Although this is my first attempt at Highlander fan fiction, the plot has been swimming around in my head for over 2 years. I just couldn't figure out how to put it into words. The following is a result of a rainy afternoon and lots of brain racking there after. So please enjoy!

Ch. 1 Calm before the storm.

Walking on the beach, damp sand crunching underfoot, the seaside town of Southport, North Carolina was all but deserted with the oncoming hurricane. A few brave souls had chosen to remain behind to weather the storm, boarding up their windows and reinforcing their homes for the gale-force winds about to descend upon the small town. One such soul was an Immortal named Methos, who had put way too much into his time share to just get up and leave, and if worse came to worse he could "die" and relocate elsewhere. Stopping in mid-stride, Methos gazed out into the raging sea with the dark and menacing clouds on the horizon. He shook his head and turned back to his path on the shore, taking notice of a large figure in the distance. Curiosity got the better of him and he began jogging toward the form. Details became sharper, more clear as Methos drew near, what looked like long blonde hair that covered most of the figure, and what it didn't cover was bare. As Methos ran faster, the figure took on womanly curves and delicate hands that lay in the sand.

Finally reaching the figure, Methos bent down to find her face down in the sand with nothing on but what God gave her. He quickly checked her vital signs, and finding her still alive, he wrapped her in his long trench coat. 'Good thing I was on my way back to the car, but how did I miss her the first time around?' He looked at his watch to find the answer. It had been at least four hours since he set out on his little walk, which left ample time for her to arrive onshore. He picked her up in his strong embrace never losing a step. He was determined to get back to the car before the waves started to pick up and washed them both away. The wind began to pick up as he reached his grey-blue Honda CRV, and it nearly blew the passenger side door closed while he was trying to secure the woman's seatbelt. He ran around to the driver's side and got in just as the rain started to pound down on the small car. The wind made it difficult to keep control over the car on the rain-slick road, but for once he was glad he had to drive away from all the beach front properties to his little single-story more inland.

After fifteen minutes of negotiating the wet road, Methos finally slid into his tiny one car garage. He gently unbuckled his guests' seatbelt and carried her inside onto an awaiting couch. Then he hurried back out to the garage to nail down the door. All the other boards were put in place during the week but he still checked and rechecked their sturdiness. Then he went to see how his house guest was doing. Placing a caring hand on her forehead, she seemed to be burning up with an intense fever. Likewise the storm outside began to pick up, causing the power to go out and the flashlights and lamps to go on. 'Come on Methos, you were a doctor once. Evaluate the symptoms and prescribe the treatment.' His brow was furrowed with frustration seeing that he could not do a full and complete evaluation without her being awake. Tucking the blankets tighter and wringing out the icy cool washcloth, Methos did the best he could in the slightly archaean setting. She was going to have to sweat out her fever like he was going to have to weather the storm.

The rain began to pound ever more incessantly as the night wore on. The wind howled around the house, causing his ears to pop in retaliation. The house had become a vacuum cleaner, the wind outside sucking the air straight out of the house. That caused the illusion of high and low altitudes which in turn caused the house to bend and flex to the will of Mother Nature. The house creaked and moaned in protest but it did not give. Sometime around 2:00 A.M. the wind stopped howling and the rain stopped pounding, but Methos knew it was only half over. He risked a peek into the outside world, now a barren wasteland compared to what it once was. He could see it, the eye of the storm, but it offered no solace for the sky was darker than the clouds, a sign of a dark, moonless night. The night of the new moon. He quickly closed up his porthole as the rain began to fall again and the wind started to pick up. Both he and his house guest sat in the center of the house, the living room, hoping that the center would hold until morning. The mystery woman on his couch was in the throes of fever-induced dementia. The swift changes in altitude pressure seemed to have a very negative effect on her, causing her to thrash in her state of semi-sleep.

Somehow, sometime during the night Methos finally fell asleep. He was rudely awoken however by a loud pounding at the door. Amazingly his house had withstood the brute force of the storm. As did his door, and by now he knew that familiar pound and the angry Highlander that accompanied it. As he headed for the door, he got the familiar tingle that told him both Macleod and his partner in crime, Amanda, were there. It had been awhile since he had seen the little vixen and was looking forward to seeing her. Prying the boards off the door frame and unlocking the door, Methos swung it wide open to reveal both Amanda and Macleod.

"And just when I thought you couldn't get any crazier," Macleod says with a smile. He is glad to find his 5,000-year-old friend in one piece. They gave each other a brotherly hug and Methos turns his attention to Amanda, greeting her with his trademark smirk. He is about to invite them in when a shout comes from the living room, followed by a long string of expletives in a language he has not heard in over 3,500 years; Atlantian.

(A/N):hoo, now that that's over, I can get crackin' on this one. I can weave a very intricate plot if the story calls for it. (Unless you don't like me, then I'll just leave it alone.) Review if you like it, if you don't then to each his own.