AN: Welcome all to my probably one and only Intelligence fic. Is anyone even reading these anymore? I started this last May, before CBS gave the show the axe (seriously we get Stalker over this? For shame CBS), stopping writing because…motivation. But recently I was going through my writing flash drive and stumbled upon it once again. It was more than half done, I figured what the hell so I finished it and am now posting. Possibly to an audience of no one but you never know.

I have taken some liberities with how Gabriels chip works. This will be done in three chapters. All are written, I'm just editing now and should have the next up shortly.

Oh, and the title. I had to, I'm sorry. Usually I have a working title then pick one for posting. "Lost" was the working and it just…fit the fic so I kept it.

Enjoy! And leave a review if it moves you.

"Faster," he muttered anxiously and turned again in the seat looking out the back window.

"This is faster," she hissed back and followed the hard right of the road at a speed that was just this side of inadvisable considering the snow-slicked roads - it had been lightly snowing for the few hours before they had escaped.

"Can't you use some of those fancy Secret Service driving tricks?" he asked, eyes still focused behind them.

"You wanna drive?" she snapped back. "Cause I would be more than happy to pull over."

A sharp retort was on his lips when a set of headlights appeared behind them, approaching fast.

"Shit, they found us."

Riley pressed on the accelerator a little harder.

The op was supposed to be a quick in and out, pose as arms buyers, get into the Russians camp, download all they could from their computers and get out. But it had all gone quickly sideways and that morning they had been made, Gabriel knocked unconscious before they were both tossed into a van, driving for what Riley had deemed to be a full day and due west. They were on the western side of Canada now, where she wasn't exactly sure.

When the van had stopped near a small cabin in the middle of dense woods she knew they were dead. Gabriel had come to several minutes before they'd stopped and shook his head, indicating to her he had no way to communicate with Cyber Com, no satellites were in range.

As they had been lead to the house, Riley went on the offensive, head butting her captor right in the nose. The man had cried out and released her long enough for Riley to turn and bring a knee up into his chest, essentially knocking the wind out of him. Gabriel had just as efficiently dispatched his captor and they had bolted toward an SUV, but not before he had scooped up their travel bag from the ground where it had fallen.

They still had no way of contacting Cyber Com, but that wasn't the critical problem at the moment. The critical problem was the F-250 swiftly catching up with them.

Just as she navigated the next turn, the truck caught up, bumping the back of the SUV – hard.

Riley struggled to maintain control, which wasn't easy considering they were on a two lane road on the side of a damn mountain. Again she pressed the accelerator, officially going far too fast for her comfort, but there really wasn't another option. After fighting their way out, she figured they'd had maybe a ten minute head start. And with the fresh snow on the ground, that ten minutes was quickly lost.

The truck backed off and she heard a distinct "uh-oh" coming from her partner just seconds before they were rammed again…this time harder than before. Riley gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles going white as she attempted to keep the vehicle from careening over the side.

"Riley," he whispered.

"I know, I know," she responded equally quietly. There was nowhere for them to go, no town for miles, no exit off the road. They were trapped and without a satellite or cell tower anywhere near, his chip was useless. They were on their own.

For the third time the truck rammed them, this time maintaining contact, and pushing them right toward the guardrail that kept vehicles on the road instead going over the cliff.

Riley let out a strangled cry as the SUV was forced through the rail and for a moment there was complete weightlessness. And then they crashed hard into the side of the small mountain – jarring her entire body violently – but the car somehow remained upright as they barreled down through a forest. For a moment she thought everything would be ok, and then the SUV sideswiped a tree, turned ninety degrees and started rolling side over side down the rest of the way.

She was only vaguely aware of Gabriel yelling her name, his hand on her arm, intense pain and finally…nothing.

Everything hurt.

Literally every part of her body ached, but there seemed to be a particularly sharp pain on her left side.

And for a moment Riley couldn't remember why that would be. Then it came rushing back and she snapped her eyes open, only to find herself upside down in the SUV, hanging by her seatbelt - and now she knew why her head hurt.

"Gabriel," she hissed and looked to her right. He was gone. She tried to lean over and get a better look around all the debris that had come flying through the busted windshield but that damn pain her side stopped her. Again she hissed, only this time in pain and tried to figure out how the hell she was going to get out of the seatbelt when her partners face appeared in her window – or at least what was left of the window.

"You're awake…good, that's gonna make getting you out a lot easier." Pulling his knife out of his boot, Gabriel waved it at her seatbelt before handing it over. "Make it quick."

"Are you ok?" she asked while cutting through the nylon and heard a vague reply of "fine" from outside. As it gave way she fell to the top (now the bottom) of the car and the pain in her side went from bearable to excruciating. So she was no longer hanging upside down, but based on the pain radiating from her side, getting out of the car was going to be challenging.

Steeling herself, Riley ignored the pain as best she could, took a deep breath and wiggled out of the now dented car frame. As soon as she emerged, Gabriel was picking her up, worry etched across his face. "Are you ok?"

"I…I think so." The pain in her side had eased a bit when she stood and she took that as a good sign. "You?" she asked and looked him up and down, aside from a few scrapes and bruises on his face he looked fine.

"Good, surprisingly no damage."

Glancing up she got a good look at their ride down, and breathed an impressed, "wow".

"Indeed," Gabriel replied, his eyes following her up. "Seventy four yards. We should be dead."

"Really, really dead. Have you contacted Cyber Com yet?"

Something dark crossed his face. "I can't…no satellite in the vicinity. Apparently this part of Canada isn't a high value area."

"You don't say," she said, sarcasm clear which earned her a small smile.

"And there are no land lines to tap into out here in the woods."

Riley sighed; turned out going down the hill was the easy part.

"Ok, we gotta get away from the car," he said and disappeared to the trunk, pulling out their collective go bag through the obliterated window. It wasn't large but had a change of clothes for each of them along with a basic medical kit.

"Why?"

"Because it's about to go up in flames. Hopefully Morin's buddies will assume we went up with the car and the flames will dissuade close inspection for our bodies."

Somewhat alarmed, Riley took several steps back from the vehicle – only to realize the relief she had felt from the pain was only temporary. It came surging back, more agonizing than before and accompanied by a sudden dimming of her vision.

"Riley?" Gabriel called, but it sounded distant, muddled.

Something was very, very wrong.

Riley felt herself fall to her knees, and wrapped an arm around her side protectively as she went, it felt like she was in a dream, the edges of her vision were fuzzy, movements slow. Then she was aware of an all too familiar, sticky warmth on her side.

Oh, no.

Suddenly Gabriel was squatting in front of her, tipping her head up to look at him. "Riley…what's wrong?"

"My side…I think…I think I'm bleeding."

"You're…what?" he started and then reached out, unzipping the parka she had been wearing.

All she heard was "oh, God."

As soon as the coat pulled away from her body Gabriel let an involuntary "oh, God" slip. Her entire left side was coated in blood, it stained her shirt, the top of her jeans and the inside nylon of the coat.

Reaching out to her again, Gabriel carefully pulled up her Henley to reveal a laceration five inches long starting from her hipbone and going up – gaping and bleeding profusely. How the outside of her coat hadn't been damaged was a mystery, whatever it was must have come up underneath. Maybe a tree branch, or piece of the car as it had broken apart around them.

He pulled the overnight bag off his body and rifled around in it before finding one of his tank tops, which he pressed against the wound, eliciting a small cry from his partner. Then he took her right hand and pressed it gently to the material. "Hold this; we need to get you away from the car."

When she nodded, Gabriel carefully slung her left arm around his shoulder and half carried, half walked her a hundred yards away, sitting and propping her up against a thick tree trunk. "Right back," he said and jogged back to the SUV.

Using the chip he set off the electronics, which were flooded with gas from the ruptured fuel tank, and the whole thing exploded spectacularly.

He watched the flames for a moment, confirming they would consume the entire car before returning to Riley, who was still propped up again the tree, looking pale and tired.

Gabriel kneeled in front of her. "Riley," he said. "Riley, we have to go."

"Go where?"

"Pretty sure I saw a couple cabins about two miles east of here…right before we went sailing off that cliff."

"They'll track us." Her voice was slow and slurred, which alarmed him.

"It's starting to snow again, that should cover our tracks nicely and hopefully they don't come looking…if they do, it's a defensible position - probably. Right now we need to get you somewhere we can treat that wound."

Nodding her agreement, Riley started to stand, but immediately Gabriel was at her side, wrapping her arm around his shoulder, his around her waist carefully. Her other hand remained firm holding the tank top to the wound.

And they started moving at a slow, but steady pace.

After thirty minutes, Gabriel wasn't sure they were going to make it. The snow was coming down harder, it was nearly blizzard conditions. Which, while that would keep their pursuers off their trail, it also made getting to the cabins that much more difficult. Adding to his stress was the fact that Riley was just barely hanging on, as each quarter mile went by she leaned on him a little harder. Quickly he went back to the mental map he'd had of the area and realized they were maybe a half mile from the small grouping of cabins.

"Riley?"

No response.

"Riley…"

Again nothing and he stopped walking.

"Riley Marie Neal," he forced out in his best approximation of a parent tone.

"I told you not to call me that," she mumbled, her head lolling against his shoulder.

"You had me worried there, partner."

She snorted. "Conserving energy there, Vaughn."

"Half mile…can you make it?"

"Yup," she replied and started moving forward so he was forced to follow. Mentally Gabriel admired the toughness of his partner, even injured she kept going.

It was another twenty minutes and they came to the front of one small cabin. Which was good because the cold was finally starting to seep into his bones. It only took a moment for him to get the door open and Riley inside and lying on the couch. He took a quick look around, the place was fairly clean though a quick flip of the nearest switch revealed the electricity had been turned off, and he made a note to look for a generator once Riley was taken care of. The cabin was small, the kitchen, eating area and living room all at the front in an open concept, a large stone fireplace took up much of the wall the couch was facing to his left – there didn't appear to be a bedroom, but instead an open loft that looked over the living room. Despite the instinct not to, he flung open the heavy curtains that covered large windows on either side of the fireplace, without electricity he needed the light.

Then he knelt beside Riley and helped strip off her coat before pulling away his blood-soaked tank, exposing the wound more thoroughly to him. She had barely made a sound.

It was worse than he thought. Blood was still flowing freely from it, the edges ragged and gaping.

Swiftly he pulled the med bag out of the larger nylon one he had been carrying and catalogued the contents. It might be enough. There were abdominal pads, gauze, tape, antibiotic cream, latex gloves, ice packs, Motrin and needle and thread. And to his great relief a Tri-Pak of azithromycin, an antibiotic.

Removing his tank fully he replaced it with a thick abdominal pad, again placing her hand over it to hold in place. Since lying her on the couch Riley hadn't even opened an eye, instead lying stock still and silent. Desperately he tried to get a satellite signal again but was unsuccessful.

Then he set about the cabin, looking for anything else he could use, eventually he turned up a small medical kit under the kitchen sink with more gauze, antibiotic cream, tape and alcohol pads along with a stack of kitchen towels and some tequila.

Swiftly he dumped all the supplies on the coffee table and perched on the edge, quickly organizing what he needed.

"Please," he muttered and pulled the abdominal pad away from her side. The bleeding had finally slowed and he took a relieved breath. If a major artery had been nicked she would be still be bleeding. Gabriel knew just enough about field med to sew up a wound (though it wouldn't look pretty afterward), but not enough to clamp off and sew closed a bleeding artery.

Carefully he placed the pad back and placed a hand on her shoulder to wake her. "Riley…c'mon you gotta take something before I start sewing you up."

Slowly her eyes opened and focused on him; he took the opportunity and picked up three Motrin and a bottle of water, holding both out to her. With effort she grabbed the items, downing the pills quickly.

"I've got tequila too."

She shook her head. "Get it over with already."

Nodding he turned back to his makeshift surgical tray and sterilized the needle before threading it.

"Sorry, Riley," he said and, using his right hand, cleaned the skin around the wound before piercing it with the needle.

This caused her to suddenly cry out and try to shift away from him.

Luckily he had anticipated this response and had placed his right hand on her abdomen, pressing down and keeping her fairly still.

"Riley, you gotta hold still."

A rather colorful response was mumbled but she relaxed under him.

"Sure you don't want the tequila?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"Just do it already," she hissed as he pulled the thread through the skin. "God dammit."

"I'll be as careful as I can," he said, tone softer.

Her head turned toward him and brown met green. "I know, I trust you Gabriel."

Quickly he averted his eyes and wordlessly went back to sewing his partner back together, focusing on the task instead of the feelings her words stirred up in his heart.

Giving her credit, Riley stayed still, and conscious, through most of the nearly forty minutes it took him to close the wound to his satisfaction. Only during the last half dozen stitches did she finally succumb to the pain and close her eyes, breath evening as she passed out.

Once done, he slathered gauze with antibiotic ointment and taped it carefully over his handiwork. For a brief moment he admired the stitches, he had really taken his time, trying to ensure even edges so the scarring would be minimized.

But as he pulled down her still bloody shirt (he would worry about changing it later), Gabriel took note of several other white lines that marred her pale skin. Two were clearly stab wounds – the incident with the Presidents children, perhaps? – one might have been a bullet, but it was almost too perfectly round. Without thinking, he reached out and traced the line closest to him, it ran from the outside of her hip toward her pelvis, slipping under the jeans she wore – frowning he realized it wasn't really a stab wound, more like a knife that had been run over the skin there, breaking it enough to leave a mark.

For a brief moment he wondered how many other scars she bore. And then a nauseating thought hit him.

How many were from her mother's boyfriend?

They never talked about it save for the brief period in the warehouse with Cong when she had admitted what exactly was in her juvie record.

Suddenly this felt way too personal and he finished pulling down the Henley – though not before placing a kitchen towel over the gauze to prevent blood from transferring from the shirt to the dressing – then covering her with a thick blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch.

Satisfied she would be out for a bit; he donned his coat again and trudged out into the bitter Canadian cold. Taking a look around, he was chagrined to note an attack would be difficult to spot, the woods were thick all around them and maybe a hundred yards to the south was a large lake. These were probably small hunting and fishing cabins. Hopefully with generators.

In the back behind some bushes and protected by a plastic box, he found what he needed. And paused, debating if turning on a generator would cause them to be noticed or not – it was a toss-up, lighting a fire in the fireplace would certainly send up a red flag. They would have to be careful and leave lights off if at all possible and besides Gabriel couldn't determine how much gas was left, if any. Primarily they needed it for the heat; otherwise they would freeze to death after so long. The nights in Canada in January were brutally cold.

Decision made, he went over to the generator and opened the cover. After a few tries he got the machine going, its low rumbling a sort of comfort that at least they (probably) wouldn't freeze to death.

As he walked back around (careful to erase his footsteps as he went), Gabriel tried communications through his chip. And once again was unsuccessful.

Their Russian friends had picked a spot that was extremely remote, with few inhabitants except probably in the summer months and was basically off the grid. He had no idea how often a satellite even flew over this part of the country. Once a day? Maybe twice? And for how long? He couldn't keep the chip running 24 hours a day; Doc Cassidy had warned him doing so would literally fry his brain.

They were due for a check in in 2 days. But the last Cyber Com had known they were on the Eastern side, near Toronto. By day three Lillian would be looking for them in earnest, so he hatched a plan that would probably result in frying his brain but there wasn't a choice if he wanted to get Riley out of here alive.

Opening the cabin door, he noted she hadn't moved while he'd been gone. Absently he walked over and touched her forehead. Still cool.

If he didn't get an antibiotic in her soon though that could quickly change; he was tempted to wake her long enough to take one but decided against it. She needed rest and right now was getting it.

Instead he turned the thermostat up as high as he dared for gas conservation (62 degrees) and started to take inventory of the kitchen.

TBC…