See Part 0 for disclaimer. *************** Methos finished chopping the parsley and tossed it into the pan just as he heard the front door open. He smiled and stuck his head out of the kitchen in time to see her drop her keys into the dish by the door and leave her briefcase nearby. "You're home - good." She smiled. "Dinner's nearly ready." Her smile widened. "Wonderful - I'm starved. Do I have time to change?" Methos grinned. "As long as you are just changing, yes. No bubble baths or long showers, OK?" She stuck her tongue out at him and retreated into the bedroom to change, calling as she went, "OK, I'll save the bath until after dinner." Methos chuckled and returned to the stove to stir the provonçal. The aroma of cooking prawns mingled with the Mediterranean herbs, tomatoes and garlic was absolutely gorgeous. Leaving the mix to simmer for a few moments, he turned to strain the rice, then went to finish laying the table. As he finished, Amy entered the kitchen, dressed in leggings and one of his favourite sweaters. Much as he tried to prevent it, his expression turned from pleasure to outrage. "That's my sweater!" he objected. Amy grinned in a smug fashion and sat down at the table. "I know. Your point?" "You have your own sweaters," Methos retorted, knowing his voice was taking on a petulant tone and being somehow unable to prevent it. "You don't need to dip into mine - how would you feel if I started wearing your clothes?" He had a fraction of a second to regret the question before Amy responded, "That I was dating an incredibly handsome cross dresser." Methos sighed, knowing when he was beaten. "Too clever for your own good," he muttered, as he headed back to the stove to dish up. As he spooned rice onto the two plates he heard her snicker softly. Returning to the table, he presented Amy with a plate loaded with the provonçal. She sniffed appreciatively and started to dig in. Methos grinned and did likewise. For all his minor fit of pique about the sweater, he didn't mind Amy borrowing his clothing - and she certainly wore it well. Nor did he mind doing most of the cooking - he preferred it to reheated take away, which appeared to have been what Amy lived on before she had moved in. As he finished eating, Methos remembered the pile of dirty dishes that needed doing, and for a fraction of a second his mood threatened to turn. Then he smiled as his gaze came to rest on Amy. He smiled. Apparently feeling his gaze on her, she looked up. "What?" she asked, warily. Methos' smile turned to an outright grin. "You do the dishes." Amy's expression swung from wary to outrage in a heartbeat. "No way!" she protested. "I did them yesterday." Methos smiled smugly. "I cooked. Therefore, you do the dishes." "You cook almost every night," she retorted. "Well I wouldn't have to, if other people around here actually learned how to," he answered, teasing. "And deprive you of the opportunity of making sure that the woman you love eats a decent meal every now and then?" Amy replied sweetly. Methos was not going to be beaten this time, though. "It's still your responsibility to do the dishes. Besides," he added, moving in for the kill, "don't have time to do them. I have got to get those essays corrected and there's a special on the Discovery Channel about the history of arms and armour. I want to see how badly they get it wrong!" With that point well and truly won, Methos stood up, collected his half filled wineglass and headed through to the living room. He set the glass down on the coffee table before collecting the pile of essays that were still waiting to be marked from his desk. He flopped onto the couch, fished the TV remote control out from behind the cushion, turned the TV on, and tuned to the Discovery Channel. Seeing they were still playing adverts, he turned his attention firmly to the essays. Marking was comfortably the worst part of his job at the university and his current batch of students seemed to specialise in writing laughable essays - but they still had to be marked. As he finished reading the first essay he was aware of Amy sitting down beside him. "That was quick," he commented, not looking round. "I'm letting the dishes soak," she retorted. "Uh-huh." But his attention was already back on the essay as he attempted to untangle what this particular student had actually meant. The commercials came to an end, and the programme started. It was actually surprisingly well researched, Methos decided, unlike the essays that he was attempting to mark. Eventually, he gave up - he needed to approach them with a fresh mind, not to mention a new red pen - and set the pile of papers aside in time to see two of the 'experts' ready themselves for a live steel demonstration. He settled back, preparing to be critical of their performance, but instead his attention was drawn to Amy who had leaned forward, apparently entranced by the display. "I had no idea you were interested in broadsword fighting," Methos commented, and watched as Amy started out of her reverie and then glanced over her shoulder at him. "It looks interesting." She turned back to the TV. "However I doubt they're using real blades. There's no way you can be that graceful with a two handed sword." Methos grinned in an evil manner. "Want to bet?" Slowly she looked back at him. He watched as she took in his expression and realised he was planning something. "What's the prize?" He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Loser has to finish doing the dishes." She shifted until she was facing him. "Who judges?" "You do," Methos replied. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You that confident you can win?" He nodded. "How do you know I won't say I'm right just to get out of dish duty?" Methos shrugged and grinned. "I'm willing to take that risk." "All right," Amy answered, nodding, "you're on. How do you propose to prove that the two handed broadsword is a graceful weapon?" Methos' smile turned devilish. "You finish watching the show. When it's over, meet me upstairs," he answered. Without any more preamble, Methos made sure the essay pile was tidy and then he headed for the spiral staircase in the kitchen which led to his practice space. Reaching the top of the stairs, Methos entered the practice room. Glancing around the room, Methos' memories were drawn back to the occasion he had last proved that broadsword work was graceful. That had led him to performing a full Sword Dance in front of MacLeod's university class. Methos smiled to himself - Mac had been right, it had been fun. **And this,** Methos mused as he removed his sweater, boots and socks, **will be just as fun.** As he started to warm up, he wondered how long it would take for Amy's innate curiosity to get the better of her. Finishing a set of stretches that worked over every muscle in his legs from groin to calf, he heard the TV being turned off. **Five minutes - I'm impressed!** He turned to the rack of weapons and selected the two handed broadsword as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned to the doorway as Amy walked in. He heard her gasp upon seeing his mode of dress - and he smirked. Just occasionally it was good to see her lose some poise. It didn't take her long to recover enough to cross to the cushions and sit down. "Ready to be taught a lesson?" he asked. Smiling, she put her hands together and bowed. "Oh yes, old and venerable sensei. This humble student is most honoured for the lesson she is about to receive." Methos rolled his eyes. "Old and venerable my ass," he muttered and pointed at her with the sword. "You're not too old to take across my knee for that kind of disrespect." Even as he said it, he knew what her come back would be. "Promise?" she asked, wide-eyed and guileless. He sighed in exasperation - although whether it was with himself for supplying her the verbal ammunition or for her using the ammunition provided, he wasn't sure. She grinned at him. He'd wipe that grin off her face before he was done! Sternly, Methos dragged his wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Now, young and disrespectful-of-her-elders, you commented that there was no way for a two handed broadsword to be a graceful weapon." Amy nodded. "You are about to see otherwise." She settled back into the cushions with a clear attitude that said 'impress me'. Methos allowed himself a quick smile, then he closed his eyes and centred himself to start the routine. Until this second, he had not chosen which routine he was going to use for this demonstration, but with thoughts of the Sword Dance uppermost in his mind, his body automatically started the first section of the routine. The dance was graceful in its own right, but as Methos moved through the phases and steps, he strove to make it more so. Strove to forge the inborn violence of each thrust and lunge into a smooth, flowing whole. He drew the sword left, letting his body weight follow. Punch forward hilt first, rotate, draw back, right foot step forward, lunge point first, each move flowing naturally into the next with the deliberate, dance-like rhythm. Left foot across, withdraw, pivot, right foot across, slash down to the right, slice up to the left. One, two, three, four - the rhythm was soothing, allowing his muscles to ease into the heavy sword work. Draw the sword to the right, body weight follow, punch forward hilt first, rotate, draw back, left foot step forward, lunge point first. One, two, three, four - he counted as his body moved with the beat. Right foot across, withdraw, pivot, left foot across, slash down to the left, slice up to the right. Holding the last position for a moment, he debated briefly as to whether he was going to repeat the whole first stage, or if he was just going to manufacture an ending. The decision was taken out of his hands by a tiny sound that intruded in his concentration. A gasp. Opening his eyes, he saw the unfocused look in Amy's eyes. No - he would continue with the rest of the routine, just as if the trails were there. He stepped forward on his right foot and brought the sword down in a glittering arc, separating the imaginary apple stalk from its apple as the blade came through. Then he stepped with his left foot and brought the sword over in a brutal over head cut that would have sliced the second apple in two had it been there, before withdrawing and taking a step back. He stepped forward and across with his left leg, stabbing forward then slashing up to the left before bringing the sword over for the two downward blows that had been designed to complete the third challenge. As he withdrew from the last downward cut, he stepped back again and returned the sword to the ready position and held it. He smiled and waited until Amy came back to herself enough to realise that he had finished. "So, do I win? Did I convince you that the broadsword is a truly graceful weapon?" Methos was forced to grin, as all Amy could do was nod. "Good," he said in triumph. He turned to place the sword back onto the rack. "You have to do the dishes." Making sure that the sword was securely in its place, he listened. Sure enough, the second she thought his attention was elsewhere, Amy was on her feet. Slowly, teasingly, Methos turned back to face her and found himself being devoured by a devastating kiss. "Um...honey," he began when he could find the breath to spare under her desperate assault, "the dishes are downstairs." Methos couldn't help but feel smug at Amy's next response. "They can wait," she purred, as she started to unbutton his jeans. Methos wasn't about to argue. End