"Ouch!"

"You want an infection? Hold still."

"What is that crap you're smearing all over me?"

"It's just your arm. Stop whining like a baby."

Amy stuck her tongue out at Methos before gritting her teeth and swallowing the words she really wanted to yell. After all, it was hardly Adam's fault she had been smacked by random flying objects, and he had certainly had not thrown them himself. It wasn't his fault she couldn't fight a physical and psychic battle at the same time. She didn't need to take her frustration out on him. They hadn't been inside his place two minutes before he had disappeared and reappeared holding a couple of unlabeled bottles and a bag of cotton balls. He was right, though. The piece of old concrete floor hadn't just numbed her arm, it had given her a couple of puncture wounds and deep scratches with its uneven surface. So, at his insistence, she had taken her shirt off and sat in her armor while he smeared something greasy and slightly stinky on and around the wounds.

"Show me your back."

"Do what?"

"Don't tell me you only got hit once. Let me see your back."

"Armor. It's fine. The worst was my arm."

"I'm sure it is."

"Yup." She crossed her arms and stared him down.

Since he couldn't see anything more than a few bruises forming, Methos gave up and carried his kit back to the bathroom. From there he went into the kitchen and stared in the fridge - not a Coke to be had. "I don't have Coke. How about a beer? Amy?" Methos twisted slightly to see what absorbed her attention so fully she hadn't responded. Apparently it had something to do with falling asleep on his couch, head back, mouth open.

Amy awoke with a small jerk and the idea she had been afraid a moment ago. She lay on a soft bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets as if she'd been tucked into a perfect-sized nest. Methos sat in a chair a few feet away, reading. "This seems a little familiar."

"Little. But you have your clothes on and my flat is in one piece." Amy groaned and Methos laughed.

"Good point. How long did I nap?"

"Nap? About sixteen hours."

"Guess that wasn't a nap."

"Hungry?"

"Well I am now." Amy stretched but really did not want to leave the comfort of the warm blankets and soft mattress.

"Any bad dreams?"

"No." She saw Methos's eyebrow twitch and ignored it. What did it matter if he didn't believe her? Did he really need to know? And why was he sitting by the bed, anyway? She pushed the thought away and curled herself into as small as space as possible.

Methos stood and stretched his neck. "If you want, borrow anything you can find in the closet. I'll get something for you to eat."

"Thank you." After Methos walked out, Amy forced herself out of the bed, to his closet, then down to the shower.

In under twenty minutes she made her way into the kitchen, wearing one of his baggiest sweaters, belted into a short dress with the sleeves rolled to fit her arms. So long as she didn't leave the flat - and was very careful how she moved and sat - it would work well enough until she could get to her own clothes. Methos handed her a bottle of beer and a plate piled high and then left her alone. She stood in the kitchen to eat watching him across the room as he added notations in a small leather bound book. His famous journals.

"So," she started awkwardly after a couple bites, "anything new in research?"

"Not really. I have to keep as low a profile as I can right now. They'll get over being mad at my extended leave soon enough, but there's something else going on around there I can't put my finger on just yet. Very tense."

"Doesn't sound ideal."

"What about you? Are you planning on heading back to the States?"

"Yeah. My contract with the symphony is up and I wrapped a new security contract two nights ago. As soon as I deliver the report, I need to head back home."

"Pressing cow duties?"

"Yeah." Then she caught the twinkle in his eyes. "Har, har."

"You can't expect -" The phone interrupted them abruptly, shrilly and rudely demanding attention.

"Wait, what?" The phone pressed against his ear, Methos stared across the room at Amy, as if she could help him understand what she couldn't hear. "I don't…what? There's got to be a mix up. But that doesn't make sense!"

Amy watched his face, emotions crossing in a confused march across his face as he listened to the voice on the phone, growing more alarmed herself.

"No, she's actually here. Yeah. We'll be there when we can."

He hadn't settled the handset in it's cradle before Amy was at his side, demanding to know what was going on.

"Relax, it's got to be nothing," he tried to reassure her, but his voice carried a poorly-hidden note of worry that ratcheted her concern up a good two hundred percent. "But Joe just got kidnapped. Here. In Paris."