"Bollocks, bother and bloody hell!" Lance Arturo swore under his breath.

He should've stayed in Tuscany. The weather was just turning warm and, checking his watch, he could've been enjoying a nice glass of Chianti after dinner. Hell, he could've stayed in North Carolina and been having lunch with Ethan. Had he known when he moved to St. George, Staten Island, four months ago that this winter would be the worst on record, he would've stayed in Tuscany. But, there he was, shoveling another six inches of snow out of his driveway.

At least he'd been smart, and brought his sturdy 1995 Jeep Wrangler up from Bremerston. Not to mention, purchasing a hard top for the 4x4. Given the amount of snow they'd had this winter, the Jeep had been one of the few vehicles that could actually navigate the roads. Lance simply wished the other drivers would understand that four-wheel-drive didn't necessarily equate to four-wheel-stop.

Still, shoveling snow gave him a chance to work muscles in his back and legs he'd completely forgotten about. Training only did so much, as did renovating houses. And it gave him time to think.

The last time he'd stayed in New York City for any length of time had been back during the 1970s. Narcotics and other illicit drugs had been running rampant in the city. Studio 54 had been the mecca for all things celebrity and, much to his surprise, he'd discovered his old charge right in the thick of things.

Of course, she'd never admit in a million years that she was grateful he'd found her amongst the throng of debauched rock'n'rollers and their entourages. He wasn't sure which surprised him more: her own vices or the fact that, while high on God-knew-what, she confided in him things that she never would've said otherwise. How she'd been tired of being Immortal; apparently she'd just lost a godson at the ripe age of eighty-four having been there at his birth, as well as an Immortal husband she'd initially met at Gettysburg and only having reconnected with him a century later. And she'd been trying to kill herself with every drug and drink combination known to man. Obviously, being Immortal, it hadn't worked.

She'd sobered up not long after that, and had disappeared to the wilds of Colorado by way of the rodeo circuit. That, too, had absolutely astonished him. Guinevere as a barrel-racer and cutter? The two images clashed in his head. He'd gone after her, of course; staying just close enough if she needed him, but far enough away as not to intrude. He'd heard about her impromptu wedding and the twenty-odd years of marriage that followed. And then she was gone again, this time to Orkney.

He'd finally decided some years before that to bow gracefully out of her life, or at least the fringes thereof. A Student of his had mentioned a small city in the Carolinas that sounded ideal, and Lance had managed to practically walk on as a detective, never mentioning that it had been thirty years since his last stint in law enforcement. Still, in a city like Bremerston, murders weren't exactly a daily occurrence.

And then a certain FBI Special Agent named Natalie Ann Bruenner had blown into town. He hadn't been around many pre-Immortals in his life, so it had taken a bit for him to figure it out. He was still wrestling with the question of should he tell her about her abilities or not when she managed to get herself shot and killed. Lucky for her, he'd been standing right there.

The case she'd been working on had been a tough one. It involved five years of her life tracking down a girl who'd been the unfortunate victim of kidnapping, pedophilia and child pornography. But when the child's latest captor turned up dead, the girl had gone missing, again. He and Natalie had chased down lead after lead until they ended up at an abandoned logging camp up in the Appalachians. Except that it wasn't entirely abandoned; a rather sophisticated methamphetamine lab had been set up and was in full operation when Lance and Natalie had inadvertantly stumbled upon them. Needless to say, neither had been wearing Kevlar vests when shots rang out. She was hit in the back by a .45mm which exited through her chest, killing her almost instantly. A few hours later, she was as good as new, physically anyway.

Mentally, she had definitely needed a holiday, and Lance had offered to take her to his estate just outside San Gimignano. Natalie had jumped at the idea. It had given him an opportunity to explain more about her Immortality, and for her to understand what that meant. It also gave them a chance to decide exactly what they were to each other. Natalie had been highly embarrassed about throwing herself at him after being shot. Lance had taken the incident in stride, chalking it up to her First Death throwing her emotions into a twirl. By the end of the two week holiday, they had settled on more of an uncle/niece relationship than anything more romantic.

After that, he had taken her to Orkney where he'd heard Guinevere, now Quinnleigh Kincaid, had taken up residence. His unannounced arrival, with Natalie in tow, had not gone over as well as he'd hope. He and his former Queen had "gone rounds" as she put it for nearly two days. He could do no right in her eyes, what with his ages old motto of "to serve and protect". Finally, Lance had conceded the argument and returned to America.

God, he hated flying. It wasn't so much that he minded heights, he just couldn't stand the thought of his feet miles above good old Terra Firma. He had argued the point with Merlin ad nauseum, but the old coot's predictions had, in fact, come true, much to Lance's dismay.

And now, here he was, fifteen-hundred years later, shoveling snow from his driveway and freezing his arse off. All the while, cursing a very fluid and fluent string of epithets in both Latin and Italian.



Lance Arturo † Highlander OC † 1024 Words † Non prompt-specific fic

A/N: As of four months ago (read: late-October), Lance is now living in the St. George area of Staten Island, NY. He is no longer employed by any formal law-enforcement department. He is currently working as a part-time security guard at highland_rogue. If asked what he does for a living, he will probably answer that he's a history buff with a penchant for carpentry/handywork and occasionally flips houses on the side.