THE ELIZABETH SERIES

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS

by JoLayne

RATING: PG

CHARACTERS: M, D, A, Elizabeth, Claire, Victor Bennett, mention of Thomas

SUMMARY: Methos and Elizabeth explore Methos' Paris as Duncan and Amanda take care of Claire.

DISCLAIMER: All characters and concepts you recognize from Highlander: The Series are owned by Panzer/Davis, and maybe Greg Widen. Just using them for fun, no profit is expected or pursued.

~~~~~

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13, 2013
SEACOUVER

Two hours after Methos put a bokken in Claire's hands, Elizabeth was sleeping on the leather sofa in Duncan's office while practice was still going on. Methos was quite proud of Claire's willingness to try using the instrument after she had been so thoroughly frightened by Methos and Duncan's rapid fire practice session, which had ended with a very unkind cut and Methos being walloped from behind by Duncan. Methos had to admit, at least to himself, that his kidneys were still acting up even after the healing process and a couple of trips to the bathroom. Claire's agility was astounding as she gracefully mobilized the stick that was longer than she was, and her tenacity was starting to get on Methos' last nerve. She wanted to continue practicing when all he wanted to do now was bring his family to the hotel and take full advantage of his wife.

"That's enough for one night, Claire," he said, for what felt like the ninetieth time in the last hour.

"Come on, Dad. I'm just getting the hang of this," she whined as she again crossed the stick smoothly around her head and made it come to a stop at Methos' hip.

Methos took hold of the stick and pulled it out of her hands. As he placed them back on the wall he told her, "You got the hang of it right away. Time for bed."

"Can we play with these again tomorrow?"

Methos turned to his daughter. Knowing what was in her future, what she had to be prepared for, he said, "These aren't play sticks. This is serious... a serious sport."

"You know what I mean. Can we?"

"I thought you thought this was a dull, boring, silly, dorky sport."

"That was until I tried it."

Methos felt her upper arms, and tenderly moved to her recently broken arm. "I can't believe you were able to maneuver the bokken so well with this arm."

"I told you and mom that it feels fine. I'd like to take the pins out and be done with it."

"Don't chance it." Methos saw that her bare arms were full of goose bumps and said, "Enough for one night." He looked at Elizabeth still asleep in the office. "Get your coat, I'll get your mother." As Methos walked toward the office he felt the approach of an immortal.

Claire said with good nature and a yawn, "As long as we come back tomorrow."

"Come back anytime you like," a deep voice called from the stairs. "As long as it's this month."

Methos watched Duncan take a seat on one of the steps and smile at Claire. "I have this place until the end of March. Lots of time for you to practice."

"Thanks for telling me your deep, dark secret, Mac," Claire went to hug Duncan, who chuckled and hugged her back quite forcefully. "I love this fencing thing. When can I use a real sword?"

Duncan looked to Methos, who said, "When the time's right. Don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't get hurt, Dad," Claire whined sounding totally put upon because her father was careful with her health and safety.

"That's for me to judge."

"And me," Elizabeth said, surprising Methos as she was not only up but walking towards him. She put her arm around his waist and laid her head lazily on his shoulder as she yawned. "Ready to blow this place? I'm beat."

"Where are you staying?" Duncan asked, setting Claire back down after the bear hug.

"The Super 8, just a couple of miles down the road," Methos told him.

Duncan's eyebrow lifted, as if that was the most surprising thing he'd heard for decades. Methos shrugged. "Miss Thing is getting used to nice surroundings and maids and getting anything she wants." Methos scruffed Claire's hair. "We're showing her how normal people live."

"Normal poor people," Duncan commented.

"I'm being taught another lesson, Mac," Claire sighed as she got her backpack by the weight lifting machine. "Mom and Dad think that doing my own laundry and making my bed doesn't teach me enough."

"You have to learn how to take care of yourself," Elizabeth said. "You're not going to have our money all your life."

"She's not?" Duncan asked.

"She's gotta find her own way when she turns the age of majority," Methos said, to which Elizabeth added, "That's why she was a bit grumpy when we arrived. We had a talk on the plane about what was going to be expected of her from now on."

"She's only ten years old," Duncan put in a bit of an argument.

"Yeah. I'm only ten."

Methos agreed with gusto. "Which means you have eight more years to get ready for life without us. I'm not raising a free loader and I don't like it when you expect grand hotels and expensive toys and- "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Claire rang out. "Must we relive this conversation?"

"What really must stop is giving lip to your parents. Stop it." When Methos put out his authoritative finger, Claire ceased and gave her look of being sorry.

Methos told Duncan, "See you later, MacLeod. Time for bed," as they walked to the doors. "And tomorrow... you got any plans?"

"Just packing. Why?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Oo," Duncan squealed with a smile. "Something good I hope."

"Good for me. Not sure about you."

"Well," Duncan said standing up. "That can certainly wait. Good night all," as he walked up the stairs and turned off the lights while the Gordon family was going out the door.

Downstairs, as Claire was getting into the back seat of the Volvo Methos had rented, Elizabeth whispered, "What do you have to talk to him about?"

"I'm really feeling the call of Paris."

"Oh, I don't know if I want to leave her. I like being mom."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm tired. The Highlander and the premmie took a lot out of me tonight."

"Oh, poor baby," Elizabeth murmured. "I'll take good care of your awful achy muscles, you hunk of man, you."

Methos winced, then smiled. "As long as you don't speak, that would be glorious."

~~~~~

"Just think," Methos mused, laying prone while Elizabeth gave him a massage. The bed was as comfortable as a bed of nails, so the rub down was entirely welcome. With Claire in the adjoining room, as they had no suites to offer at the establishment, and their door closed, they were free to speak. "Two whole weeks, Liz. Fourteen days with nothing to worry about or take care of but our own happiness and amusement."

Elizabeth leaned down and ran her tongue against his ear lobe. "Sounds like heaven, dear. But I don't want to leave Claire with anyone. Amanda had already asked me and I said no."

Methos turned over and rubbed his hand against Elizabeth arm. "No, you told her to ask me. I say it's a good idea."

"That they take Claire to see how parenting is? Look how Duncan almost told her about immortality."

"He didn't almost tell her anything. He was playing a game and had 'fencing masters' in mind all along. He likes to play mind games; makes him happy. If I'd trust Claire with anyone, it would be Duncan MacLeod."

"I just got her back, Methos."

"She's not going anywhere. It's only a couple of weeks."

When she didn't say or do anything, such as continuing the massage, Methos sat up and glared at her. "Two weeks alone with me sounds like a prison or something?"

Elizabeth softly admitted, "It sounds like heaven."

"Then what more is there to talk about? Matter settled." He laid back on his chest and urged, "Continue please."

Elizabeth didn't restart the rubdown, but laid on top of him instead, her head on his, her hands lightly rubbing his arms. "I've missed Claire, and you, but Claire most of all, mainly because I lost her without doing anything to her, and with what you said in Paris, thinking she hated me..." Methos' body tightened at her bringing all this up again. Elizabeth must have felt it, since she changed track, "I just got her back. We were almost beheaded for no reason, she was hurt for no reason... life is unpredictable and I don't want anything to happen while I'm not around, or what if I lose my head over there and I never see her again, am never again around to tell her I love her and how proud I am of her and-"

Methos sighed and turned over again, knocking Elizabeth onto her back. After straightening their tangle of legs, Methos smiled at his wife. "Life is hard. Life can play terrible jokes. Granted you're right about all of that, but does that mean we hole ourselves up in a closet and be scared? Hell, no. We really need to go, Lizzie. We really do. Simon agrees with me."

"Dr. Bradford?" Elizabeth was puzzled.

"We had that talk, and I mentioned that there were things we needed to do to put the past behind us once and for all, and he agreed."

"What did you tell him?"

"Enough to make a point. To get his opinion. He gave it. When you called to cancel your appointment for tomorrow, there wasn't a fuss, was there? I told him you'd probably not be around for a while."

"I didn't talk to him, I talked to Marilee."

Grumbling, Methos laid back on his side of the bed, "All right. I get the picture. You don't want to go away with me."

"I do too! I love going anywhere with you, doing anything with you." Elizabeth slapped his arm. "Why can't we take Claire with us?"

"I don't want her to tag along for what we have to do. Two weeks, Liz. Two damn weeks. That's all it would take."

"What the hell is in Paris that's so all-fired important, anyway?"

"Forget it. I'll go myself and you can stay in that closet with Claire. Just make sure she doesn't make any noises in there. Someone might hear you." Methos punched the pillow and slammed his eyes shut. His wife could be so damn stubborn. He knew she loved their daughter and it must have been hell to have gone two months without her, but really! This was a chance for the first time in a hell of a long time for them to be totally alone. With Duncan and Amanda in one place for two whole weeks, Methos knew that Claire would be safe. It was the perfect time to go.

Elizabeth scooted up behind Methos and put her arms around him. "I really hate it when you pull the Jewish mother routine."

"I hate it when you make me do it." Methos chuckled. "Forget it. I'll take care of it myself."

"Not on your life. Of course I'll go with you. I'll always go wherever you go. I'd just like to know where we're going and why."

"Paris, and you'll see. Maybe a side trip," he tossed out, then instantly hoped that she didn't bite at what he shouldn't have mentioned. He wanted to wait for a good time to tell her about another important part of their journey.

Elizabeth kissed Methos' shoulder and then sat up to look at him. "This isn't about the last time we were in Paris, is it?"

"No. It has nothing to do with the fact that we slept with people we shouldn't have. This has to do with us."

"I've always hated Paris. Pompous, dirty, traitors."

"Well," Methos grinned putting his arm around Elizabeth after facing her completely. "They're only pompous when you don't know the language, it's dirty in the poor ends of town, and traitors... what's that all about?"

"A group of us were screwed over by a landowner. He turned us in when he said he'd protect us and was on our side."

"Was this during the War To End All Wars?"

"The second one, yeah."

"I'm sorry. There's good and bad everywhere. Good and bad people everywhere."

"I know that," she said a bit testily. "It's just that Paris has never been kind to me."

Feeling compassion for whatever remembrances her mind was conjuring up, Methos laid over Elizabeth and kissed her gently. Methos never liked the fact that people had demons in their mind, and all that Elizabeth had, had been shown to him. Considering how much she kept the part of her history during the second world war private, he wondered what more could be in store for them other than what he had planned. A little bit of shipping, a little bit of retrospection, a little bit of loving, a little bit of eating, a little bit of tidying up the past was what he had in mind. "It will be," he promised as he kissed her again. "It can't be anything else. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything, my love," she said, and he knew she was totally his.

"We have to be completely honest with each other."

"I have no problem with that, no matter what we have to talk about."

He knew that it was going to be rough at times, but it had to be done, and he also knew that Elizabeth was telling him the truth.

~~~~~

With Claire and Amanda in the loft, Elizabeth watched Duncan and Methos say goodbye to each other in the dojo. It took longer than one would think. Methos told Duncan in a tone that he reserved for serious situations, "I'm taking a big chance with my girl, MacLeod. Don't make me regret it and have to come after you or anything nasty."

Duncan chuckled. "This trip must really be important to you to leave your most prized possession with little old me."

"It is. The most important of my life, in fact."

Hearing that, Elizabeth stared at Methos, not at all knowing what was in store for them. He kept saying that it was a trip to 'take care of things,' 'settle the past,' and 'have a spot of fun,' but Elizabeth couldn't help but think that she wasn't going to enjoy this trip at all. Plus, having to say goodbye to Claire so soon, and Claire being very well adjusted telling her to, 'have a great time, I know I will,' when Elizabeth kissed her goodbye, Elizabeth had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that something awful was going to happen.

Methos asked, "So, you think you're going to be a dad yourself?"

Duncan sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling of the dojo, as if he could see through it into the loft where his wife and Claire were busily preparing their itinerary for the day. "I don't know. I don't know how serious Amanda is about this."

"What if she's totally serious?"

"I'll think about it."

"That's what you're doing now," Elizabeth asked, "Right? That's what you said you'd do. That's what you told Amanda."

"I know. But until I know Amanda's taking this seriously, I'm not going to form an opinion. It's a lot of work and changes your life to have a kid."

"Oh?" Methos asked as if this thought had never occurred to him.

"Man, I'm going to miss you," Duncan said without a trace of friendship. He pulled Elizabeth into a hug and kissed her cheek. "Have a safe trip and I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"Well, I'll miss you, MacLeod," Methos said, punching Duncan's shoulder and pulling Elizabeth back from the Highlander's embrace.

Elizabeth told Duncan, "Please, Duncan, don't let Amanda buy too many things for Claire, and remember her bedtime, and don't, under any circumstances, let her twist her pins. All right?"

Duncan stood like a stone listening, but then smiled. "Anything else?"

"Tell her I love her and miss her already."

"Will do. You have fun. She's in safe hands."

"We know that," Methos said, grabbing the backpack at his feet and taking Elizabeth's hand.

"Tell your wife that," Duncan said with a smile.

Methos opened the door and waited for Elizabeth to leave first. She gave a last glance to the elevator and had a sneaking feeling he knew she wanted to run to it and at least go up to the loft to say goodbye one more time. Methos, reading her thoughts, said, "She really is in safe hands. Come on. Plane's leaving in a couple of hours and security is a long process."

Elizabeth smiled and waved goodbye to Duncan and bit her tongue not to give him more instructions for Claire, the most vital being tell her every day that she's loved by her mother. She walked out of the dojo, down the stairs, and into the bright sunshine of the late March day. Methos followed her out and put his arms around her. "You're right."

"Oh?"

"She is in safe hands, or I wouldn't leave her."

"I know that. I just hope I see her again."

"Now why in the world won't you see her again? Honestly, you're worse than me sometimes."

"You know how worse you can get?" Elizabeth teased him. "I'm really surprised you're so free and easy with this. Claire is in Amanda's hands. As much as I love Amanda to death, Claire was with her when she got hurt."

"Claire is with MacLeod, and he knows I'll never rest until I get revenge for whatever happens to her if anything happens to her."

"Great. I won't either."

"I'm sure that has him shaking in his boots, Lizzie."

~~~~~

SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 2013

The constant hum of the plane and the lack of turbulence during the entire red eye flight from New York had almost put Elizabeth to sleep, but seeing the French countryside caused Elizabeth's mind drift. Instead of being in the present, she was back in the time when she was known as Elizabeth Richardson during the second world war, just as it had been with Duncan on the top of the Eiffel Tower a month ago. When she realized that it had only been a month since her fateful night with Duncan in Paris, she couldn't believe she was again on her way there. Not only that, but on her way back to the City of Lights with her husband who she loved more than life itself.

"What are you thinking?" Methos asked her as she sat staring blankly out the window.

"Betrayal," she answered simply. Even though she should be happy with her life again on track, Elizabeth couldn't help but remember that period of time that she carried so close to the vest that she had never wanted anything to do with France ever again.

Elizabeth really couldn't be sure, but the sight of a run down farmstead in the French countryside looked very much like the farm that she and the others had been holed up in for two days back in 1941; the summer before America had finally been brought into the war by the Japanese. She'd had just one date with Captain Victor Bennett in London after his rescue of a little girl from rubble left by the Germans, when he had come to her with the opportunity to "live life to it's fullest."

Captain Bennett had been assigned to get Mortimer Black from London to Paris within three weeks to deliver some schematics to the general in charge of operations there. "Sounds like a vacation, really," Victor had said with a smile that light up her insides like no one or nothing had in a very long time. He carelessly, probably without thinking, brushed his jet black hair back with his strong hand as he shrugged, "How hard could it be? I'm supposed to bring a unit of grunts and a couple of nurses in case anyone needs medical attention. I immediately thought of the cutest nurse I know. How about it?"

Elizabeth's mind whirled with all the reasons why she didn't want herself, or him, on such a treacherous journey that didn't seem to be necessary. "Why can't they just mail the plans or something? You have to bring him? In case someone needs medical attention?"

Even though the assignment was the last thing she wanted for either of them, she did allow her arm to be twisted by the suave Captain. In the very short time she had known Captain Bennett, he seemed to laugh in the face of danger, which London was choking with night and day. The group that left under the cover of night from London to the English Channel consisted of Victor, calling the shots; two foot soldiers named Tommy and Charlie, who repeatedly cleaned their weapons every night; her fellow nurse, Louisa, who seemed as nervous and wide-eyed as she was; a twitchy man by the name of Mortimer Black, whose plans were the reason for this excursion; and a strong, silent giant of a man whose sole assignment seemed to be making sure Black was never out of his sight and that an attache case was always handcuffed to Black's wrist.

Traveling only at night made the trip long, and there was a lot of time they had to stay silent and rely on the hospitality of French patriots as the group made their way through the countryside toward the capital city. Try as Elizabeth and Louisa might, they couldn't get either Black or his large shadow to tell them what was so hell-fire important in that briefcase. Louisa had guessed plans for a secret base, future plans of the Allies to defeat Hitler, or a secret recipe for Shepard's Pie. All guessed were met with stony silence and no trace of humor in either man .

Elizabeth and Victor had taken down times in various barns or storage sheds during the day to be curled up together for some needed sleep or whispering as they got to know each other better. When he had promised they were close enough to Paris that this would be their last evening in hiding, Victor had produced a diamond ring that had been stitched into the hem of his pants and presented it to Elizabeth on bended knee. Louisa was as delirious with happiness as Elizabeth was and Tommy and Charlie slapped Victor on the back in congratulations, but Black and his companion were as stoic as ever. After the initial good wishes died down, they once again whispered about the farmer and his family who were currently hosting their stay. Monsieur DeLache had been specifically named in Victor's mission statement, and his farm had been starred on the map of their trek Victor had been given by his superior. DeLache was a humorless man with a gruff wife and three daughters that ranged from age two to twelve. Victor's French was fluent. Elizabeth could only make out a few words of their brief conversations.

After two weeks of danger-free travel, Elizabeth and Victor wanted to be alone. They had envisioned themselves in a Paris hotel celebrating their decision to spend the rest of their lives together, and another night in a barn with five other people didn't seem an acceptable alternative. Victor announced to the others that he was taking his bride away for the evening, then they made their way across high grass from the barn to the chicken coop. The chickens squawked at the intrusion on their solitude, and the coop was quite small, but Victor laid down a blanket in a corner and one of the bottles of fresh milk that the farmer's eldest daughter had once again delivered to the barn, along with boiled pork, vegetables, and a loaf of bread.

"You would think DeLache could have given us some wine, but we'll have to pretend," Victor said as he ceremoniously opened the bottle and took a swig. A white mustache beaded at the top of his lips, and Elizabeth licked it off and kissed him, so happy to be alone with him, finally. Even though she would have preferred to be dressed in some slinky lingerie in a four star hotel and drinking champagne, instead of wearing camouflage that hadn't been washed for two weeks in a chicken coop, Elizabeth couldn't wait to show Victor just how much he meant to her.

As they laid together in the blanket. Elizabeth was just about to fall into a contented sleep when a gunshot was heard. Victor immediately unwrapped himself from Elizabeth and looked out the small window near the ceiling. "Son of a bitch!" he probably tried to whisper, but adrenaline made it reverberate through the coop. His voice was like a forceful punch in Elizabeth's gut as she tightened over what could possibly be out there. After two weeks of not coming across the enemy once, they were facing the promised danger of the journey.

Before she could get herself untangled from the blanket, Victor had yanked open the door as he drew a pistol from the back of his pants. "Come on," he ordered Elizabeth as he held out his hand for her. "Keep quiet and stay close to me!"

"What's happening?"

There was another gunshot as Victor spit out bitterly, "Germans." Victor kept hold of Elizabeth's hand as he started into the night around the coop and into the corn field. It was only when they were under cover that he dropped her hand. She missed it immediately and groped for it in the darkness. "Stay here," he told her and turned away.

Elizabeth grabbed his shoulders. "Like hell!"

Thoughts raced through her mind in the panic of the moment. They had all previously decided that the plans were important enough that if they were ambushed or came across the enemy, everyone was to take off for the next leg of the journey that was traced on the map. Do not stand and fight. Everyone who survived would meet up if they were able. Elizabeth and Louisa had promised each other that they would never leave each other behind. The men could fend for themselves. When Louisa asked if they could make it on their own, Elizabeth had been able to convince her that she could get Louisa to safety. It would be one of those times when immortality might be on their side. If Louisa was in danger, she had to get to her, and she wasn't going to let Victor charge into a nest of Germans alone either. From what he had been saying all along, those plans were his mission, and he would die before putting them in anyone's hands but the general. Suddenly, Tommy, Charlie, Black, and his guard went out of Elizabeth's mind. All she knew was Louisa, Victor, and herself had to get as far away from that farm as possible, ASAP.

"Elizabeth! I have to deliver those plans," Victor spun around and announced with anger.

"I know, but I'm not just standing here. Louisa...," she said.

"I have to go for Black. I can't worry about you!"

"Then don't!" Elizabeth shouted back. She kissed him hard and longingly, and then took off low for the barn from behind, away from where she saw three men in German uniforms.

"Damn it!" she heard Victor spout from the corn.

One of the Germans was talking with DeLache and bitterness welled in Elizabeth's gut. For this moment, she wanted nothing more than to rip them both limb from limb. To her satisfaction, however, she saw one German laying still on the ground. One of those gunshots must have hit a good target. Whoever it was that wrote up Victor's mission, promising that the DeLache farm would be safe would also have to pay. She supposed they only needed a few men to come and shoot them in the middle of the night while they slept and get those plans. Why they hadn't come the previous night was anyone's guess, but Elizabeth didn't worry about it. All she worried about was that she didn't have a gun. She looked back to where she had left Victor, but she didn't see him. She looked back to the German talking with DeLache in the distance and saw money change hands. Forty pieces of silver? Elizabeth walked hunched over in anger as she reached the back of the barn to peek in to see if her travel companions were still alive. She saw only Charlie and Louisa huddled together in the barn. Where Black, his shadow, and Tommy were was anyone's guess, until Elizabeth heard the swishing of grass to her right and saw Victor leading them into the trees. He saw her look his way and motioned for her to follow.

Elizabeth would have liked to, but she had to get Louisa out of that barn to safety too. She had no idea why Charlie and Louisa hadn't gone as well. She went in through the back door of the barn and whispered to get their attention. Suddenly, she heard gunfire and running feet through the high grass outside. Her heart constricted at the sight of Louisa slowly lowering Charlie to the ground followed by the thought that one of the shots could have hit Victor outside. It was dark in the barn, but Elizabeth was able to make out that Charlie's shirt was bloodied and he was more then likely dead. They hadn't been huddled together as if in fright, Louisa must have been trying to tend to his wound. "Louisa!" Elizabeth whispered louder, and her fellow nurse wailed as she turned to see her still in the back of the barn. Elizabeth wanted to get outside to see where Victor was and tried to hurry Louisa to her so they could get the hell out of there.

Louisa, though, was struck still from what appeared to be shock. "Come on," Elizabeth urged again, but Louisa wasn't moving. Elizabeth couldn't see anyone near the large, open doors at the front of the barn, and hoped that Victor and Tommy had been able to move them away and not been killed. Elizabeth looked toward the trees and saw Victor shooting a machine gun. She heard a grunt and a body fall, then Victor looked her way. "We're safe! Come on!" he didn't seem to care about shouting at her, so Elizabeth hurried into the barn, grabbed Louisa's arm, took a last look at Charlie, then sprinted with her out of the back door of the barn again to run to where she had seen Victor.

When they got outside, she didn't see him, but heard gunfire in the trees. Elizabeth ran to where she last saw Victor anyway, as it was the only plan she had, keeping a tight hold on Louisa's hand. To her relief, she saw Victor in the trees, with Black being led by his guard sprinting farther into them. When Elizabeth and Louisa were out in the open, just a few short running paces away from the trees, she felt the gunshot before she heard it and dropped to her knees. Louisa fell like a lump beside her as Tommy flew out of the trees with his machine gun firing at the area where the shot that got her had come from.

Elizabeth didn't really feel anything, but had no strength to get up and looked down at herself. Her arm was flowing with red, and Louisa was laying on the ground covered with blood, staring blankly at the grass in front of her. "Lizzie!" she heard Victor yell from the trees. She knew that he was toggling between coming after her and following the plan and heading into the trees, while he was shooting where Tommy was for cover. She didn't want him to have to toil with such a decision and hollered for him to run! Go! She'll meet up with him, just go!

Elizabeth tried to get up because Victor wasn't leaving, and Tommy was getting near her with his gun still blazing with bullets. Just as Victor was going to come to her, Elizabeth felt a fiery hot needle prick on her temple and flopped over with no control of her body at all. Tommy roared with anger and continued firing, but had stopped his progress toward her. "Shit!" was the last thing Elizabeth heard before shutting her eyes. "Lizzie!" was the last thing she heard Victor scream before the shooting stopped and all went peacefully silent for her.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, and immediately coughed up dust. She couldn't get her breathing to flow freely and coughed more and more as she heard gasps and the thud of heavy metal hitting the ground. She looked around and saw the French bastard DeLache gaping at her. His daughter who had delivered food and milk to them was standing beside him with wide eyes and her mouth covered by her hands.

Louisa was laying under her and Elizabeth found herself in a make-shift grave. It was now dawn, and the farm seemed peaceful, but she was being buried in the flower garden along with Louisa. Her only hope was that Victor and Tommy had made it out of there alive. If their words had meant anything, they should have taken off as soon as they saw she had been killed. Elizabeth hoped and prayed that they had and that they weren't in another make-shift grave. She looked around and didn't see any indication that there were any bodies other than hers and Louisa's in that shallow grave.

"You! You are the devil!" DeLache wheezed, pointing at her accusingly.

The nerve of that man! Elizabeth stood up defiantly and stared the Frenchman down. If his daughter wasn't there, she would have picked up that shovel and whacked him against the head for what he did. Instead, she stepped out of the grave and told him in her fractured French, "Don't bury a person unless you know they're good and dead."

"Kill her, papa! She's a devil!"

"You're the devils!" Elizabeth retorted in English because she was so angry. "How much did you get for betraying us? Who was behind our being here? Why didn't they just shoot Black and get the plans in England?! Have you no loyalty?!"

DeLache cowered back from Elizabeth as his daughter made the sign of the cross and yelled more about her being pure evil and that she had been dead. At least that was what Elizabeth thought she said, her French was always iffy. The impulse to smash the man's head in for killing Louisa, Charlie, and maybe more, was strong, but Elizabeth fought it. As much as the man deserved to die, she couldn't do it in front of his daughter, and she knew there were two more daughters in the house.

"My loyalty is where the Francs are," DeLache said in English. "Just like everyone else."

With a father like that, Elizabeth decided at that moment that the daughters would be better off without him. She leaned in and screamed at the girl, "Get the hell out of here!"

The girl jumped and ran to the house. Elizabeth was going to read the riot act to DeLache; more to let out all the frustrated anger she felt, when he pulled out a pistol from his pocket. She ducked to avoid the first shot and ended up near the shovel. After another shot sliced into her side, she picked up that shovel and swung it like a sword in the direction of the Frenchman. To her astonishment, the head of the shovel dug into DeLache's neck and he fell to the grass. Pure hatred urged her to hit him again and again, but instead, she ran into the trees, trying to remember which direction to go to in order to meet up with Victor. She would find him if it was the last thing she did.

As the announcement of their impending landing at Orly came over the intercom, Elizabeth found Methos looking at her. She tried to smile, but her mind remained full of memories; of being aware of the remnants of the gunfight on the buildings of the farm and on the trees she had run into. She had followed fresh tracks as long as light allowed. The forest got darker and darker as she entered it at top speed. It wasn't until she was exhausted and crying so hard that she fell to the ground and curled into a fetal position and succumbed to emotion that she stopped. She was found by a French regiment, who brought her to Cherbourg, where she slowly became adept enough at French to get by and offered her services to the war cause. There was no reason to go back to London. When she had made contact with the hospital and military, no one had word of Victor Bennett, and Elizabeth feared he had been killed. London was never her home anyway, and getting transport to America was impossible to find. Vague hopes of finding Victor there in France or hearing word of where he might be caused her stay right where she was. Staying in France had been difficult, and every unhappy or trying experience was magnified by her initial hatred of the farmer who had betrayed the cause of the right side.

Elizabeth hated her time in France, but over time and distance she was able to clear her mind and accept that it was the war, losing Victor, and DeLache that were the reasons she was offended by the country. Offended enough to think it was France itself and all the people that populated it. To be fair, people were at their worse in times of war and none of the French people that she had come up against were cordial. As Elizabeth felt the plane descend into Orly, she realized that the few people she liked in France had come from somewhere else, like Methos, Duncan, and the immortal Thomas. She had been nursing in Cherbourg when she had felt an immortal sensation that scared her to death, she had never liked being around one of her kind. When he had been brought into the small hospital bleeding, "injured," he didn't challenge her or even offer a threat. All the nursing he needed was someone to cover the doctors' investigations of his wounds and pull the shards of glass from his back and wipe up the blood. After the war, Thomas had flown her back to London in one of his planes, and it was just two weeks later when she had found Victor, who had gone straight back to London to look for her.

As the plane landed, visions of marrying Victor, their move to America, and living happily for years filled her mind. She decided to stop going down memory lane when Methos took her hand as they departed the plane and before she remembered Victor deciding it was time for her to learn how to drive and her getting them into an accident, where he died.

As they were waiting at customs, Methos whispered to her, "You're awfully quiet."

"I'm sorry," she whispered back and kissed her husband. "Remembering, that's all."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

The way he asked that simple, cliched question made Elizabeth feel bad that she hadn't been envisioning a great vacation with the man she loved more than she ever loved anything, rather than strolling down memory lane over someone tagged her 'favorite husband' and whose name she always reverted to when she hadn't been with another man, until Methos had come along. She tried to think of what to tell him. She couldn't tell him about her day and night with Duncan. She didn't want to mention the last, bitter argument she had with Methos, after which she had thrown her wedding ring into the street. She didn't even want to mention when Daniel 'turned,' as she had been scared to death that Methos had in fact been beheaded and the reason for the quickening she had taken just because she was the closest living immortal to the scene of the accident.

Methos chuckled. "I'm not going to fine you if I don't like your thoughts. You're entitled to them. It's okay. I'm going to show you my Paris. By the time we leave here, you're going to love this city."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Methos' waist as she intoned, "I can't wait." She hoped he could make her think differently about the city, country, and people. Thinking about how he always came through for her, she was certain he would succeed and decided to kept her mind open to whatever he had to show her and whatever they would do.

They found a limousine driver holding a cardboard sign with"GORDON" printed in black magic marker, Methos went right to him and set their bags in the backseat. He tipped the driver and asked for a few minutes of privacy, after which the driver took a short stroll. Methos and Elizabeth got into the backseat and opened their swords removing the wrapping that was needed for the flight. After getting them sheathed in their coats, Elizabeth commented that she would like to get another one. She really didn't have one of her own, and the katana that Duncan had given her didn't fit her hand right. Methos said that would be one of their excursions and asked, "What's your poison?"

"I've always favored the sabre. No nonsense, light yet strong."

"Late 1800's, American?"

"You always remember your first," Elizabeth smiled. One of her favorite swords ever was the one that she found in the Wheat Field in Gettysburg just after turning immortal, when she didn't know what happened to her, thinking she should be dead after being stabbed by Logan, but knowing there was something about that sword that called to her. It was like she had to have it, and she used it for almost fifty years. After she had started to settle down instead of leading the life of a pilgrim, she had collected Civil War memorabilia and ended up buying another sword for use and keeping the sabre as another souvenir.

"Hm," Methos mused. "I think I know where you can get one. You'll have to make do with that one until then, though."

"No problem. I've had it," Elizabeth started, then skirting the reason Duncan had to give her the sword in the first place, which was because hers had been destroyed in the fire at Bethany Manor in Kent. "For a while now...," she finished, without bringing up anything touchy that happened between her and Methos. She didn't like that there was this big, blazing elephant between them that they both seemed not to want to talk about. The time in Kent, her possession by Pyrius, his leaving after her almost taking his head. It was just too awful to contemplate, even though she had talked about it in session with Simon Bradford.

"Let's hope you won't need it for a long time."

After kissing Elizabeth and smiling at her, Methos said, "Don't think about anything," as if he could read her mind. She chuckled because she knew that he probably could. She was so transparent when it came to him. Methos stepped out of the limo and waved for the driver, who was having a cigarette. After they had just entered the Paris city limits, Methos asked the driver to stop.

The limo came to a stop in a narrow street between two buildings that had to be at least 400 years old and Methos moved Elizabeth out of the car. He went to the driver's window and told him to make sure the bags get to their suite safely and tipped him well, before patting the limo as if he was saying goodbye to a horse starting out on a long journey.

"So," Elizabeth sighed. "We're walking?"

"It's a beautiful day," Methos said, inhaling deeply with a smile and looking up at the tops of the buildings. "Let's see what trouble we can get into." He put his arm around her shoulders and they started up the cobblestone street.

Methos had been right. Her senses hadn't been polluted by the stench, that she usually associated with Paris. She deemed it as just being hopeful for their vacation and nothing more. They weren't in a slum, but it also wasn't grand. The way Methos was taking in everything with wistful nostalgia, Elizabeth had to guess, "An old neighborhood."

Methos stopped and pointed up at a top window of one of the buildings. "My first apartment in Paris was the fifth window from the left on the top. Good access to the roof."

Elizabeth chuckled. He always did scope out the quickest way to an exit before deciding to settle. "Did it have indoor plumbing?"

"Gods, no." He pointed to the only newer looking building in the neighborhood. "There was an outhouse and community water pump over there."

"When was this?"

"1687. It's changed quite a bit around here. The building's been improved nicely."

"It's very nice. Wonder how much the rent is nowadays."

"We're not moving there, I was just pointing it out."

"Cool."

On the next block, Elizabeth noticed a man whose fingers and bare toes were clinging to the bricks that made up a six floor building about two floors up. "What the hell?"

They stopped and watched him slowly making his way farther up the side of the building, brick by brick. "See?" Methos commented. "Around every corner is something to see."

A call of "Just a little farther," in French brought Elizabeth's attention to another young man, about as old as the one climbing, on the roof of the building, urging his friend on. Elizabeth laughed at the weirdness of it, and then whispered to Methos, "A massage tonight if he makes it without falling."

Methos stood behind Elizabeth, wrapped his arms around the front of her and positioned his watch so they both could see it. He hit the stop watch function on it and said, "Oh, he'll make it. You're on. In fact, you can clip my toenails if he makes it to the roof within the minute."

"Gro-oss."

"It has to be done."

"You're definitely on. Mine are getting a little long too. He's going too slow."

"He's hitting his stride now. He'll do it."

"He's just clinging to bricks." Elizabeth shook her head, fascinated, yet appalled that she was watching a man three floors up on the side of the building, hanging onto nothing really, and there was no net or mat to break his fall. The other people around them were as enraptured as Methos.

"I've a feeling he's not feeling any pain."

The kid urging the climber on now seemed definitely drunk as he loudly encouraged his buddy to keep on climbing and not look down. "He's going to fall," Elizabeth said again not in the least bit happy. "This is so nuts! We're just watching, but I can't move."

Methos chuckled in her ear, and Elizabeth leaned back against him, both horrified and glued to the climber's progress. Methos had been right. He was hitting his stride now. She glanced at Methos' watch, still in her line of vision. He had twenty more seconds to get to the roof. She didn't think he'd make it to the roof at all, but hoped that he'd slow up a bit. Methos' fingers were already kneading away the tenseness of her shoulders and she couldn't wait for it to happen for real that evening, wherever they were going to stay. Methos liked it better when he made the plans and she just enjoyed them, and she wasn't going to deny him that thrill now.

Elizabeth started to count down, "Fifty, Fifty-one," as she watched Methos' watch tick off the numbers.

The climber had actually reached the roof. Damn! Elizabeth thought. Slow down, just a bit. Methos continued, "Fifty-two, fifty-three, come on! Pull yourself up!"

The climber's buddy was holding onto his shoulders and Elizabeth was ready to cry foul that he was getting help when the climber's foot slipped from the brick it was clinging to. That was enough to throw off his balance, and soon the only thing holding him up was his buddy. The crowd, and Elizabeth, gasped and covered their mouths. All their mental encouragement went to the young man as the buddy pulled with all his might to get the by now screaming climber over the side of the roof.

Elizabeth hadn't taken a breath since he had slipped, and panted when he finally made it over and the crowd erupted in applause. Methos dropped his arms and said, "You can use a scissor, not a clipper, this evening, my love," before kissing her on the temple.

She grabbed his wrist and held his watch up. "One, o-seven, one o-eight. He didn't make it in under a minute."

"Yes he did."

"No he didn't. It made it like three seconds ago," she argued. "That would be four seconds over the time you bet on, bucko. Get those massaging fingers ready. I have a feeling I'm going to be good and sore this evening."

"We'll do each other, how about that?" he whispered into her ear.

Before she could respond to that, the climber yelled and raised his hands in victory and jumped up and down on the roof, then he whirled his hands in a flourish and then bowed to the clapping crowd below. With a last roar of self-congratulations, he ripped the black beret off his head and flung it below to the crowd. The beret went straight to Elizabeth, so she didn't really have to move to catch it. Because the climber and his buddy had disappeared from the edge of the roof, Elizabeth put the beret on and turned to Methos with a smile. He adjusted it so that it was slightly atilt and then kissed her. "Collect a lot of wedding bouquets too?"

"I've caught a few. I've tossed a few more. Tossing them is a lot more fun."

"Especially when they're purchased because you were marrying me?"

"Of course, my dear. Of course."

Nothing else as eventful happened in the neighborhood as Methos and Elizabeth walked through it holding onto each other. Elizabeth almost felt like a teenager without any worries, holding her guy, and having a city at her feet. Whatever she wanted to do, she was sure Methos would make it perfect. However, she had no idea what to do. Being in the midst of Paris again with no destination or plan was like being in it for the first time. Because she was escorted by Methos made it special. She didn't let the memory of her trailing him to Paris after she had attacked him in the church during Joseph's baptism, or his killing her and having the opportunity to take her Pyrius-infected head gain any lasting hold on her. Whatever had been awful between them in the past was over in her opinion. As she looked at Methos, she hoped all was forgiven, if not forgotten, for him as well.

After a bit of shopping, calling to check up on Claire, who was needling Duncan for more fencing lessons, and getting off the Metro in what Methos had said was the "artsy-fartsy" area of Paris he usually tried to avoid, Elizabeth asked why they were there at all then if he didn't seem to like the neighborhood. He pointed out a sidewalk café a half a block in front of them and declared, "Their croissants are to die for."

"I am hungry. I was wondering when you would be."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was busy keeping up with you and taking in this city."

They were seated at a table in the corner of the gated café and were immediately served mini baguettes and butter. Methos had told the waiter to bring them the blue period special and buttered a baguette and popped it in his mouth.

"Do I dare guess what a blue period special was?"

"Something to take the blues right out of you."

"I'm starving, hope there's a lot of it."

Methos pulled a chunk of baguette from a loaf and told Elizabeth to open wide, then he put it into her mouth as he kissed her. His hand took her left hand as his other hand wrapped around her waist. She was sure there was something in the Parisian air that made Methos lose all mores of public displays of affection and just took him in. She knew there were occupied tables around them. Each table with chattering tourists, solemn solitary writers, college sophisticates, and a stout, dark-haired, beared man with a sketch pad, who had stared at them when they were seated. She wondered if he was staring at them now.

They came up for air when a plate of hot croissants, a small bowl of whipped cream, and a tin of strawberries was set on their table. Elizabeth took it all in and chuckled. "All I need is a bottle of massage oil, a hot bath, and a fluffy bed, and we're in heaven."

"Those will come later," Methos promised.

The waiter asked which wine they would like, but Methos said they've have Perrier instead. Elizabeth told him, "You can have wine."

He shook his head to the waiter, who had taken her comment as an invitation to order a bottle, then told Elizabeth, "Eat up."

She put a strawberry to his lips, and he stared at her as he rubbed his lips against it, then took a big bite as she held onto the hub. She kissed him while the strawberry was still in his mouth, and they seemed to pass it back and forth before she swallowed it. Methos dunked a strawberry into the whipped cream and held it in front of her face.

"No way, you're not smearing that all over me." She leaned in to whisper, "I don't want witnesses to you licking it off. I'd want that all to myself."

He growled lightly as his eyes sparkled mischievously. She forced it into his own mouth, and he shrugged and chewed it down. Her glance caught that of the sketch artist, who was looking at them and then down at his sketch pad, a piece of charcoal working furiously upon it.

She took a croissant and held it up in greeting to him, and he smiled. She reached her knife to the butter, but Methos stopped her. "No need for butter. Try it first."

The croissant was warm in her hand, and it came apart in seemingly hundreds of flakes and layers as she pulled it apart to put a small piece in her mouth. It was immediate buttery heaven in her mouth as she let the warm, slightly sweet, dough fill her senses. "Oh, God," she moaned.

Methos handed her another strawberry dunked in cream and she took a big bite of it to mix with the bread in her mouth. Relishing the mixture of taste, texture, and temperature, it all ended too soon as she swallowed it and immediately wanted more. They fed each other until Elizabeth was surprised that all that remained on the table were half drunk glasses of Perrier, crumbs on the croissant plate, and a hill of strawberry stems. "You know, Daniel," Elizabeth said as she sat back, suddenly feeling the tightness of her pants. "If this is just an afternoon bite to eat, I can't wait to see what dinners are like. I'm probably going to gain fifty pounds while we're here."

"Nah, you'll get exercise."

They laughed together, and Elizabeth shivered with anticipation of what a Parisian night with Methos, without a child to tend to and hard feelings between them, would produce. "What will we have for dinner?"

Methos shrugged as he kissed her hand. "I thought we'd order in some Chinese."

"Chinese food in Paris?"

"You gotta eat the important stuff, my love."

Elizabeth kissed him, then bit lightly at his ear. She whispered, "Whatever you want."

"That, I love to hear," he replied with his eyes closed, his hand now on her leg.

They were interrupted by a clearing of the throat. She looked up to see the sketch artist standing at their table. "Pardon moi," he said with a hesitant smile. He rolled up a piece of paper from his pad and set it on the table. He spoke in French, and Elizabeth could only make out the "Merci," he had said before slightly bowing and leaving without a backward glance. She asked Methos what he said.

"For making my afternoon tea pleasant," Methos said as he reached for the rolled up paper. "He is giving us this gift."

Elizabeth leaned against Methos' arm as he unfurled it to reveal a charcoal sketch of them at the table. The brick wall of the restaurant, the plant behind Elizabeth's shoulder, the beret covering her long, black hair, Methos' strong shoulders and unique profile, and how they sat together as Methos kissed Elizabeth's hand was perfectly executed, as if a photograph had been taken at that moment. The only difference from reality to the sketch was that instead of food the table only held of a bottle of champagne and two half filled flutes. It was signed MR in the lower left corner. "Wow. Who was he?"

"That couldn't be Michel Rombuleau, could it?" Methos craned his neck to look at where the artist might have gone to.

"I'd be able to tell you if I knew who Michel Rombuleau was."

Methos smiled as he scanned the sketch again. "Well, even if he's not, this is a nice memento of Paris, don't you think?"

"Perfect. We'll have to have it framed for when we get a house with a fireplace mantel. Who's Michel Rombuleau?"

Methos looked at her as if she had asked who Renoir was. "Aside from the fact that there have been placards all over the city about his art being shown at the Musèe Marmottan, you haven't heard of who they're deeming the next Picasso?"

"Um, no. Sorry. Picasso?" She looked at the sketch. "Well, my nose isn't my ear and I don't have three boobs or anything."

"Artists experiment with mediums, disciplines, instruments. This is extremely good," Methos commented.

"Are you sure that's him?"

"We can find out one of these days. In fact, we could check out the gallery tomorrow."

"Ok." Elizabeth was game to do anything, and noticed more things in the sketch, like the pearl earrings Methos had bought her just two hours before in a little shop she had sworn was just a family home but Methos was convinced was a business.

"You really haven't seen the placards for the Musèe Marmottan?"

"How could I when I'm only looking at you?" she said, almost teasing. If Methos hadn't pointed things out to her, she probably would have missed them.

~~~~~

SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 2013
PARIS

Elizabeth woke up to bright sunshine on her face from the curtains that hadn't been pulled the evening before. From how she was feeling, she assumed it was around 9 am. A good rest after an exhilarating evening. Methos was still sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed, and Elizabeth caught a glance at the clock on his night stand.

She sat upright thinking she was seeing things. "Four in the afternoon?" she asked aloud, which stirred Methos. He took in a long, all-encompassing yawn and glanced from her to the clock.

"We slept all day?"

Methos said, "Jet lag can do that to you." He wiggled himself over to her and pulled her down to lay against him. "And you were quite busy last night."

"Thanks to you."

He started working his hands across her body and kissing her, but she had to put a stop to it. "Hold on. I have to go to the ladies' room. I'll be right back. Hold that thought."

He giggled as she crawled out of bed and almost had to crawl across the floor; she was still so disoriented from sleepiness. After relieving herself, she splashed water on her face and remembered she had to take her pills. She looked through her cosmetic case for them, but they weren't to be found. She wondered if she had unpacked them already, her head still cloudy from what she now thought was exhaustion after losing a night's sleep on the plane and a six hour time difference, as well as how much energy she and Methos had expended last night. The Paxil wasn't to be found anywhere in the bathroom, so she put on a hotel robe and fished through her suitcase.

Methos lifted his head from the bed. "What are you doing? Come back here. I'm chilly without you."

"I can't find my medication," she told him, looking through his bag after a quick glance around the suite didn't reveal them.

"I'm sure it's in your carry on."

She went through the tote bag she had on the plane, but didn't remember putting it in there. Then she remembered. "Oh, damn."

"What?"

"I'll bet I didn't re-pack it after customs went through our bags. It's not here anywhere. What am I going to do?"

She went to her purse and got out her address book. "What are you doing?" Methos asked as he sat up and leaned his head against the sage green velvet headboard.

"I should call Dr. Bradford to get me a refill here."

"It's Saturday. Even in New York."

"There's an emergency number, I'm sure."

"It's an emergency? Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling fine. More than fine, except a little tired."

"Then skip it. See if you can go without it. At least until we get back to New York."

It really wasn't an emergency. The last week or so had been completely anxiety-free for her. She didn't know if that was because Dr. Bradford had explained when prescribing the medications the first time that they would eventually be a part of her system or because it was Methos and his loving attitude that had made her feel totally calm. The thought of having some chemical in her body now reminded her of the poison James had used to brainwash her. She looked at Methos' incredible body over there, all alone, and decided she needed to be a part of him more than she needed to take some pills. She would monitor herself to see how she dealt with things, but she was going to see if she could break free from the medications now that her life was as happy as it had ever been.

~~~~~

TUESDAY, MARCH 19, 2013

After spending the entirety of Saturday night and Sunday in their suite to regulate their bodies from the effects of jet lag and because everything is closed in Paris on Mondays, Methos and Elizabeth headed out of their hotel that morning for the first time to bright sunshine. "What's next?" she asked. Methos just shrugged, grabbed her shoulder to hold her as they walked and said, "The city is open to us. We just have to find what we want to do."

They soon found themselves near the Denfert-Rochereau Metro station, and Methos hummed. "Care to see the resting place of seven million souls?"

"Not particularly," Elizabeth commented. Sure, Holy Ground was a place of security for immortals, but she didn't want to think about death, other immortals, the Game, or anything that didn't have to do with her and Methos' immediate gratification. She asked, "How about checking out the Musèe Marmottan? If MR was Michel Rombuleau, I can thank him properly for the sketch." She had been enamored with the gift most of the weekend and had it framed and matted in the gift shop of the hotel as soon as they had returned on Saturday, and it was now displayed on the suite's mantel.

"You know," Methos said thoughtfully as he looked at a simple black wall among a brick facade with an arched, narrow block door. "I have some things in there."

"Oh, let's see them."

Methos smiled at her attitude and escorted her across the street to the door with a sign that she couldn't read and didn't care to. He pushed the arched door open and let her go through first. Immediately she had second thoughts, when she realized it was the entrance to the Catacombs. For such a tourist attraction and world-famous landmark, she was appalled by the unassuming entrance. Anyone who didn't want to go among seven million skeletons could just wander in..., she thought as Methos took care of arrangements.

He brought a piece of paper, a portable lamp, and a large smile to Elizabeth, and showed her through another unassuming black door. Great... oh well, at least she was with Methos. How long could it take to go get a few items? They went down a spiral staircase into a stone gallery with open doors leading in all directions. As Methos headed for one of them, she asked, a bit nervous, "You know where you're going?"

What seemed like hours later, Elizabeth was holding onto the back of Methos' shirt and he was still making his way through a maze of low, narrow tunnels. They had gone left and right, and once had backtracked to take another turn. It was dank, stank, and chilly down there. Periodically, they would come to lengths of piled high stones with skulls, femurs, and ribs, throughout their journey, the sight of which hadn't fazed Elizabeth after her initial period of feeling grossed out. She didn't realize how tense she was until she heard her voice shrill, "How far are we going? We're not lost, are we? I gotta go pee."

"Just up ahead," was all Methos said as he took yet another turn, then stopped at an old, wooden ladder that led to a crawl hole with nothing but blackness beyond it. She could make out spider webs and said, "I'll wait down here. Hurry up, please. I really gotta go pee."

"You should have mentioned that before we came in here."

"I didn't know I'd be spending the rest of my life in here," she groused. Leaning against the wall as Methos stepped up the ladder and waved away the spider webs in the crawlspace, Elizabeth thought, "Hm. Duncan brought her to the Eiffel Tower to show her Paris and Methos took her underground. They're alike, but yet so different."

"Ahoy," Methos cried out from above. She could see the light of the lamp filter down and saw it was another high room. Nice change from the closed in feeling in the tunnels. His voice hadn't echoed and she assumed sound was swallowed by the walls that seemed to be made of chalk. That substance might also mean that they weren't very steady.

"You have your stuff?" she called up, worried.

"Not yet, come up here."

"Why don't you come down here?" Elizabeth was starting to get a creepy feeling with the light up above and not where she was. A rat scurrying across the floor wouldn't be unheard of. The thought of a snake made her bolt up the ladder, stability be damned, to get to Methos and the light.

"Ah," Methos breathed with relief from the far corner of the much larger room than the one she had left below. As he came closer to the light, he told her to go to that corner and picked up the lamp.

"Why?"

"Relieve yourself. I just did."

"Relieve... go to the bathroom? No wonder it smells disgusting in here. Nothing like the blend of pee and cadavers."

"It's a modern toilet before it's time. The catacombs aren't flat. They're three dimensional. You go up, down. There's bottomless pits, that covers one of them," he said, pointing out what could be considered a crude, stone throne with a hole in the center. "Eighteenth century outhouse. Go on. I'm going to open my cupboard."

He left the lamp with her as she decided she'd empty her bladder, but she asked, "Is there a Sears catalog or anything around here for toilet paper?"

"You'll have to drip dry, I'm afraid." Methos was hunched in the dim corner of the room examining the lower wall. "Hurry up. I can't find my clues."

Elizabeth did her business quickly and tried to wiggle on the stone as if that would help the matter. Now feeling soiled, she pulled up her panties and pants, grabbed the lamp, and went to where Methos was, feeling a lot better, if needing a bath. She thought she'd need one anyway after being permeated by the dank odor of the catacombs in the first place and envisioned Methos cleaning her off.

Methos' voice cut through her fantasy. "Gimme that," he said, grabbing the lamp and holding it close to the wall. "Oh yeah, five blocks up, not four." He stood up and grinned. "Good thing I wrote it down. One forgets some things after a couple of hundred years."

"Forget what? You didn't get us lost, did you?"

"Have faith, my dear." Methos felt two blocks up from the one that had hieroglyphics carved on it, three blocks over, then five blocks up, three blocks back, and took out his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and jimmied it between two blocks. Mortar fell to the floor as he continued pulling the block out from the wall. She hoped the loss of that brick wasn't going to make the whole place come crashing down, but if she died, at least it was by Methos' side. She held onto his back to be close in case the ceiling came down on them. He grunted as he pulled the foot by foot and a half block out and asked, "Help me?" to her.

She helped him bring the block to the floor. "Don't drop it. I need it again," he advised.

Careful of her fingers and toes, they set it down. Methos brought the lamp up to the hole created in the wall, and to Elizabeth's estimation as she peeked inside, it looked like a safe back there. The nook was filled with things that Methos took out one by one. The first item was a silver contraption that looked like a sextant. The next was a handful of gold coins, which he put right into her coat pocket, so she didn't get to see them. He then pulled out a gold hourglass. He frowned when the glass was broken and the remaining sand fell to his feet. He put it back in the nook. The last thing he took out was a smooth, polished, flat teak box, which was incredibly dusty. He blew the dust off, and Elizabeth got a face full of it.

"Sorry," Methos said, then presented it to her in a different manner than he had the sextant. In more of a flourish. "This, my love, is yours."

"Oo," she grinned, not knowing she was going to get a present. "What is it?"

"That will be discovered once it is opened."

Elizabeth made herself comfortable on the floor, her legs folded in front of her, and Methos joined her with a Cheshire cat smile. "This is good, huh?"

"Depends on if you like expensive things. The Grand Duchess Devinchy had glorious taste."

She looked at him with her fingers on the latch. "An ex-lover?"

"No."

"Current lover?" she teased after he didn't give more information.

"You're my only current lover," he remarked, and her heart swelled. "She was a lush who didn't know how to cheat in poker. She gave me this after my trip nines beat her aces and eights."

Elizabeth opened the box and gasped when she saw nothing but bright sparkles, even in the inadequate lamp light. She adjusted her eyes and moved the box around to see what seemed to be a hundred diamonds sparkling in the form of a V. The most beautiful necklace she had ever seen was pinned in formation atop deep blue velvet. "Methos...," she breathed. "It's gorgeous!"

"I'll put it on you this evening and you can thank me properly."

She touched the largest diamond that hung from a string of them and guessed that it had to be priceless, as large as the Hope Diamond or the Star of Africa or any jewel she had ever seen in a museum.

She was so overcome that she teased, "Hm, no matching earrings?"

"If you're good, that can be arranged."

"How good do I have to be?"

"As good as you usually are. Another massage might seal the deal."

"You're on. If we're not lost in here."

"I got what I needed." Methos stood up and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. She threw her arms around him and whispered her thanks for the necklace and that she loved him more than anyone or anything in life.

"Now, I really got what I need," he said, tapping her butt. "Except food. You can work up an appetite around all this death."

"No concession stands around here?"

"If there were, I'm sure the food would be horrible."

After replacing the stone, Methos helped Elizabeth down the ladder after he went down with the lamp and they started down the low, narrow tunnel. After a few turns, with Elizabeth again holding onto the back of Methos' shirt for dear life, Methos stopped. "Hm," he paused. He pointed to the corridor on the left, then to the right, then turned around. As he did, the lamp swung around with him and Elizabeth could see the confusion on his face.

She immediately tensed. "Oh, my, God," she moaned. "We're not lost, are we?"

"Did we take a left, left, right, or a left, right, left?"

"How the hell should I know? I was just following you." She adjusted the wooden box that contained the brilliant necklace; she was about to drop it from the fright of being trapped in the catacombs forever.

Before she could shriek her fright to Methos, he chuckled and said, "Only kidding."

Elizabeth gave him a huge slap and said, "NOT FUNNY!"

"I thought so," he continued to chuckle. "You should have seen your face. I've never seen it that pale. Even when you've been dead."

"This is a wonderful conversation to have in the middle of catacombs," Elizabeth retorted. "Get me out of here and don't for one minute think you're getting a massage tonight."

"Well, in that case, I'll just sit here until you change your mind. I know where I am."

"Oh, come on. I have to go potty again."

"We could go back."

"Methos... please... let's get out of here." She adjusted the box again, as it now weighed a ton in her sweaty hands.

"Say the magic word."

"Now! Let's go. I'm creeped out. I'm massage you, I'll clip your toenails, whatever. Let's get a move on."

Methos gave her the lamp and took the box from her. He moved her so that she was in front of him and pointed the way. "To the left."

She turned to buss him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Even though they hadn't met a single living soul on their way to Methos' secret room, on the way out they came across small groups of people once in a while. Tourists, drug dealers, and excited young German men with flashlights attached to their baseball caps, all with backpacks, squeezed past them, and moved on.

"They're going camping?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

"Sure. Many do. In fact," Methos said as he pointed behind him. "There's a bar set up back there, or at least there was around thirty years ago, and had been there for almost a hundred years, if you want to snag a beer."

"I'm on medication."

"No you're not. You haven't taken them for a couple days."

"True. But I'd rather have one in a nice, lit, normal bar. My treat. Come on, let's go."

"Um..." Methos mused.

"What?"

"I'm trying to decide which is my favorite bar. Of course Joe's was top of the list, but after he sold it, it wasn't the same."

"Can we discuss this in the sunshine, please?"

"Sure, if it's still daylight there." He held his wrist toward the light. "Well, we might be able to catch the remaining rays of day if we hurry."

"That's my plan. Where to?"

"To the left."

On the way out of the catacombs, Methos again told her more of it's history, just as he had on the way in, but this time, probably since she was feeling better that they were on their way out rather than in, she looked more closely at the names and dates etched into the stone walls. It would have been interesting to take time to really read them and maybe take brass rubbings like people do in churches. There were foreign languages written out in carvings or magic marker. Methos', Elizabeth was almost positive, had left the only hieroglyphics. She looked back at Methos to ask left or right, but she didn't have to voice her question. Methos pointed to the right. All she wanted was to get out of there and go to a proper ladies room. Methos stopped by one pile of skeletons that made up the wall to their left and tapped one skull lightly. He whispered, "See you later, James."

"James who? Who is he?"

"Was he?"

"Ok. Who?"

"Just an old mate," Methos shrugged. "Who came to a bad end."

Elizabeth didn't dawdle to get the scoop. There had to be tons of 'old mates' in Methos' past, and she'd be a thousand year old immortal by the time he told her about all of them. When they did make it outside, she made a beeline for the metro station across the street. What made her stop her trek was the site of a deli down the street. Without a word to her companion, she started for it. Methos chuckled and followed her, taking her hand. "I kinda have to go too."

When she was finished in the ladies room, she found Methos outside the store on his cell phone. Lovely thoughts of any plans he might be making for their evening almost sent wonderful chills up her spine. He'd surprised and delighted her so much during this trip so far, she wondered if it could get better.

She bought a small log of Chévre, as an exchange for the use of the restrooms, and walked outside to hear Methos say into his small phone, "Ok, sweetie. We'll talk again soon. Love you."

Methos had hung up before he noticed Elizabeth standing right next to him. "That better not be any female over the age of ten."

"Claire says hi. If I'd known you were done, you could have talked to her."

"I'll call her when we get to the hotel."

"She was just going to bed." As they started down the street back to the Metro station, he asked, "Guess how she spent her day, again."

"Duncan is still teaching her fencing?"

"I'm not sure how I feel about that. Sure, he's good, but she's going to need to know how to use a sword for the rest of her life. I want to make sure she doesn't learn any bad habits too early."

"You'll teach her, I'll teach her."

"She goes on and on about how much she loves having Mac as her teacher."

"It's always fun to learn something from someone other than a parent."

"The way she went on about it..."

"Or, she likes Duncan better than you," Elizabeth needled him.

"At least he hasn't given her a sword yet. They're still using bokken."

"I'll call her when she wakes up to get the dope. By the way, where to next?"

"Hotel. All I can think about is another massage." He took the brown paper package she was holding and sniffed. "Ah. A bottle of champagne would accompany this Chévre nicely."

"Now that I'm not on meds, count me in."

"How are you feeling without them?"

"I've never felt better. This has been a wonderful trip." She took the cheese back because both of his hands were full with the Chévre and the box containing the necklace and held him around the waist as they walked. "When are you going to go through your stuff that you wanted me to see?"

"I was thinking tomorrow."

"Okay. I'm game."

"I was thinking I'd do it alone. Pack up the flat."

"I thought you wanted me to see stuff."

"Not there. It's just boring Claire and my everyday stuff. What I want you to see will be later. Say, why don't I make a reservation for you at a day spa tomorrow while I pack up our things?"

"Sounds like heaven, but why can't I help you?"

Methos stopped and chuckled. "Ok, you can. You're choosing putting my underwear in a box over a day at the spa. You are one cheap date."

"On second thought..."

"Good. I want you to have the time of your life. Go and enjoy yourself. When there's something for you to see, you will. Complete honesty, full disclosure, but if something's going to be by the numbers and frightfully boring, I'll save you the trouble."

She wondered if there was something he hadn't wanted her to see in their apartment, but then again, he was cleaning out the past and she wasn't all fired interested in seeing the scene of their humongous argument, so she looked forward to the spa and tried to decide how she'd make Methos' night fabulous back at the hotel.

CONTINUED