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




Part 1

Scene 1

Methos slowly became aware of every hair on his body standing on end. He opened his eyes and looked up into the frightened eyes of their mysterious visitor.

Her eyes were wide as she asked him innocuously, "Have we met?"

"What?" He stared a moment, then burst into laughter. He started to move as he said, "I guess we should explain ourselves..."

" Ourselves? Plural?" If possible, her eyes grew even wider. Then, when MacLeod walked in with a tray of food, she tried to become invisible. "Could someone please tell me what happened?" she asked in a small voice. Methos reached out a hand, but she shrank away, her face full of fear and distrust.

MacLeod set the tray down, then sat on the arm of the couch, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. "We found you outside in the blizzard last night. You were unconscious, underdressed for the weather, and suffering from hypothermia when I brought you in. We had to get you warm as quickly as possible". He sat calmly, trying to convince her with his body language that she was safe.

"It was all perfectly innocent, my dear girl," Methos said quietly. "MacLeod saved your life." He moved slowly, propping himself up on an elbow, afraid that he would spook her. He could see that her eyes were starting to lose their glazed look.

MacLeod broke the uncomfortable silence. "Maybe you'd like your clothes." He gave a smile as he spoke. "Things tend to look a bit different when one is fully dressed!" He gestured to her clothes, which were neatly folded and piled on the end of the couch. She gave him a quick smile that lit up her face, then tried to stand up still wrapped in the quilts. She almost fell over on top of Methos, but when he moved to try to steady her, she pulled away from his touch. She picked up her clothes and looked at MacLeod, who pointed to a back room, barely managing to keep back a grin.

As she closed the door behind her, MacLeod looked at Methos and shook his head. The older Immortal tried to sit up, forgetting he was in a sleeping bag. Methos scowled as he tried to unzip the uncooperative zipper. "What is wrong with this thing?" he muttered darkly.

"Probably nothing that a little wax could have helped," MacLeod said as he watched his friend.

Methos shot him a dirty look as he struggled with the difficult sleeping bag zipper. Trapped, he managed to struggle to his feet and turn to the light from the window to continue the fight. MacLeod stood and poked him in the chest with a finger, making him fall back on the couch, and breaking the zipper's hold.

"MacLeod!" Methos hissed. He pulled his long legs out of the bag, then pulled off his shirt to exchange it for the clean one the younger Immortal offered him. "How's the weather now?" came a muffled question.

MacLeod gave him a wry grin. "Same as last night, only deeper. I'm afraid we'll be here for a while." He looked serious as he continued to speak. "I wonder what your friend was doing outside in a blizzard. For that matter, what is she doing up here in the mountains at all? There aren't any campgrounds nearby." He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Methos.

Methos pulled his head through the neck of his T-shirt. "Ha! She's no friend of mine! And don't look at me like that!" He took a breath, then calmly continued. "You know just as much about her as I do."

"Which isn't much, is it?"

Both men whipped their heads around to stare at the woman who came out of the back room. She slowly walked up to them, a slim woman with shoulder length dark blond hair. She looked at each of them a moment. "You know as much about me as I know about you." She blushed. "Maybe a bit more, since I'm fairly certain that I didn't undress myself."

Methos gave her an apologetic grin of his own. "It was a necessary evil. When you passed out in MacLeod's arms, we discovered you were a Popsicle. We had to get you warmed up. I hope you don't take it personally."

She walked up to MacLeod. "I take it very personally. After all, you two saved my life. I'm deeply in your debt, Mr. MacLeod. Thank you." She turned to Methos. "And you, Mr...?"

"Pierson. Adam Pierson." Methos said hurriedly. "Please, just call me Adam."

She smiled. "Adam. Thank you." She shyly offered her hand and Methos took it, bowing over it.

MacLeod cleared his throat and stepped between them, taking her hand from Methos, and raising it to his lips European style. "Please, call me Duncan."

"Duncan it is," she said with a smile. Methos gave his friend a disgusted look, then folded the comforter up and sat on the couch.

MacLeod settled back onto the arm of the couch. "We were hoping you could tell us some things. Like, how did you end up on the mountain, and with no gear? This is private property." He looked at her expectantly.

She shifted uneasily on the couch. "Sorry about that. I didn't have time to check if anyone was using the cabin. All I could do was hope there wasn't anyone up here." MacLeod crossed his arms and Methos sat back, both men waiting to hear more. "All right!" She threw her hands in the air, then got up and started pacing.

"My name is Jennifer Bellan. I work...or worked... in the Seacouver Police Department as a dispatcher. And now I'm in deep trouble." She sat on the edge of an old overstuffed easy chair. "Listen. I overheard a couple of strange radio transmissions while I was working overtime one night. I put two and two together, and realized that something odd was happening, so I started looking and digging a little. I found out that a high city official was on the take, hiring paid killers to eliminate people that were getting in his way politically.

Scene 2


"I don't care what you say, you just can't do that!" A fist thumped violently on the desktop. The man sitting behind the desk just leaned back in his chair and smiled a lazy smile at the owner of the fist.

"And how are you going to stop me, Owen?" he asked condescendingly. "I have the power. The people gave it to me. Only they can take it away, and they will never know my agenda." His smile grated on the nerves of the owner of the fist, a short, middle-aged balding man. Owen ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair in a nervous reaction.

"I don't know how, but I will find a way to stop you!" He started pacing in short, agitated steps. He pointed a finger at Farley. "The people voted you in because you promised them certain things. They don't deserve to be treated like this!" He ran his fingers through his hair again.

Farley continued to smile, but as he stood up, the smile was no longer lazy. "Owen, it is time for you to leave. Now, I don't care if you do it by the door, or by the window," he gestured to the glass wall, then continued. "But personally, I think a 12 story drop is a bit hard to recover from." He advanced on the older man, his tall frame as menacing as the sudden tone change in his voice. Owen slowly retreated from him, backing towards the door. He bumped into it and turned to fumble with the knob.

"You'll never get away with this! I'll see to it! Just wait!" He couldn't get out the door fast enough, a scared expression on his face as he caught the look Farley gave him. He barely made it through the door before Farley slammed it shut.

"You can't do anything, you sniveling little pipsqueak!" He snarled. He strode back to his desk and punched a number out on his phone. "Jack? I have a pest control problem that you need to take care of. Yes ..., yes..., no, no need to farm it out. Just call one or two of our inside boys. They can handle it. They ARE professional 'exterminators', after all." He gave a sneer as he hung up, and swung his chair around in circles. "You're just a cockroach, Owen, and I will squash you like the little pest you are!"

Scene 3


"Uncle Owen was working with the D.A. and was wearing a wire that day. He was found dead the next day, and then Farley came after me. I guess he thinks that because I'm Owens' niece I have the tapes or know something." She drew a shaky breath, then continued. "There's no way to convince him that I didn't know anything. I provided the D.A.'s office with the radio transmissions and frequencies, but my testimony is just hearsay and not enough to put him away."

She took a sip from the juice glass MacLeod handed her. "Nothing stops Farley, and no one can stand in his way for long without something dreadful happening. They aren't out and out murders that anyone can tell; some of them are real works of art. People committing suicide in assorted ways for all sorts of scandals and the like.

Methos sat forward. "And now what?"

Jennifer reached for a muffin from MacLeod's forgotten tray. "Well, since I'm not testifying, I don't rate the Witness Protection Program. However, the FBI did assign me my own little protection force. Didn't stop the bastard from finding me, though." She took a bite of the muffin, then looked up at MacLeod with appreciation. "Hey, this is good!"

He grinned as he poured another glass of orange juice and handed it back to her. "I do what I can," he said modestly. Methos gave an irreverent snort.

Jennifer grinned. "Glad to see you two get along so well." As she took a drink of juice, MacLeod grinned at Methos, who rolled his eyes.

MacLeod looked back at Jennifer, who missed the exchange, as if nothing had happened. "So, you look in pretty good shape for him having found you."

An odd look crossed her face. "Yeah, well, the agent assigned to me isn't doing so hot. In fact, she's dead. And it's my fault."

"What do you mean, your fault?" Now it was Methos' turn to raise his eyebrows. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees.

Jennifer pursed her lips, then sighed. "I ignored her warnings to stay inside the safehouse. The hitman found us just because I couldn't listen to her. He did a sloppy job, and Agent Montchalin managed to save my life, but I saw her gunned down. No human could have taken that many hits and survived! When I saw she was dead, I ran. Farley would know his plan had failed, and would come again, so I went to a safe place the only Michaela and I had discussed." She swallowed a couple of times, then looked at them with pleading eyes.

Scene 4


"Jennifer, I wish you'd take this seriously!" Agent Montchalin said exasperatedly. "This is not the time to take a stroll through the neighborhood!" She ran her fingers through her blond hair, trying to think of a way to drill this into her charge's stubborn head.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Michaela! He killed my uncle. Of course I take this seriously!" She walked past the agent and took her coat off, hanging it on a wall hook. "I just needed some ... air." She waved an arm around vaguely. "Being cooped up is starting to get to me!" She started down the hall towards the kitchen of the safehouse. "I need some coffee. How about you?"

Agent Montchalin ground her teeth. "If you need air, just breath, ok? No, I do not want or need coffee." She checked the door lock and muttered to herself, "I need something a helluva lot stronger!" She turned and stalked down the hall to the kitchen, raising her voice to make sure Jennifer heard her. "If you ever lie to me again, or sneak away, whatever happens will be on your head, and I'll just wash my hands of you!"

Jennifer came to the doorway with a cup of coffee and a repentant look on her face, but before she could say anything, the front door burst open with a bang and a shower of splinters. Agent Montchalin shoved Jennifer back into the kitchen as shots rang out. The agent's body twisted from the shock of the bullets, but she managed to get her gun drawn. "Run!" she hoarsely instructed Jennifer. She fired at the unknown assailant, killing him, but not before his final bullet ended her life.

As the silence grew, Jennifer finally managed to crawl across the floor and carefully look towards the door. There was a body lying across the threshold, unmoving. She dragged her eyes back to the agent, finally seeing the blood splatters staining the front of her shirt. She reached a trembling hand out to touch it, then stared at her fingers. She saw splatters of red on her own shirt, and realized it was the agents'.

She staggered to her feet, trying to think. She could hear sirens in the distance, and this jarred her into action. She headed for the back door, grabbing a small overnight bag left next to it, just as Montchalin had made her rehearse repeatedly. Contingency plan, she'd called it. Just in case. Jennifer was horrified that the worst case scenario had come to pass. She didn't hesitate now, but slipped out the door, headed for the location only she and Montchalin knew.

Scene 5


"You have to believe that I'm not crazy, okay? I mean, I know Michaela was dead! I was standing so close I had her blood on my shirt! But then she showed up at the safe place, and I kinda lost it." She didn't see MacLeod and Methos exchange serious looks over her bowed head. "I remember clobbering someone that was trying to get in, then escaping out a window. I like to camp and had a bunch of camping gear stored in a locker, so I grabbed it and ran. I've always wanted to come here, but under better conditions." She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.

She looked up at the men, only to discover them not paying any attention to her. "Hey, you guys okay?" They were both looking around like they heard something, then they zeroed in on the door, just seconds before there was a knock. Before they could move, the door burst open and a snow-covered figure burst into the room, a gleaming sword in hand.

The figure quickly scanned the room, then put the sword away. "It's alright, gentlemen," the figure said as it stomped its' feet and knocked the snow off. "I'm not here for you." An arm raised and removed a snow-crusted ski mask to reveal a female head covered in blonde hair. "I'm here to protect her." She pointed at Jennifer, who was on her feet, staring in shock.

Jennifer shook her head, uttered "Michaela!" Then her knees gave way. Methos griped her shoulders to steady her as she stared at the woman.

Michaela shook her hair out, then shrugged out of her backpack. She looked at Methos with a crooked smile. "Why is it some people have that reaction?" She turned to MacLeod, who was standing next to the couch, casually holding his sword in his hand. Quirking an eyebrow, she looked at him.

"I hope you aren't planning on using that."

MacLeod leaned a hip against the couch. "Oh, it all depends on you. I take it you're a friend, not foe?"

She laughed. "I'm friendly! Very friendly!" She removed her parka and kicked off her boots. "That is much better!" she sighed. She walked over to where Methos was helping Jennifer into the easy chair. She knelt on the other side of the chair and looked soberly at Jennifer.

"You shouldn't have run like that, Jenn. How can I protect you if you run from me?"

Jennifer looked vacantly back at her. "You are dead," she stated slowly. "I saw it. Your blood was all over my shirt. You're dead." She looked at Methos. "I'm not crazy. I know what I saw. I'm not going crazy..." her voice trailed weakly off as she slowly sank back into the chair. "I'm not going crazy," she whispered.

MacLeod looked at Michaela, who shook her head. Methos watched the exchange, then got up and dragged the other two just out of earshot of the shaken Jennifer.

"We can't tell her!" He hissed at them. "The less that she knows about us the better!"

Michaela shook off his hand. "She saw me killed. No one could have survived being shot like I was, and it was right under her nose." She looked over his shoulder at Jennifer, who was just sitting there, staring at them. "Look, if you can come up with a feasible way to explain how I managed to survive, let me know, ok?" She shouldered past him, headed for the fire, holding her hands out towards the heat.

Methos turned to MacLeod, who just raised his brows and looked at him. "We have to tell her something, Methos. Look at her!" Methos reluctantly turned to see Jennifer watching Michaela as if she were a fish with legs. He glanced at Michaela, who made a gun of one hand, aimed it at him and mouthed "bang", and sighed.

"No other way?" he asked plaintively. Michaela's mouth twisted into a wry smile as she shook her head. Methos sighed again, then walked back to Jennifer.

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "No, you're not going crazy. What you saw was real." He glanced at the others, but they didn't interrupt. "Jennifer, there is something a bit ... 'different' .... about some of the humans that walk this earth. Can you hear me?" He knelt next to her, turning her head to face him. When her eyes locked on his, he continued.

"There are some people alive who are considered 'immortal'. They've been around for a long time, some of them are hundreds of years old." He ignored MacLeod's snort. "They can die, just . . . not as easily as the rest of us." He stared into her eyes, seeing the internal struggle to believe him, and pushed on. "You saw the proof yourself, when Michaela 'died'. She probably did die," he shot a quick glance at the female Immortal, who was nodding her head, "so you know this is something that is real. You can shoot them, knife them, hang them, run them over, but they keep coming back, some say, like a bad penny." He clasped her hand in his, trying to lighten the mood.

The FBI agent slowly rested her hand on the arm of the chair. "Jenn, we may be different from you in that respect, but not in the rest. We live, breath, laugh, hurt, and yes, we can die..." She gave a sigh. "You weren't supposed to find out like this. Hell, you weren't supposed to find out at all!" Jennifer shifted and looked at her. "Well, it tends to throw you mortals off balance to discover we all aren't the same..." She gave an apologetic shrug, then got to her feet.

"Listen, Jenn, you are still in trouble. Farley is still running around loose, and he has managed to follow you to the mountain. I tracked him this far before I lost his trail in the blizzard." She turned to MacLeod.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this Farley is not a nice guy. In fact, not only is he NOT a nice guy, he's not a nice Immortal, and totally ruthless, evil, and uncaring about who he hurts." She looked around the cabin room. "Do you have any sort of defenses here?"

MacLeod looked askance at her. "Well, we weren't exactly expecting a modern day siege!" He carefully replaced his sword while Methos slowly climbed to his feet next to Jennifer. "We should be safe enough here. The cabin was built by a couple of savvy mountain men who cared to keep their scalps. I'm just borrowing it." He walked over to add more wood to the fireplace. "We have plenty of food; enough to get us through several blizzards..."

"...if you like that much spam," Methos tossed in. MacLeod ignored him and continued.

"The woodpile is right outside the door, and I just finished chopping enough wood to see us through the end of the week, but as for weapons..." He paused, thinking. "I don't keep any guns around." Michaela gave him a disgruntled look. "There may be a bow in the attic, but it's very old and brittle by now."

Methos sighed and started pacing. "Terrific. We're trapped on a mountain with a mad immortal, a blizzard, no weapons and a large box of canned meat by-products. Just ... terrific." He paused, then calmly said, "Yes, I know. We're not exactly weaponless...but we are facing an unknown element, and we'll need as many resources as possible."

Through all this, Jennifer remained seated, watching the three of them. She stood, then walked to Methos, placing her hand on his arm. "Maybe the blizzard will take care of our problem?"

Methos gave her a quick hug. "Sorry, love, but that would just be a temporary fix." He looked down into her face. "Did you see MacLeod's sword?" He waited for her nod. "Well, Immortals can die, but the only way to kill one for sure is by beheading." Jennifer gave a horrified gasp and took a step back. He didn't try to stop her. "Death is a part of life. Don't know why the game is being played, or even who started it, or why. But an Immortal can either choose to play, or die." He gave a shrug. "Now, MacLeod here is what you would call a passive player. He kills mostly in self-defense." He stared into her eyes. "If someone were coming at you with a knife, would you just let them kill you? Not put up any defense at all?"

She stared back, then shook her head. "No, I think I'd put up a fight." She gave a grim smile. "I grew up with 2 obnoxious brothers. If I wanted something, I had to fight for it. I don't think I can give up my life just because someone else doesn't want me to have it." She reached out and gripped his arm. "I'm a fighter. All this is just a bit strange... not to mention highly unusual. I am NOT one of those females who faints at the drop of a hat..." she gave a grimace, " even though I did just that earlier. Now that I know what to expect, and what's going on, I'm better prepared." She grinned at Michaela. "At least you can attest that I'm no shrinking violet!"

Michaela grinned back. "Kiddo, one thing I would never call you is a shrinking violet!" She walked over and held out her hand. "Welcome to the Immortal Team!" Jennifer laughed and shook Michaela's hand.

"Thanks!" She turned a brilliant smile on Methos, who appeared to be mesmerized. MacLeod smothered a smile and looked at Michaela who rolled her eyes. They both started laughing as Methos snapped back to reality.

"Yes, well, uh, why don't we make sure the doors and windows are all locked, then play a friendly game of Russian Canasta?" He walked quickly over to MacLeod's desk and pulled out two decks of cards.

Jennifer laughed, feeling better than she had in a long time. "You know, even though I feel much safer, and much better now, I still have a feeling that this week could be a long, difficult one!"

She laughed again as Michaela muttered, "You and me both, kid!" MacLeod patted Michaela's shoulder in sympathy, then got out paper and pencil and headed for the small card table Methos had quickly set up. He made a quick trip around the cabin, checking all the entryways, then settled down with the other three.

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