Memory flooded back as Methos dashed through a door that he'd thought led into a warehouse, and stepped through into a hotel lobby instead. He'd thought it was a dream. A nightmare he'd neatly shoved into the back of his mind, and forgotten all about in the months since he'd woken up in Bucharest convinced he'd just come from having an unpleasant discussion with the Master.
To find out it wasn't... did not bode well for his peace of mind. Though it had provided a respite from running from the idiot little head-hunting Immortal who'd been bothering him for the last several weeks.
He spotted the woman in a chair, and smiled as charmingly as he could as he returned Ivanhoe to its normal location in his coat. Something about her looked familiar... he tilted his head, frowning, then groaned as he placed the face.
"What is it with this place and pop-culture icons?" he asked, glaring at nothing in particular, his voice loud enough to carry, and exasperated.