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We have a total of 23 episodes, and they're all available if you follow the HFS link.





Methos stood in the window, staring disgustedly out at the blowing snow. "Sure," he said sarcastically to his friend who was building a fire in the fireplace, "The one time I let you talk me into roughing it, we get a blizzard." He gazed out at the swirling flakes, lost in thought for a moment. It had been very lonely for him since MacLeod had discovered his 'secret' past, but now he had another chance to rebuild their friendship. He had been surprised but pleased when MacLeod had approached him tentatively regarding a trip to 'get away from it all'.

After all the efforts he'd made to pick up their friendship had met with rebuff after rebuff, he'd almost given up. But MacLeod was making the first gesture, and that was a good sign that there was something salvageable in their relationship.

After five thousand years, he had been surprised at himself for feeling so hurt that someone he'd known for such a short time had turned away from him over something that had happened in the oh-so- distant past. If he actually believed in luck, he would cross his fingers. Hell, he'd cross his arms, legs, toes, eyes, whatever it took!

He snorted and shook his head, giving a wry laugh. He was too old to be feeling so . . . giddy! "You can't see two feet past the window, and you swore the weather would be fine."

"Roughing it?" MacLeod looked at him in amazement. "You've been around 5,000 years, and you call this 'roughing it'?" He sat back on his heels and laughed. "Now I've heard everything!" He turned back with a grin to the fire. "Besides, the weathermen all said the storm would hold back at least another week."

"Storm?!" Methos made a face at him, then looked back out the window at a wall of white and shivered. "Now he tells me about the storm! Well, MacLeod, it's been a few hundred years or so since I've actually roughed it, but since you're the woodsy type, I'll just let you handle the axe and shovel." He held up his hands. "Can't ruin these writer's hands."

MacLeod snorted and gave him a we'll-see look.

"Nice place your friend has in this hunting lodge, MacLeod," Methos said. "I hope your island cabin has a hot tub, or at least a water heater?" He rubbed his arms with his hands, thinking of the cold snow outside, swearing the temperature had dropped 20 degrees on the inside. "How about a furnace?"

MacLeod shrugged. "I go there to get away from it all, Methos, not to take it with me." He glared at his friend. "See how soft you've gotten? You can't live without modern conveniences." He ducked his head, trying hard not to grin.

Methos made a sputtering sound and had just turned from the window when he froze, caught by some small sound barely heard between the howling wind gusts. MacLeod looked at him in puzzlement before he, too, heard the sound. They looked at each other as they both realized it was a human cry. MacLeod was pulling his parka on when Methos grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't go, MacLeod! It could be a trap!"

"A trap? In this weather!?" MacLeod was incredulous.

"Especially in this weather!" Methos was emphatic. "The renegade Watchers wouldn't let something so small as a blizzard with 70 mph winds stop them!"

MacLeod paused a moment, then shrugged off his friend's hand. "I still have to go check it out." He quickly zipped his parka and pulled on gloves as his friend glared at him.

"The Eternal Boyscout, aren't you, MacLeod?" Methos turned away to drag a hurricane lantern from the closet. MacLeod looked at Methos, hearing the concern and worry that lay under the sarcasm.

"Just be ready for me," he requested in a quiet voice.

Methos handed him the lit lantern in answer. They paused a moment, not speaking, then MacLeod gave Methos a sharp nod and opened the door. A snow-covered figure surprised them both by practically falling into his arms and sobbing, "Thank God you're here!" MacLeod tightened his arms about the figure as it suddenly went limp.

"Do all your vacations start off with this much fun?" Methos inquired as he leaned against the wind to shut the door.

MacLeod didn't answer but headed straight for the couch in front of the fire and unceremoniously unloaded his armful. He quickly shed his parka and gloves, then left the room to get some blankets while his friend took over.

When Methos started working on the stranger, he discovered a young woman under the snow and ice crystals. He stripped the cold wet clothing from her body, then wrapped her in some quilts that MacLeod handed him. He gestured to the fire, and MacLeod built it into a roaring blaze. Methos stood back a moment, considering the woman's still form.

"Well, how is she?" MacLeod asked quietly.

"She should fine," Methos answered, wearing a frown. "We just need to get her warmed up. She doesn't appear to have been exposed to the blizzard for very long, but she certainly wasn't dressed for it!" MacLeod nodded, remembering his own bitter experiences with the cold in the past.

"I'll heat some water," MacLeod offered. Methos nodded.

"Make sure it's just lukewarm. We don't want to cause any damage if there IS some frostbite." He sighed, then looked at MacLeod. "Well, go finish your good deed for the day! Get the water heated!" He smiled as MacLeod gave him a quick three-fingered salute with a raised brow.

When MacLeod came out of the kitchen with a dishpan of warm water and some cloths, Methos unwrapped the girl and they started warming her arms and legs. They kept working on her until Methos was satisfied with the look and feel of her now warm limbs. They carefully tucked the quilts back around her, then stood up.

"She should stay here on the couch, since this is the room with the heat," the old Immortal told his friend. He dragged a sleeping bag from a pile of camp gear next to the door and shook it out in front of the couch. "I'll stay here, just to make sure she is ok."

MacLeod dragged his own sleeping bag over in front of the fire and shook it out. "So will I."

Methos shook his head. "MacLeod," he said, rolling his eyes. "She'll be fine. Trust me."

MacLeod made a show of plumping a pillow from off the couch. "That's just it. I don't trust you."



They each hid their smiles as they got into the sleeping bags and turned their backs to each other. They both drew a breath, and then, "Goodnight!" rang out in unison. Not another sound was heard until dawn.

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