It was time for a decision now. She needed him to make up his mind. This uncertainty had become quite intolerable by now.
"So what now, Mr Pierson?" she used his fake name mockingly and took a step closer to him, but not close enough to invade his personal bubble yet. There was a challenging tone in her voice.
Liz knew that this would be his personal leap of faith concerning their relationship and she would be damned if she stood by with her head bowed and her eyes downcast like some meek slip of a girl. Nevertheless, she wisely refrained from pointing out the two rather self-evident options of staying or leaving to him and just waited.
He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. It was quite clear that he was conflicted about this. What she assumed to be a curse passed his lips, but it was uttered in a language she didn't understand. She was half expecting him to start pacing any second now. But instead he was just standing there, by now without cursing, and looking at her quietly.
"I'll stay," he said finally.
"Just like that?" she asked in astonishment.
"No, not just like that," he corrected her ill-humouredly. "As I tried to point out earlier to Amanda and you, it's not like I have much choice in the matter. It was quite clear that I was going to stay from the start."
"Why?" was all she could stutter out in surprise.
"Why?" he spat out. Her question seemed to infuriate him. "Don't play dense, Liz. You must have it figured out by now, clever girl that you are."
Liz shook her head and took one step closer to him. Of course, she already knew what he was trying to tell her. The big L-word was scary to her. More scary than Helen actually. She didn't want to approach that topic yet, so she made a show out of regarding his face critically as if she was trying to catalogue each and every emotion she read in it. His jaw was set in a straight line – anger. The slight crease between his eyebrows, not yet a frown but getting there – preoccupation and quite possibly more anger. The facial expression of someone prepared to desperately face the odds in spite of the knowledge that certain doom awaited him. Always so pessimistic. So much like her. Two peas in a pot. She smiled. Then laughed softly. Her soft laughter turned into a fully-fledged on. She reached out her right hand to grab his shoulder for support as laughter was shaking her body. The tension that had had her coiled up like a spring dissolved miraculously.
"Stop laughing. This is not funny," he admonished. She looked at him trying to stifle her laughter, but didn't succeed. His own mouth twitched deceptively. A grin started spreading on his face.
"Oh, shut up! It is," she grinned. "You should have seen your face. Like an admiral heading into battle, desperate yet determined. Very romantic. Makes a girl swoon."
"So you want romance?" he enquired with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I can do romantic. The whole shindig with the flowers and candlelight and moonlight dancing... Do you want that?"
Her face turned a bit more serious. "No, heavens no! That would be so not us."
"It wouldn't?" he said in mock disappointment.
Liz smiled at him affectionately. It was marvellous how he could go from dead-serious to teasing in just a couple of seconds. She couldn't help but love that about him.
"First date at the Louvre. You have to admit, it doesn't get any more romantic than that," he gave to think, now grinning himself.
"No, it doesn't," Liz had now sobered somewhat. The smile on his face had done something to her. It had stirred an emotion in her, a strong one. She felt, with a certain dread, that she would not be able to keep this emotion to herself for too long.
"What?" he said simply, his own smile falling somewhat. By now he was well enough attuned to her to notice when her mood changed.
"I do know why you're staying and why you say you don't have a choice," she said softly.
"Okay," he replied. "Are we on the same page?" She was thankful for his ability to always find just the right words at the right time. As a consequence the impulse to tell him how she felt only intensified, but she had yet to summon the courage to actually go through with it and say it out loud. For now she chose a safer alternative.
"Completely," Liz answered.