It was early on a chilly December morning in Seacouver. Duncan MacLeod, dressed in his bathrobe, stood at the center island of his kitchen, grinding coffee beans. As he turned to empty them into the coffee maker, he heard the lift as it started to move from the floor below. Placing the container on the counter, MacLeod tied his robe together and waited for his visitor.

It wasn't an Immortal -- he would have known. He would have felt the presence. So the visitor was mortal and that thinned down the possibilities to one. After all, only so many had a key to his place.

Joe Dawson soon came into view and the lift stopped. MacLeod pulled the gate up and motioned for his friend to step out.

"Joe. Just starting the coffee," the Highlander said in a welcoming tone, as he walked back to the kitchen.

"I won't be here long, Mac," Joe announced in a somber voice.

"What brings you out so early?" asked MacLeod as he finished putting the coffee on. His friend did appear to be more solemn, quieter than usual. He waited for Joe to begin.

The Watcher stood at the counter, and without looking up, gave his disturbing news. "I'm missing one of my chronicles."

"About me?" MacLeod asked, as he took mugs from a shelf above the sink. Mac had known about the existence of the secret organization for over four years now. Missing Watcher reports were not exactly something the two of them had found necessary to discuss. Before now.

"No. About Methos."

"Who has it?"

"Well, I'm not sure -- but I can guess. Tim McCarthy. He's a Watcher in France," Joe explained as he walked over to stare out the windows. "He was over here doing some research and stayed at my place for a few days."

MacLeod set the mugs down beside the coffee maker, then walked over to look at the view with his friend. "How long's it been?"

Joe paused, then answered, "Well, if it was Tim, it's been about three weeks." Then turning to face MacLeod, Joe continued, "I'm worried. About why he took it, Mac. Since Jack Shapiro reappeared, Adam has been keeping closer tabs on things in Paris. He noticed that some of the Watchers have been meeting on their own. Tim could be connected."

MacLeod stilled. "He had names?" The idea that Shapiro and some of his kind may have escaped the deadly encounter a few months ago, unnerved him a bit.

"He said he thought a man named Kevin Darby might be one of them." Then shaking his head, he continued, "Adam didn't mention Tim."

MacLeod walked over to the phone on the wall. He dialed a long number, then talking to a recorder, spoke in a lighthearted voice. "Hey, Adam, call me when you get in. And try to stay out of trouble."

MacLeod returned the phone to its place on the wall, then turned to Joe. He started to say something, then stopped, turned away and walked toward the bedroom end of the apartment.

"What are you thinking?" asked Joe. The Watcher sounded unsettled, concerned.

"About getting to Paris as soon as possible," MacLeod explained. He stopped at the huge chiffarobe, and pulling out a small duffel bag, he threw it onto the bed.

Joe walked over to the phone. "I'm coming with you," he called out as he dialed. He spoke with someone on the phone, then hanging up the receiver he looked at his watch and started toward the lift.

Stopping halfway, he turned to watch Duncan pack. "Mac, this may be nothing at all."

"And it may be exactly what we fear, Joe. The Hunters have returned. We didn't get rid of them after all," he argued then stopped packing and looked over at Joe. "Are you willing to gamble our friend's life that we did?"

Joe answered quietly but firmly, "No."

He continued his walk while calling out to MacLeod, "Our flight leaves at 9:30 AM. I'll meet you at the check-in counter." Joe entered the lift, pulling the gate down behind himself.

MacLeod nodded as he shrugged out of his robe and started to dress. He spoke aloud, with an air of fierce determination, "They got Darius, they will not have Methos too."