MacLeod and Richie were sparring. The fight had been going on for about twenty minutes already and it was clear that yet again Duncan had the upper hand. However, with each time they trained it got harder and harder for MacLeod to maintain that upper hand constantly. Richie was a good student and eager to learn. No wonder, because after all his motivation was keeping his head.

They were about to attack each other again when the Buzz hit them and made them freeze in place. Laughter and pieces of conversation floated in from the corridor and made it obvious that whoever was about to step through that door had no intention of picking a fight. Liz rounded the corner, closely followed by Methos. Both were still smiling over a shared joke when they entered the room. The fact that they weren't arguing was a relief to MacLeod after what had happened in the last couple of days. He was still recovering from the whole drama of the previous days that had culminated in Methos fighting Helen.

"Hello, boys," Liz greeted them cheerfully. It was clear she was in an extremely good mood. Her eyes were sparkling merrily. However, her good mood, as MacLeod suspected, thanks to previously experiences with Amanda who shared a few rather substantial character traits with her protégé, probably meant trouble for everyone else. "Please, do continue. The last thing we want to do is keep you from training. You won't mind if we watch for a bit, though, will you?" she asked already draping herself gracefully on a stack of nearby mats from where apparently she intended to watch the training fight.

"As long as you're not going to jump at each other's throats again, we'll be okay," Duncan joked. A statement which Richie seconded with an emphatic nod. "I'm not sure my liver will survive another one of your spats," the younger immortal complained and shot Liz an almost accusing look which she requited by mockingly rubbing her eyes as if she was crying.

"No fear, I think I will only be able to muster the energy for a 'spat'," Methos air-quoted the last word, "like that once a decade." Having said that he let himself fall down on the stack of mats next to Liz who watched him with an amused smile on her face.

"Don't you think once a decade is a bit optimistic, love?" she gave to think.

"I said I couldn't bring up the energy for it, not that I didn't think it was going to happen," he smirked at her mockingly. She rewarded his insolent comment with a playful shove.

Duncan shook his head with a sigh and decided it was best to resume the training fight. He shot Richie a pointed look and raised his sword. The younger immortal got his drift and soon they were fighting again. They had counted on a running commentary coming from the general direction of the stack of mats, but surprisingly nothing of that sort happened. The room was completely quiet save for the sound of clashing swords and the occasional hushed whisper.

Soon they finished their training session. They both were out of breath and sweating afterwards, so they hurried to pick up their towels and water bottles from the floor. Duncan was just about to take a sip from his when Liz surprised him by speaking up. "Good fight...," she had gotten up and was now walking towards them. Both Duncan and Richie nodded at her wordlessly. They were still rather busy catching their breaths. Liz smiled a satisfied little smile and turned to Richie who was currently drying himself of with his towel. "Richie, love, don't get mad..."

"Why should I?" he asked.

"Well, we've noticed that you have a little trouble blocking attacks coming from your left. You've got to do something about that," she told him softly. She had always been very unsure about how to voice criticism. She for one didn't appreciate it too much. Thankfully Richie seemed to take it rather well though.

He wiped his forehead with his towel and slung it around his shoulders. "Okay, thanks," he smiled.

"Pleasure," she replied with a relieved grin. "Other than that, excellent work, young Padawan," Liz said brightly and reflexively gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. On his very sweaty shoulder. She made a face and rubbed her hand at her trouser leg. Richie just laughed at her antics and acknowledged her praise with a small nod.

"And before you ask, Adam," Liz added in an afterthought, "a Padawan is something from a movie called Star Wars... Massive Success back in the 70s."

"You think I don't know what Star Wars is?" the man in question replied, actually taking quite a bit of offence judging by the tone of his voice.

"You do?" she turned around to look at him in mock surprise, her right hand resting over her heart in dramatic pose. "Curiouser and curiouser. Since when are you interested in anything remotely resembling pop culture."

"Glowing light sabres? Space ships? And girls in chain bikinis? Do you really have to ask?" he shot back at her.

She sighed. "Sure. Why haven't I thought of that? Speaking of light sabres... I'd be interested to know where you keep my sword hidden. Do I need to pull it out of a huge stone block or something?" she shot him a meaningful look upon which he got up from the mat and walked up to her. He reached underneath his coat and to her surprise produced her rapier. Just like that.

"You've had it with you all this time?" Liz asked in surprise and took the proffered weapon from his waiting hands immediately. She weighed it in her hands for a few seconds, then turned away to experimentally execute a few moves with it as if wanting to reassure herself that the sword was still working and really hers.

"Of course. I was just surprised you've never asked for it." Liz heard him say behind her. She was still standing with her back to him and unbeknownst to Methos a Cheshire Cat like smile was forming on her face. Had he seen it, he would probably have started to worry. It meant she had just had a rather appealing idea. Appealing from her point of view, probably not as appealing from his.

"Richie? Duncan? What do you say? Since you allowed us to watch you spar, how about we return the favour," she finally turned around to Methos who shot her a perplexed look that shortly after turned annoyed, while the two men standing behind him were already moving in the general direction of the stack of training mats to sit down.

Methos threw Duncan a pleading look. His friend only raised his arms defensively. "Hey, don't look at me!" What Methos liked even less than MacLeod's refusal to help him was the fact that his friend apparently took pleasure in his discomfort. He turned back to Liz again.

"Well, are you up for it, darling?" Liz asked him with a seemingly sweet smile on her face. It only seemed sweet, because he knew only far too well that this was a calculated move from her side, probably right down to her casual inquiry after her sword. Chances were she had already known he had been carrying it around with him for the last couple of days.

"No," he said flatly.

Despite his refusal she didn't deflate. She only grinned. So he was going to be difficult about this. She was going to get her will eventually, that much she was sure of. "Oh, don't be like that, love! From what I saw two days ago, you could need it. You've got some good moves, but you're about as rusty as the Tin Man. I can practically hear your joints squeaking from where I'm standing."

"The Tin Man?" he enquired shooting her a sceptical glance.

She smiled. "Star Wars, but not the Wizard of Oz? We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz," she intoned briefly, hoping against hope that he would at least get this pop culture reference.

"Nope," he shook his head.

"You brute!" she smiled playfully. "Doesn't know the Tin Man...," Liz shook her head in mock scandal. "He's a fellow that's been standing by the side of the road so long, little Dorothy, the main character of the movie, has to apply oil to his joints to get him moving. There you go. As rusty as the Tin Man."

"And in that little scenario you would be what? Dorothy?" he let out a derisive snort. "All that time wasted on explaining a pun that doesn't even apply..." Still he wasn't showing any inclination as to actually engage in a training fight with her.

"Is there per chance any way I can persuade you to spar with me?" she asked him almost mockingly.

"How about a bet?" he suggested finally.

"A bet?" Liz echoed incredulously.

"Yes, you know when two parties try to make an educated guess about the outcome of a situation and accompany said guess with a promise to do one thing or another, should their guess be incorrect. A bet," he surmised ironically.

"Okay," she conceded with a malicious grin that told him that she was starting to warm up to the idea. "If you lose, you'll have to spend an evening socialising."

"That's not very accurate."

"Intentionally so," she informed him.

He just nodded grimly. "Well, I'll try to be more obliging and tell you exactly what I'll expect you to do." He paused for effect. "If you lose, you're going to perform one of your old dance numbers at Joe's."

"Seriously?" she asked, slightly scandalised by his wager.

"Seriously," he shot back. "Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand to her expectantly

"Deal," she said and shook his hand after a moment of contemplation. After all she did want to fight with him.

At that he finally produced his Ivanhoe from underneath his coat with an annoyed sigh. After all there was no use protesting when she was like this, all determined and insisting. Methos prepared himself for the fight, dramatically rolling his shoulders and stretching. He even made a show of taking off his coat as he did not want to be restricted in his movements by that particular article of clothing.

"Ready?" he asked with an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice.

"Not quite," Liz said and held up her hand to signal him to wait just a moment longer. He waited with his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. She just smiled at his antics and produced a hair band from one of the pockets of her jacket and tied back her hair into a strict ponytail. Said jacket was shortly after discarded as well as her heels. Both would have presented a hindrance in the upcoming fight. Apart from that, she was pretty well dress for the occasion, in her tight black pants and her plain and figure hugging black T-shirt. Maybe a bit too well dressed. How long had she been planning this?

She assumed a fighting stance. "Now," she waved him closer with her free hand.

He grinned and started circling her. "Just remember you asked for this..."

She followed his movements with her eyes. Here and there, when the situation called for it, she took a couple of careful, small steps to evade him. "And you'd better be sure to remember, later, when you'll have lost, that you were all condescending and cocky at the beginning..." She abruptly stopped walking and launched her first attack.

Their swords clashed. Her eyes sparkled at him amusedly over the blades of their weapons. He smirked at her and shoved her back, breaking the clash effectively.

"Been working out?" she mocked him. Instead of a retort he attacked her again. She parried his blow and dodged another one. Her agility was her strong point and since he had the heavier weapon which was more difficult to handle than her comparatively light rapier, she exploited that advantage to the fullest.

With something akin to satisfaction she noticed the light sheen on sweat that was already forming on his forehead and smiled because it was a sign that she was beginning to tire him out. But maybe she was a little too sure of herself. Liz evaded a series of attacks, but was so distracted by dodging and sidestepping his blade that she didn't notice that he soon had her backed up against a wall. His blade was now pressed against her neck. He was pinning her against the wall with his whole weight. His mouth was close to her ear. She could hear his fast breath and it immediately transported her thoughts back to a much more intimate moment they had shared only hours ago. Her bodily reaction to this situation surprised her. It aroused her. Apparently their current position seemed to have an equal effect on him as well, or at least it stirred his thoughts in a similar direction. "Doesn't that position remind you of anything? A bit like last night, isn't it?" he whispered to her.

A hoarse laugh escaped her throat. "You're enjoying yourself a bit too much, I think," she admonished him with a grin on her face. "I hope you are aware that I could get out of this pretty easily if I wanted to, but I'd hate to cause you pain. Also it would probably put an end to the plans I have for us later today."

He only raised an eyebrow at her remark. She pointedly looked down. Her left leg was neatly positioned between his. She teasingly moved her knee upwards a bit, just to make a point. "Point taken," he commented with a smirk and stepped back somewhat reluctantly in order to release her from his hold.

"Hey! What are you doing? Fighting or flirting?" MacLeod called out jokingly from his place on the mats. "A bit more seriousness please!"

"One portion of seriousness coming right up, sir!" Liz smirked, shaking herself, as if she wanted to get rid of whatever playfulness that had possessed her. Of course a certain playfulness was part of her character, so she was only able to briefly keep up appearances. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes never went away. She assumed a fighting stance once more, but only after having executed a slightly exaggerated, but rather elegant bow at the beginning. "S'il vous plait, monsieur..."

"Mais, no. S'il te plaît, mon petite coeur en sucre...," he replied miraculously keeping a straight face despite his overly ridiculous choice of endearment which was probably supposed to distract her.

"That desperate? My little sugar heart? Seriously, love?" She let out a bout of raucous laughter before she attacked again.

Liz launched a series of blows at Methos, which he all parried. The fight went on. It was pretty evenly matched up until the point when finally his defence became more and more sloppy thanks to the exertion. Just this one time he wasn't quick enough and she managed to knock him off his feet with an unexpected kick to his shin. Now she was standing above him with her blade hovering over his throat and a triumphant grin plastered on her face. In this very moment of triumph, she could have said many things, but she limited herself to only one word. "Squeak!"

His expression darkened which should have been a warning to her. To her great surprise their positions were soon reversed. He shoved away her blade with his own weapon, grabbed her outstretched arm that was still holding her rapier and pulled her forward. She lost balance and fell, letting go off the weapon in the process. With a surprised squeal she ended up on the floor and there she stayed, pinned down by his weight effectively. He was practically straddling her, his sword pointed at her rising and falling chest.

"I think I win," he proclaimed hoarsely.

She seemed to be unfazed by the tip of sword hovering in front of her nose. She just pushed it away with the back of her hand as if it were merely a buzzing fly. "MacLeod? Your verdict?"

"It's a draw," she heard her friend's voice call out.

"Does that mean we both have to uphold our end of the bet?" Methos asked in annoyance.

"That's just what it means," MacLeod informed them amusedly.

Upon hearing that, Methos climbed off of Liz and let himself fall to the floor next to her with an exhausted sigh. His chest was rising and falling just as quickly as hers. They were both sweaty and worn out from the exercise. Apparently they had been both a little too eager to win.

She turned her head to smile at him. "As always you're full of surprises. Not so rusty after all."

"You know, I could get used to this. Maybe we could schedule it in once a week or so...," he grinned at her challengingly.

She was a sore loser. Always had been. But in a way she had lost fair and square and there was nothing else to do but stop whining and get it over with. It didn't count that she hadn't danced properly in front of an audience in well over 50 years. In addition to that, dancing had always been something she mentally connected with the time she still went by the name of Lola Montez.

Lola Montez was not an identity she had outgrown. She had assumed as much for the longest time and she had been wrong. No, she was part of her personality. It had just been easier to pretend like the person she was now had nothing to do with who she had been in the past. However, in the last couple of weeks she had learned the hard way that deep down she was still very much that person. Whenever she was insecure or scared, she fell back on old behaviour patterns and habits. The scary thing about all this was that Lola Montez had never been a real person. She had invented her and by inventing her she had become real which was rather interesting from a philosophical point of view.

Who was Lola? She wasn't a stage character anymore. She was part of her. A part that was much more extrovert than she was. A go-getter, someone who got things done and wasn't hung up on sentimentalities. Whenever she indulged in the fantasy of being Lola, it brought out her impulsiveness, her fickleness, her superficiality, but also positive qualities like her determination, and her famed ability to charm people instantly.

Dancing would conjure Lola up to the surface and even though she had given her ample opportunities to stretch her legs in the last couple of days, she wasn't quite sure whether it was wise to willingly invite her in. There was the possibility that she would not want to leave anymore. Was she ready for that? It had become clear to her in the last couple of days that she had only repressed some of her issues in the last decades, but not actually worked through them.

Lola Montez had wanted fame, she had gotten it. She had wanted everyone's eyes on her and she had gotten that too. It had been fun up until the point where people had started ridiculing her and pitying her for always wanting to be the centre of attention. True, she possessed certain talents, but at some point she had started overestimating herself and of course that mistake had been pointed out to her by the unforgiving public. That experience had scarred her so much that she had, from that point of time on, decided that she would stop trying to stand out. After all she had come to realise that she was just a regular girl. So she had made Lola Montez the scapegoat, locked her away in the farthest recesses of her mind and projected all her negative qualities on her. But how healthy was developing a split personality anyway?

She would have to work through her issues... Most definitely. And it would start with upholding her end of the bet. She would not back down. She would deliver the performance of a lifetime.

Spurred on by a surge of almost stubborn determination, she had called Methos from her hotel room about Joe's address and the most opportune time to turn up there. She had opted on spending the next weeks rather at a hotel than at his apartment because it struck her as the most sensible thing to do. She didn't want to come across as too clingy. That also included making herself somewhat scarce after their mutual confession of love. She needed to figure out a few things about herself before this went any further. Moving in with him was out of the question for now. It would have been too overwhelming and premature. After all she still needed to figure out how to deal with an emotion that intense as love. It threw her off balance and forced her to re-evaluate her whole attitude towards life. She would rather do one thing at a time. Battle her personal demons, then let her relationship with Methos progress naturally. Battling her personal demons also included facing her alter ego Lola and she was quite determined to go through with that.

At any rate her initial bravery lasted her up until the point she sat down at the steps leading to Joe's. Then the waiting began and since she was rather impatient and generally no good at waiting, she had started smoking a cigar. Mostly to keep herself busy.

She was just taking a particularly long drag from her cigar when a shadow fell on her. Liz exhaled a blue cloud of smoke and looked up. Joe was standing above her, his outline backlit by the afternoon sun.

"Hi, Joe," she forced out a grin, because he was not ready yet for a broody version of her. Broody and glum her would probably also not be able to convince him of that asinine idea she would be trying to sell him in the next couple of minutes. Flamenco dancing at a blues bar. Really? Who in his right mind would buy into that?

"Hey," he said calmly leaning on his cane. And surprisingly, unlike Methos, he didn't wrinkle his nose when the first cloud of cigar smoke hit him quite inevitably. "Cuban?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," she grinned back a real and rather natural smile at him.

He ambled past her and produced his keys, actually a whole keyring with quite a lot of keys hanging from it that were making soft clinging noises, especially when he determinately twisted one of them in the lock. The door swung open a fraction. "So what brings you here?" He had put back the keys into his pocket and his hand was already resting on the doorknob. It didn't move though, probably because he was waiting for her answer.

She sighed. No use lying now. "I've lost a bet to Pierson."

"Really?" he turned around with a mixture of amusement and a smidgeon of sympathy shining through in his facial expression. Because, honestly, who was she kidding? How much sympathy could she expected for doing something as foolish as betting with someone as devious as Methos?

"Really," she answered somewhat gruffly and got up from her sitting position, brushing some imaginary lint from her clothes.

"Okay, shoot. I'm dying to hear this one!" He had now fully turned towards her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Funny how schadenfreude sometimes triggered useful sentiments like curiosity. Or maybe not funny since she was on the receiving end of said schadenfreude.

"We had a little training fight. It ended up a draw. Now I have to uphold my end of the deal. Can you imagine forfeiting a bet to that smartass?"

Joe laughed softly. "One's got to be pretty stupid to bet with him in the first place. Gotta be some wager..."

"Yeah, about that... Listen, the wager's where you come into play...," Liz gave him a hopeful look.

"What do you mean, that's where I come into play?" Joe took a step closer to her. He didn't look too enthusiastic about the whole idea to start with and she hadn't even told him what the wager was yet. Crap!

She spent the next twenty minutes pulling every trick in the book to convince Joe to let her dance at his bar. At least now she had him as far as to actually allow her to put on her shoes and demonstrate. She was fumbling around sort of clumsily with her heels. Their leather was worn and soft. They were her practise shoes and provided the comforting reassurance of familiarity. And she really did need reassurance now. It had been too long.

Liz slowly got up and took a tentative step. The metal nails on the soles of her shoes were clicking softly on the tiled floor. She stopped walking when she was in the middle of the room, all to put some distance between her and her one-man-audience. The bar was oddly silently at this time of day. With all the chairs turned over and put up on the tables, the room seemed larger than it was. She closed her eyes for a few moments, focusing on taking a couple of deep, calming breaths. She needed to concentrate. Luckily Joe seemed interested enough to allow her enough time to pull herself together.

She started out with a simple step. Flamenco was all about rhythm. The tapping of her feet provided a steady background beat. Toe, heel, heel, toe, heel, heel, toe, heel. A smile started spreading on her face now. Her feet seemed to have remembered the step now, since they moved faster and faster. She raised her hands and started clapping to create the typical tango rhythm.

The tapping had become quite fast now. As if her feet had a head of their own, they remembered to remember all the right movements. It was like the rhythm had been burned her brain. And how could it have been any different after all those hours of training? After all those reproachful looks her teacher had shot her back in good old Spain when she had learned dance Flamenco all those many years ago? A final stomp at the end brought the tapping and her thought process to an end. She stood completely still. She didn't turn around, didn't move a muscle. Then she heard Joe clapping behind her.

She turned her head, a wild smile on her face. "Does that mean you'll allow me to perform here?"

He grinned. "We can't allow that smug old bastard to gain the upper hand, right?"