Author's Note: Thank you, Jenn, for making this chapter look better grammar and spelling-wise! I'm so glad to have you. And thank you to those lovely people who hit the review button and let me know what they're thinking. I'm especially talking about you MissGuenever and okami34. I'm a huge sucker for constructive criticism, so feel free to point out to me what you like or don't like about the story - gives me something to work with and encourages me to try harder.
MacLeod offered her to stay at his place and she accepted, well aware of the fact that his offer had neither been made solely out of hospitality nor out of friendship. He probably just wanted to keep an eye on her after he had witnessed what she was capable of doing. She should probably keep the story to herself of how she had once attacked a journalist who had written a less than favourable review of her performance with a bull whip... It would only scandalise MacLeod and make him more suspicious when it came to her. That was the last thing she needed right now. A suspicious MacLeod.
It was perhaps only one or two hours after Methos had stormed out of MacLeod's apartment and she already was beginning to feel claustrophobic. After having rummaged through her duffel bag, she had come to realise one more thing about Methos. Right now she wasn't particular keen on any realisations concerning his character, but this one forced itself on her and she couldn't help it. He was not only a practical sort of guy, he was meticulous. He had thought of everything. Credit cards, ID, tooth brush, shoes - everything! But still she wasn't satisfied with any of the clothes the bag had to offer. She had to get out. The longer she stayed the more likely it became she would have a sudden onslaught of broodiness. The last thing she needed right now was introspection. She had to keep herself busy. Also it was rather uncomfortable being stared at like she would soon grow a second head (the whelp) or like she was going to burst into tears (MacLeod) any second now.
It took her some time to sell the idea of a little me time to MacLeod who had insisted on her staying until she felt better and had explained a couple of things to him. She had deadpanned by telling him that feeling better would not be within her grasp for several days and thereby effectively shut him up. As for the talking part, well they would have to postpone that to later, because right now she didn't feel like talking.
So now she was out and about, armed with her credit card, but not her sword. Where was it anyway? Methos probably still had it. It looked like she wasn't going to get it back any time soon. Well...
Her feet that had just been busy strutting down one of Seacouver's streets came to an abrupt halt in front of the window of a hairdressing salon. She looked at her reflection in the shop window. Such sad eyes. Such a glum expression. Dreadful! She didn't want to feel sad. It was so self-indulgent and unproductive. It was a worthless emotion. It made her feel worthless. She was worthless. No, no such thoughts! She had always struggled with self-esteem issues. One would never think that looking at her, looking at the life that she had lived, but it was true. Deep down she was insecure, grasping for straws, for any kind of approval and reassurance she could get.
If she indulged that feeling of sadness now, everything would crumble. Everything. She could not let that happen. She needed to be confident. She needed to feel good about herself. She needed other people to tell her that she was special and not some plain ordinary girl with no particular talent other than an overgrown lust for life and a sharp wit. So she did something to feel good about herself. Out of all the nonsensical things to do this was the most nonsensical one and that was precisely the reason she indulged that particular whim. She entered the shop.
Two hours later she came out with freshly died black hair, a new haircut and a battle plan in her head.
She would start a new life here.
Yes, admittedly that was a big shocker even to her. But however angry was with Methos, she could still understand his reasoning. Going back to London would be foolish. Like signing one's own death warrant. And despite of everything that had happened in the last couple of days, she still wanted to live. Some bad experiences, however awful they might be, wouldn't be enough to discourage her.
Being here afforded her with some sort of reprieve and since she wasn't particularly keen on facing Helen any time soon, that was alright with her. However, settling in here would require her to get a couple of things organised first. New identity, new documents, new job, new mind-set... Nah, sorry! No new mind-set, she could already sense what was going on inside her head was less than new. It was very retro. More like a renaissance. Well, apart from that then – everything new. So she would go and reinvent herself. Again.
For the last couple of decades standing out had not been a major concern of hers anymore. She could still do so, but nowadays she chose to do it more subtly, only when she wanted to. Her style of clothing was eccentric and fashionable, but never over the top. She did not dress to kill, didn't not want the attention of everyone in the room on her, but right now she was looking for the sort of reassurance that only the constant attention and flattery of other people could provide. Just like that, quite quickly and spontaneously, her period of discretion had come to an end. Quite ironically Methos was to blame for that and he would probably not be very happy about it. But what she did or didn't do was none of his concern anymore...
Of course, she had to be careful. But Helen didn't know the "old her", so maybe her transformation would confound her. As far as hiding was concerned, there were several hiding techniques. She merely chose the one they called hiding in plain sight by reverting to her old tricks. So what she did was only reasonable and made sense. In a way. At least to her.
It was time to put her former and improved self to the test. MacLeod and the whelp would be her guinea pigs.
She could tell that her transformation had been successful when she marched out of the lift straight into MacLeod's apartment and the two men almost openly gaped at her in wonder. Her ruby red lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk when she saw their reactions.
"Liz?" MacLeod asked in surprise as if he needed to reassure himself of her identity.
"One and the same, handsome." She gracefully did a little mock curtsy on her 6 inch high heels, not low enough to give the two men too much of a panoramic view of her cleavage, but enough for a little peek. Then, standing upright again, she readjusted her black pencil skirt and matching blazer by quickly running her hands down her sides. Of course the move was calculated. Naturally it drew everyone's attention to her slender, but curvaceous figure and away from profound topics like vicious arguments and hurt feelings.
"Talk about extreme reactions to a break-up," Richie muttered to the MacLeod. The fact that he eyed her appreciatively despite his words made up for his somewhat insolent comment. The older immortal gave him a stern look. 'Don't play with fire, you might get burned' his eyes seemed to say.
"Long overdue transformation is more like it, kiddo," she sauntered over to the kitchen corner. Even her walk was different, probably because she put more hip in it now. With a graceful movement she sat down on one of the high kitchen stools in front of the counter and eyed the two men curiously.
"What?" she finally asked impatiently after she had spent the last couple seconds in complete silence and under the close scrutiny of two pairs of eyes.
"You just look so different," MacLeod observed.
"Why, thank you!" she smiled, baring two perfect rows of white teeth. "I hope, good different."
"Yes, yes, sure. It's just... well, sort of unexpected," Duncan tried to salvage the situation.
"Unexpected is good. That's what I was aiming for. Speaking of unexpected... I still need to apologise properly for earlier today."
"I thought we've already covered that," Duncan looked a tad bit uncomfortable now that she had reminded him of the incident from earlier. "It's really okay."
"No, it isn't. Look, I don't want any bad blood between us," she swiftly got up and hurried over to her shopping bags which she had deposited next to the lift. She produced two expensive looking bottles of red wine which she soon held underneath MacLeod's nose with a proud smirk. "Nothing quite says sorry for scratching up your face like a good bottle of red wine. Well, actually two..."
"Bribery," Richie muttered sourly, apparently still holding a grudge for being threatened with a kitchen knife earlier. Duncan ignored his comment, or at least he pretended to do after he had elbowed him in the side when he thought she wasn't looking. "Alright I'll accept them. But stop apologising, okay?" he asked.
"No, but I could do it less frequently, though," she smiled at him sweetly.
"That's a start," Duncan took the proffered bottles from her waiting hands and gave them an appreciative look.
Liz focused her attention on the whelp. "Since I'm feeling rather apologetic right now, kid... I'm sorry for waving that knife in your face. I'm usually more...," she briefly pondered her choice of words, "more charming," she finally said with a smile.
"No harm done," he replied with a tone of voice that spoke volumes of his distrust for her. "It would be a start if you called me Richie, instead of kid, however."
"Richie," she repeated the name with a smile. "How about we two start from scratch again?" She held out her hand to him, a hand that was neatly manicured now and whose fingernails were painted dark red. He hesitated initially, but finally decided to be gracious and shook it somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Eliza Gilbert. You can call me Liz if you like."
Judging by the way he was looking at her, his gaze full of suspicion and distrust, she still needed to break the ice. "So Richie? Who are you and what do you do for a living?" she asked with almost genuine enthusiasm.
"I'm a motorcycle racer," he told her, still ever so slightly suspicious of her.
Her eyes lit up upon hearing that. "Really? Professionally?" He nodded. "That's fantastic! I always wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle, but never got around to it. Must be exciting, right? Also those leather outfits... scrumptious!"
Despite himself Richie let out a soft laugh. "I'm not in it for the outfits..."
"Course not. You're a guy. Guy's are in it for the speed and the danger," she smiled charmingly at him. He could help but smile back. She just had something about her... the way she talked, the way she smiled; it was making you want to believe that she took a genuine interest in you. A quality that made her instantly likeable and quite irresistible.
"So... Liz," MacLeod interrupted, leaning on the counter with his hands folded on top of it. It was clear by his posture and the way he said her name that he wanted to talk about something serious. It was probably that dreaded, long over-due conversation they would still have to have about what had happened earlier.
"Yes?" Liz's eyes were now directed at him. They held no trace of that violent anger he had seen in them earlier, as a matter of fact there were devoid of any emotion. Maybe that was why he felt it was safe to approach more delicate conversational topics with her now.
"Don't you want to finally tell us what really happened between you and Adam?"
She looked at him for a very long time, so long in fact it seemed unlikely she still had any intention whatsoever of answering Duncan's question at some point in the near future. But then she finally spoke to both Richie's and MacLeod's great surprise. "What happened between me and him?" She let out a long drawn exhale. "A lot. Long version, abridged or short?"
"Any version that explains how you ended up in my apartment threatening to take his head with a kitchen knife...," Duncan supplied.
Now that he had put it like that it actually sounded kind of grotesque. She chuckled dryly which earned her a dark, reproachful look from MacLeod. "Alright," she put on a straight face. "Alright," she repeated this time sounding almost a bit depressed. Thinking back on the happenings of the last couple of days did have that effect on her. In those few and far in between moments she actually allowed herself to be anything other than detached and cynical about what had happened between her and Methos, she realised as much. But she had no intention of moping around, so she did not indulge those feelings.
"Since you are Amanda's...," she stopped and rethought her statement. It would be distasteful calling them a couple. Amanda would probably not appreciate it. "Since you and Amanda are pretty close, I assume you're aware that people once knew me by the name of Lola Montez?" MacLeod just nodded.
"Well, I lived a rather unorthodox life back in the day and did many stupid things. I angered a man I shouldn't have angered. A couple of weeks ago he came to seek me out. We fought. I won, but only barely so...," she stopped in the middle of the tale. Obviously something had just occurred to her. "Say, Duncan, you wouldn't happen to have anything to drink? Amber liquid, high proof? Also known as Scotch?" Liz supplied in a sweet tone of voice.
"Yes, I do. You'll get a glass after you've finished your story," he told her sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And don't get side-tracked. You were talking about a fight with a man from your past...," he supplied.
"Yes, okay," she sighed and continued her story in a deceptively casual tone. "I won, but he said that his lover would come looking for me. And she did. Been stalking me ever since. Anyhow, Adam...," there was a slight vibration in her voice when she said the name "Adam", but it was barely discernible since she continued talking straight away, "Well, he thought it would be best to run. I wanted to fight her. You see where this is going?" Her audience only watched her curiously. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. She didn't want to tell this story. It made her feel bad. It made her feel period. She didn't want to feel anything right now. She continued, trying to gloss over the worst part of the story quickly. "Obviously you don't. Well, one minute we're having a perfectly civil discussion about me fighting Helen and then he goes and drugs me and I end up here. And that's it." No reaction to her story yet. So she ill-humouredly muttered the following words: "Still wondering, though, how he pulled that off..."
After she had finished the story Duncan just stared at her for a couple of seconds silently. It was sort of unsettling really. Even more so since Richie did the same. It was like they both needed some time to digest what she had just told them. MacLeod was the first to recover. He wordlessly turned around, took a glass from the kitchen shelf and poured her a drink. A fleeting half-smile briefly appeared on her features as the glass slid across the counter towards her. She stopped it with a swift hand movement and gulped it down in one go, slamming the empty glass on the counter with something akin to grim satisfaction.
"Maybe he only wanted to protect you...," Duncan said. There was an angry sparkle in Liz's eyes, so he hurried to continue, " But that's still no excuse. He should have talked to you rather than go and do something that extreme."
"Yeah, he should have...," she said quietly and for a moment it seemed like her facade was going to crack. There was true sadness in her eyes. She looked heartbroken. Duncan was about to reach out his arm to touch her shoulder, but then her mask slipped back into place.
"Anyway what's done is done, right?" she said abruptly. "And there are all those different perspectives to consider, points of view, right or wrong or somewhere in between. It's usually somewhere in between... Gives me a headache. Anyway, let's not talk about those dreadful things please. I need less dreadful now, I need a distraction. Where do you go to unwind, Duncan?"
He warned her... even reminded her again and again on their way there that this place was owned by someone Methos knew and called a friend, so chances were high that they would sooner or later bump into each other. She didn't mind. At least that's what she had told MacLeod... How it looked inside of her, she would keep to herself. No one would ever have to know. And most certainly not MacLeod.
The man behind the bar had waved at MacLeod when the three of them had come in. It was the three of them because apparently that Richie kid always followed Duncan around like a puppy. Well, of course. It was only logical, because puppy dogs also needed to be trained; they needed to be told not to bark at the wrong sort of people and above all they needed to be kept from making a mess in general. Duncan was probably the right guy for that. He was patient, gentle and honourable, everything one could wish for in teacher. Most of the adjectives didn't apply to her. In fact only two thirds of them.
She and Duncan approached the counter, while Richie idled off to a table across the room with the charming words "Get me a beer". The bartender was an older man in his mid-fifties. Short hair, casual clothing style. When she made eye contact with him, she put on a smile because despite his physical age, he was rather attractive. And really what was mid-fifties compared to 5,000 years?
"Good to see you, Mac," he greeted Duncan. The use of the nickname 'Mac' didn't not particularly appeal to her, because it reminded her of 'maccheroni and cheese'. The thought amused her greatly, but she kept her opinion to herself. "Who's the lovely lady you're with?"
Being addressed by him, she dedicated Duncan's friend her full attention. "Someone who appreciates a compliment," she leaned slightly against the bar, as she held out her hand to him. "Liz."
"Joe Dawson." He shook it, exposing the tattoo on his wrist. 'Watcher!' Liz's head screamed. To her own surprise she was pretty calm about. After all he was friends with Duncan, so that meant he was relatively safe. Just like Methos was relatively safe. The guy who had stabbed her with a needle.
Despite her grim thoughts, her smile broadened a tiny bit. It was time to put on a show. "And you own this place, don't you?"
Joe shot her a puzzled look as he let go off her hand. "Dead on. What gave me away?" he asked curiously.
"Well, for starters the nervous looks the waitress over there keeps shooting you. Also the fact that you're far too good-looking and distinguished to not run the place." Her grin had by now taken a turn towards lop-sided and teasing.
"Rachel's new. Can't blame her. She's already broken 2 glasses tonight."
"Clumsy," she sucked in her breath in mock scandal.
"If I might interrupt," Duncan positioned himself next to Liz with a grin, "I should probably tell you that Joe knows about our condition," he added with a lowered voice.
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Is that true?"
Joe nodded in confirmation.
"Well, would be rather stupid if he didn't, wouldn't you say so? Him being a Watcher and all...," she said casually, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear but the three of them. Her eyes twinkled in mischief when she looked pointedly at both MacLeod and Joe who regarded her with open surprise on their faces.
"Mac...," Joe started accusingly. He was probably going to say something along the lines of 'Do you go around telling everyone?'.
She put her hand on Joe's arm in a reassuring gesture. "Relax, dar', Duncan hasn't told me. I figured it out all by my lonesome," she lied expertly. "No worries, I promise to keep your little secret to myself."
"Good to know...," Joe suddenly seemed considerably less tense, but still somewhat disgruntled, which meant she had to try just a little bit harder.
"Oh, dear! Now I haven't ruined my chances of flirting with you some more, have I?" she batted her eyes at the surprised Watcher who could do little else than to let out a strangled laugh.
"Where did you find her, Mac? She's even worse than Amanda!" he observed, at which Liz touched her heart in mock scandal.
"That's because she's Amanda's friend," Duncan explained somewhat resignedly and the two men smiled at each other sharing a private joke. On her expense. And on Amanda's, come to think of it.
"Hey!" she looked at the MacLeod in indignation. But the indignation lessened somewhat when she realised that he had mercifully forgone mentioning her relationship with Adam. Instead of more protest she gave Duncan's muscular arm a gentle punch. The gesture was merely platonic, which was a rarity for her. "Come on, be nice. Stop making fun of me and I'll pay for you and Richie a round."
The situation was almost light-hearted. Something she hadn't experienced a lot in the last couple of hours. Then, of course, they were interrupted by the Buzz and Methos' almost simultaneous appearance at the entrance. So much for light-heartedness.
"Bugger!" Liz muttered under her breath, cursing her own luck. But then again, she had been practically begging for this. After all how high were the chances that he would develop a certain craving for a beer after what had happened earlier today? Pretty high.
Of course he spotted them almost immediately. His eyes settled on her a little longer than on MacLeod. Was that expression in his eyes hopefulness? It was almost regrettable that she would soon have to squish that hopefulness. Maybe she should tell him not carry it around so openly? Or maybe she should just be cruel and mock him for it? He was now right in front of them, greeting them with a simple 'hi', his eyes resting on her expectantly.
"Hi," she said, then turned to MacLeod, "I'll be over there. Where Richie is," she vaguely indicated the other side of the bar and walked off with a final nod to the three men.
"Hey, Adam, long time no see," Joe greeted the other man hopefully. He ignored him.
"She's still angry." Methos's focus was still on Liz as was also clearly visible judging by the way his eyes followed her retreating back through the crowd, all the way to the other side of the room.
"Of course. It was only this morning." Duncan regarded the older immortal with something akin to sympathy. Methos was unaware of it because his eyes were still watching Liz who was currently joking and laughing with Richie. Hadn't she just gone over there? And now they were already looking like they were having the time of their lives. Their laughter was starting to draw the attention of a group of men at the table next to them. They looked like they were tempted to involve themselves in their conversation...
Joe's voice ripped him out of his thoughts that had by now taken a decisive twist towards jealousy. "Now wait a second... You and her? I should have known...," Joe had apparently just realised the connection between Methos and Liz.
"Don't get excited, Joe. Might be over already," Methos told him in a flat tone of voice, for once tearing his eyes away from Liz to look at his friend.
"That's tough, man," there was real sympathy in Joe's voice. Methos acknowledged it with a slow nod of his head.
"Do you want a drink? The usual?" He looked at the Methos expectantly. It was the first time they talked since Paris. And where they stood in terms of their friendship was still more than uncertain.
"Okay," Methos nodded. It was a start. He quickly took the thereupon offered beer bottle from Joe's hands and took a swig.
Liz's loud, bell like laughter was for a moment clearly audible over the blues music that was blaring from the speakers above the bar. Of course it perturbed Methos. He practically flinched upon hearing it and put down the bottle on the counter with a sour expression on his face. "She's doing it on purpose," he hissed to MacLeod.
"Of course, she's doing it on purpose. What did you expect?" Duncan shrugged. "She's hurt. You brought her here against her will and without talking to her first..."
Joe had in the meantime busied himself with cleaning some beer glasses behind the bar, discretely listening in on their conversation.
"What did I expect?" Methos spat at Duncan bitterly. "I didn't expect anything. I wanted to keep her out of trouble. What she's doing now is plain foolish. She's supposed to try to blend in. Behave as unobtrusively as possible... That's not unobtrusive. And just look at what she's done to herself." His fingers closed a little more tightly around the neck of the bottle as he saw Liz lean closer to Richie to conspiratorially whisper something in his ear.
Since Methos was now practically staring daggers at the young immortal, Duncan turned around to find out what could possibly irritate his friend so immensely. To his surprise, there, at the other side of the bar, Liz was performing a couple of elegant dance moves spurred on by the cheers of the surrounding tables. Duncan let out an exasperated groan. Methos gave him a knowing and rather bitter smirk.
"I think, I'd better leave," he said quickly downing the bottle in one go.
"Don't you want to try and talk to her?" Duncan suggested, despite the fact that he already knew that Methos wouldn't listen to his advise. Being his friend, he at least needed to make the suggestion.
"Look at her! She won't listen to me," Methos shook his head regretfully. He nodded a brief good-bye to Joe before he quickly made his way to the exit.
Duncan let out sigh and scratched his head pensively.
"Young love," Joe commented sardonically.
MacLeod let out a dry and rather humourless chuckle. "Hear, hear..."