A/N: This takes place right after 'Homecoming' and serves as a sequel to that episode. David befriends a young runaway and promises to help her get home. An avalanche in the Utah Mountains throws a wrench into those plans, however. Can the Hulk help to make the girl's dream of seeing her family again come true, or will McGee finally catch his quarry? David Banner, Jack McGee, OC.

This is complete - six chapters and an epilogue in all. I'll be posting a chapter a day until it's up.

Lost Girl

Chapter One

It had been just over two weeks since he'd been home, the thought of spending yet another Thanksgiving alone, away from what remained of his family, unbearable. He had arrived in Treverton, Colorado a few days before the holiday but, as usual, an appearance by the creature—two, in fact—had forced him to leave before he was able to enjoy dinner with his father and younger sister.

As of now he'd put over 300 miles between them. He'd been lucky enough to hitch a ride with a trucker traveling west on Interstate 70 and was now in Salina, Utah. Current source of income was in the form of a busboy at a local greasy spoon that catered to truckers. He'd yet to figure out where the next location might be that could offer him access to employment and equipment which could perhaps provide an answer to his "unique" medical condition, but right now he needed work—any work—if he wanted to eat. So far, he'd been at this for ten days, his intention being to save up some money and plan his next move, hopefully before an appearance by the creature forced him to leave prematurely.

Presently he was holed up in a fleabag motel that offered weekly rates for long-term lodgers. It wasn't much—everything in one room—but it did have a fully-stocked kitchenette.

Strains of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' blared from an ancient radio, his only source of entertainment as he stood over the small stove, preparing a meager dinner, the contents purchased from what remained of his first paycheck after settling up with his landlord. Christmas was in a few weeks, yet another holiday he'd be spending alone, away from those people he held most dear. The song brought back a flood of memories of Christmases with his family:

"I love it, Mommy, it's just what I wanted," five-year-old Helen squealed, clutching the doll to her chest. "Looky, David," she announced, holding her prize out to her seven-year-old brother. "Isn't she pretty?"

He had sniffed in response. Dolls weren't really his thing. "If you say so, Helen."

"Well, I do. She's the mostest prettiest dolly in the whole wide world. Just don't wreck her like you did my other dolly," she admonished. Helen stuck her tongue out at her brother, jumped to her feet and climbed into her mother's lap. Elizabeth Banner was seated on the sofa next to her husband.

"Here, open mine next, son. I bought it just for you." His father fished a gift out from under the tree. David took the brightly wrapped package from his father, the box much heavier than he expected. Maybe it's that microscope I've been wanting, he thought to himself as he tore through the paper. The sight that met his eyes left him feeling deflated, disappointed. The image on the box revealed what was contained within.

"It's just like mine," his father beamed, "And in a few years I'll start teaching you how to drive it."

David wrestled a green and yellow steel model of a John Deere tractor out of the thick cardboard. He turned it over and over in his hands. "It's very nice, thanks Dad," he commented without enthusiasm.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?" D.W. Banner barked, instantly incensed.

"'Course I do," David stammered in reply, not meeting his father's eyes. "It's real neat." D.W. harrumphed at that, unconvinced. "I just thought it was something else is all," David whispered finally, more to himself than anything, absently spinning a rubber tire.

"Here, David, open mine," his mother interjected, trying to keep the situation from devolving into a shouting match between father and son, as they so often did. D.W. was a farmer through and through, the last in a long line of Banners who had worked this unassuming patch of land in Colorado since the Civil War. It frustrated and irritated him no end that his only son, even at this age, wanted nothing to do with the family business, had no intention of carrying on the Banner tradition.

D.W. sat back against the cushions, arms crossed belligerently across his chest, a disapproving scowl marring his features.

After casting a surreptitious glance at his father, David took the gift from her hands, his hopes dashed yet again. It wasn't heavy enough to be the microscope, either. In fact, whatever it was felt soft and squishy, even through the thin layer of paper. Sighing to himself he peeled back a corner, the disappointment changing instantly to delight as he ripped off the remainder of the wrapping paper, adorned with tiny snowmen wearing top hats and red scarves. Inside was a worn black medical bag, not a toy but one made of genuine leather. He opened it to find it contained a real stethoscope and Taylor reflex hammer, as well as some bandaging material.

"I got it from old Doc Benson," she explained. "It's seen better days, but the items still work and he said he was pleased to pass it and them on to an up-and-coming physician. I wanted you to have real doctor's equipment, not just toys." The pride she felt for her son danced across her face like sunlight shimmering on gently rippling water.

He couldn't contain his exuberance, flinging himself into his mother's arms, the microscope instantly forgotten. "Thanks, Mom, it's perfect!" he crowed, now slipping the earpieces into his ears. Reverently he placed the diaphragm against his mother's chest and was instantly rewarded with the steady, strong tattoo of her heartbeat. He looked up at her, a wide grin splitting his features. She responded with a hearty chuckle and a warm hug.

"You're very welcome. You'll make a great doctor, someday," she said, her cheek resting against his hair.

A scream outside his window snapped him back to the present. "Let me go! I've had enough. Stay if you want to but I'm going home and you can't stop me!" This was followed by another scream and the sounds of a scuffle. David raced for the door to his room, which opened onto an alley, his only thought to help the young woman who was clearly in distress.

Racing around a corner he burst onto the scene to see a girl of about seventeen surrounded by three teenaged young men, one of whom had her by the wrist. "You'll do as I say, and I say you're staying here with me!"

"Seems to me she can make her own choice—and it doesn't seem to include going anywhere with you," David interrupted.

Four sets of eyes snapped to him. Relief washed over the girl's face, but the young man only tightened his grip, pulling her closer to him. "I don't think it's any of your business, friend," he retorted menacingly. His two cohorts stepped purposefully toward David, their intentions clear.

"Look, so far no one's gotten hurt," David reasoned, motioning for calm, trying to defuse the situation as he stepped tentatively toward the girl, hand outstretched to her. "Just let her go, and walk away, and we don't need to bring the police into this."

"Look friend, you're the one who needs to walk away, otherwise you won't be able to involve the police once we're done with you." At that moment the girl wrenched herself free of her captor, his attention no longer focused on her, as the other two youths encircled David, slowly starting to close the distance between them.

"Run," David yelled to the girl as he lunged toward his attackers, hoping to buy her the time to disappear into the night. He watched in satisfaction as she turned and fled down the dark alley.

"We'll get her later," said the apparent leader. "She won't be able to make it very far on her own. Let's take care of him first." The three young men drew nearer, one smacking a tire iron against his palm. David turned to run in the opposite direction from the girl as several sets of hands clawed at him, the metal cracking against his skull, and all went black.

oooOOOooo

Someone was shaking him. "Mister, are you all right? Your head's bleeding."

He sat up slowly, wincing as he touched a particularly sore spot on the back of his head, his fingers coming away sticky and red.

"What happened?" he asked, still dazed but aware enough to assess himself. His shirt wasn't ripped or missing, his feet still clad in his boots. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, meeting the girl's worried eyes. The creature hadn't made an appearance.

"They knocked you out, and one of them stole your wallet."

"That's not what I meant," he said, climbing gingerly to his feet. "Why are you still here? I told you to run," he lectured, the words coming out more brusquely than he'd intended. Seeing the confusion and fear in her eyes he stopped, reaching for calm, addressing her softly, compassionately this time. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"No, I ran like you said, and while they were after you I climbed one of the fire escapes. After they brained you they came looking for me, but a siren started wailing the next street over and they took off. I guess they were afraid someone else had called the police, but no one came to help you. Once I was sure they were gone I climbed down to check on you." She stopped, wringing her hands. "I thought they killed you, you know?"

"How long ago did they run off?" His gaze traveled about the alley.

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Are you okay, mister?" she asked again. "You saved me."

"I'll be fine, but you never should have stayed here. They might have come back, looking for you." He took her gently by the arm. "They still might. C'mon, let's get inside. My place is just around the corner. We can go in and call the police."

"NO! No police!" Her look became panicked; she tensed, preparing to flee again.

"All right, we'll talk about that later," he conceded, palms turned up in resignation, trying to appease her. "Right now let's just get you inside." He gestured toward the building again. The girl was frozen with indecision, her eyes rapidly traveling from David's face to the alley and back again. "I won't hurt you," he said in his most serene, reassuring voice. "Just come in for a few minutes to make sure they don't come back. After that, you're free to leave whenever you'd like."

With a hurried glance over her shoulder, she came to a swift decision. "Okay, but just for a minute." She continued to eye him warily. It seemed that at the moment he was the lesser of two evils.

oooOOOooo

She was seated on the one comfortable chair he had in his room, legs tucked up under her, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. An oversized backpack rested on the floor beside her, a heavy winter coat perched haphazardly atop it.

He had addressed the cut on the back of his head and was now across the room from her, sitting on a chair from his kitchen table turned backward, elbows propped on the wooden lattice back, trying to give her the space she seemed to need. He found he was reluctant to do anything that might put her on edge.

Tired of the uncomfortable silence he began to gently press her for information. "I'm David." A pause. "And you are?" he prodded. No response. He grinned at her, interlacing his fingers. "Well, if you want me to just call you 'Hey You,'" he intoned slowly, wryly, "then that's what I'll do."

She smiled slightly at that. "I'm Jennifer," she began softly. She sipped at the mug in her hands. "Thanks for, you know, helping me. And for the tea," she added as an afterthought.

"Why were those boys after you?" he continued, seizing on the momentum the conversation had gained, however slight, doing his best to keep it going.

"They weren't after me," she replied after a brief moment of hesitation, "They're my friends."

"Some friends," he observed astutely, trying to catch her eye.

"The one who was holding my wrist is Todd, my boyfriend," she explained. "We just had a fight is all."

"It seemed like more than that to me. As I recall, you said something about wanting to go home, and he insisted you didn't." He softened his tone. "Was he holding you against your will?"

"No. I actually wanted to be with him, but I've changed my mind."

"Meaning?" he prodded.

"Look, it's no big deal. I'm on my own now and I'll just go home," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"They might spot you again. Can you call someone to come and get you?" he asked.

"Not really practical," she answered cryptically.

"Well, then at least let me take you. I'd offer you cab or bus fare, but they got most of my money."

"I'm sorry about that, really I am." Without warning, tears welled in her eyes. She scrubbed angrily at her face, stubbornly refusing to explain the cause of the sudden flood of emotion.

"Jennifer, I'm trying to help you," he offered gently, "but I can't unless you level with me. Why isn't it practical for you to go home?"

"Because home's in another state, all right?" she retorted vehemently, swiping at her cheeks again, now flushed a bright crimson.

"Did Todd kidnap you? Because if he did, all you have to do is go to the police and they'll help you get home."

"No police!" she shrieked again, slamming her mug down on a side table, the contents sloshing over the rim.

He waited a few seconds as her breath rasped harshly, in then out. "Why not? You don't have to protect him. If he took you against your will—"

"Because I'm a runaway, get it?" she admitted, her face fraught with despair and self-loathing. She slumped down in the chair and wrapped her arms tightly about herself.

He rose to his feet and moved to the bed, settling himself on the end, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He could reach out and touch her now if need be. "That won't matter," he assured her softly. "They'll still do everything they can to get you home."

"Not if they find out what I've done," she whispered in a small, frightened voice, the tears starting anew.

He leaned over and rested a hand lightly on her knee. "Why don't you tell me everything, from the beginning, and I'll do my best to help you."

"You promise you won't call the police?"

"Jennifer, I can't make a promise like that without having all the facts. Surely you understand that?"

She got to her feet, his hand falling away. "Then you really don't want to help me, do you?" She reached for her coat.

He stood as well, tentatively touching her forearm before dropping his hand. "All right, no police," he conceded, out of options, "but I can't believe you did anything so terrible that they wouldn't help you."

"Sure you can't. How would you know? I'll bet you've never been on the wrong side of the law a day in your life," she observed perceptively, her eyes scouring him from top to bottom.

Oh child, if you only knew, he thought silently. "Okay, you win," he said aloud. "We'll talk about that later. C'mon, you must be hungry," he observed, changing the subject, steering her toward the table. Right now he was content to do anything that would keep her from leaving. If he could gain her trust, he might be able to make her see reason. "I was in the process of making my dinner," he said, pointing to a pot simmering away on the stove. "It's not a gourmet meal by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm sure I can scare up enough for two."

oooOOOooo

They talked for several hours—well, she mostly talked and he mostly listened—over heaping plates of spaghetti, thick slices of French bread with butter, and several more mugs of tea. He learned she was only sixteen, had had a fight with her parents three weeks ago over Todd, among other things, and the two of them had fled Wyoming, hoping to get as far as Las Vegas, where Todd assured her they could get married despite the fact that she was underage. All that mattered was that he was over eighteen, he'd informed her, and she'd believed him, trusted him. He loved her, after all.

At first, it had seemed like a good plan, but they only had money enough for bus tickets to get them as far as Salt Lake City, Utah. After that they'd hitched rides, keeping off the Interstates in case the authorities were looking for them, and wound up in Salina last week. While here, they'd met the other two youths who were with them in the alley, also runaways.

The two other boys had concocted a plan to rob a local convenience store: they'd wait for dark, choose a time when there were no other patrons in the store, and overpower the person behind the counter. The three boys would do the deed, with Jennifer outside on the street, serving as lookout. She'd wanted no part of it but Todd had convinced her that they had to, that this was the only way they could get the money they needed to make it to Las Vegas.

Reluctantly she'd agreed, and they'd tried a few hours ago but the clerk had pulled a gun from behind the counter and they ran away, empty-handed. The boys had decided to try again, at a different store and armed with the tire iron this time, but she had flat-out refused to participate, certain someone—either one of them or an innocent bystander—would get hurt or killed in the process. That was the argument David had stumbled onto several hours ago.

Despite the fact that he'd assured her it was very unlikely the store owner would prosecute, especially since they actually hadn't committed a crime, no amount of persuasion on his part could convince her to go to the police. Regardless of everything that had happened she was no snitch, she insisted resolutely, would not provide information against her fellow runaways.

And calling her parents to come get her was apparently not an option, either. Her family was barely subsisting, her father working two jobs to put food on the table for Jennifer, her younger brother and sister, and his wife. They were several months behind on the mortgage, the family winding up homeless at some point a real possibility. To her mind, leaving three weeks ago would make things easier for her family—they'd have one less mouth to feed, more disposable income to put toward bills.

They only had one car, an old clunker that tended to break down more often than not, and her father, who worked on the weekends as well, couldn't afford to miss work for the time it would take to come and get her, nor did they have the money to send her a return bus ticket.

She had tried to get a part-time job after school, thinking she could use that income to help her family, but there were none to be had in her small home town. David had tried to talk her into calling her folks anyway, certain that between all of them they could find a way to get her home, but she'd have none of it. If she called, they'd probably just send the authorities after her, she'd reasoned, and the police were not an option. She was bound and determined to return on her own, not to cause her parents any more worry or stress than she already had, or to tax them financially, knowing how tight money was for them. After all, she'd hitched rides to get this far south. Hitching rides back north should be just as easy.

He'd argued against it, pointing out that on the way here she'd had Todd with her, which might have kept some unscrupulous people from taking advantage of her, but as is often the case with the young, they feel invincible, indestructible, and she couldn't see the danger, or so he thought.

Finally he'd pledged to go with her, to see her safely returned to her parents, explaining that he was traveling around, too, had no ties to this place, that one town was as good as another. At first she had balked at the idea, but he was insistent; said she needed to let him go with her or he would go to the police and tell them everything.

At this point she'd broken down again, admitted that she was terrified to do this on her own, but would do anything to be home by Christmas. In spite of their differences she missed her family terribly. She'd made a grievous mistake, and just wanted to make things right with her parents again.

Upon hearing that his own heart clenched. It conjured up fresh memories of the pain he'd endured when leaving his family behind yet again three weeks ago. The tears on Helen's face; the feel of the hug his dad had given him just before he left: It was laced with sadness, regret and understanding. For most of his life, he and his father weren't able to really talk to one another, to express latent emotions and feelings, but somehow the hug they shared had succeeded where words failed—for both of them. He looked away from the girl, not wanting her to mistake his sudden melancholy for reluctance to help her. If it was in his power, he'd make sure her dream was realized. He knew firsthand how it felt, how rebuilding those bridges could mean so very much.

He'd held her close while she wept, uttering a sincere whispered promise that he'd get her home before the holiday somehow. By now it was almost midnight. He persuaded her to wait until morning before they began their journey, pointing out that this was likely to be the last good night's sleep they'd get. Besides, he had to swing by the restaurant in the morning and let his boss know he was leaving. He'd been up front with the man, telling him in advance it was likely he'd have to leave on short notice, but felt obligated to give him the news in person, not just walk away and leave him short-handed without an explanation. The man had been kind enough to help him when he was down. Returning the favor was the least he could do.

He'd given Jennifer his bed, stretching out on the floor across the room. He listened as the girl softly cried herself to sleep. That only fueled his determination to do whatever it took to fulfill his promise. He closed his eyes as well, confident that he'd get her home in just a few days.