He should know better than to answer a call to the Tracy Island's main comm from an unknown number.

Calls to the main comm should come almost exclusively from TB5 and a handful of other trusted sources—Colonel Casey, Lady Penelope, Tracy Industries HQ. The icon that flashes up in the middle of the room is even bright red, a big cautionary question mark, represents a warning. Represents the possibility that someone has breached the protocols put in place to prevent any unauthorized contact with the Island's secured comm network, and more importantly, the banks of servers and data centers that serve as the central control for the Thunderbirds.

Gordon sits up from where he'd been lounging on the couch, and plans to answer it anyway.

Because it's early evening, he's bored and in reserve, and he's alone on the island, so it's not like anyone else is going to.

Or, well. Not technically alone, but for all intents and purposes, anyway, given that his options for company include Brains, who's more or less embedded himself in his lab; Kayo, who still deserves an apology that he still hasn't given her; and Grandma, who's recent habit of a seven-thirty bedtime and slow slide into a state of uncharacteristic reserve is the sort of thing that makes Gordon just hurt inside, in a sharp, way-deep-down sort of way. It's hard to be around Grandma with wanting to hug her and just cry for an hour or two.

This is a thing he can't tell if she'd benefit from, so he's gone out of his way not to stray too close.

Anyway, hey, maybe it's Penny.

It's been nearly twenty-four hours since she'd called him, with her cryptic (okay, actually fairly explicit, but Gordon's not above a little self-deception) statements and that borderline tearful catch in her voice and the way she'd said goodbye, left him to lie awake for nearly the entire night. Gordon's really, really hoping to hear from Penny.

The call connects. It's just an audio channel, there's no visual to accompany it, except for that bright red question mark, still indicating that maybe this is a bad idea.

There's no immediate answer, just a slightly scratchy silence and the soft sound of breathing. Something about the quality of this particular silence makes Gordon wonder if maybe he's just done something supremely, incredibly stupid. He's already seized the comm control and is keying in Brains' extension, hoping that the engineer is available to undo whatever potentially massive security breach he's just exposed the island to—and as an afterthought, regarding matters of security, he guiltily pings Kayo for good measure.

Then the silence is broken—shattered, more accurately, by a voice that's quiet, a little bit hushed and cautious and secretive, and really not of any particular quality that should so violently break a silence.

"Hello?"

Gordon's been hearing that voice in his ear for the past five years.

There've been dark, awful moments of dread over the past few months, where he's wondered if he'd ever hear that voice again.

There's really only one thing Gordon wants to say in answer to this particular voice.

Only, if there's only one thing he wants to say, it's not the thing he should say. There are actually quite a lot of things he should say and they all go railroading to the front of his brain, vying for the tip of his tongue, and freezing him into shock and borderline disbelief at the fact that, after everything—everything—he's put them through, John has the temerity to call and say something as trite and insipid and insulting as hello.

So instead, Gordon's brain short circuits, and he says the thing he'd wanted to say, "You apocalyptic fuckhead, where the fuck are you?"

Another pause and the crashing realization that harassing his brother is probably the quickest way to get this call dropped. The realization that maybe John's actually legitimately in trouble and can't speak freely. Maybe there's a gun to his head, maybe he's in a cell somewhere, maybe this is a call for ransom. There's been a precipitous uptick in Gordon's heartrate and he has to wipe his palms on the legs of his jeans and swallow, hard, to get past the knotted feeling in his throat, as John says, "Gordon, I don't have a lot of time."

"What the hell does that mean? John—fuck—John, are you okay?"

Gordon's already pinged Kayo's comm another eight times—it'll be ringing on her wrist like crazy and if that doesn't get her up here to chew his ass out, nothing will. He adds a priority flag to another alert to Brains, just as he sees the engineer's icon blink on in the bottom corner of the transmission, feels a flutter of relief. John still hasn't said anything, so to bring Brains up to speed, he tries again,"John. Johnny, what's—tell me if you're okay. John?"

John pauses again and Gordon tries to read something relevant in the silence—whether someone else is talking, muttering in John's ear, whether his breathing is at all uneven, whether there's anything to betray a lie as John answers, "I'm fine. I need—"

"Where are you?"

"I can't say."

Brains has taken over control of the connection, the icon floating above the central comm has been ringed around in blue, and there's a variety of data starting to cascade in the background. He's attempting to loop Alan into the call, but Alan's managing dispatch for Scott and Virgil, who are helping deal with flooding in Madagascar. Gordon would have gone along too, but the two and a half hours of restless sleep he'd logged the night previous had disqualified him from pod duty, Alan had ratted him out, and Scott had grounded him til he was properly rested. He'd left before there could be a fight about it.

Turns out maybe that's lucky.

He hears Kayo shout from the floor below, "Gordon, you'd better be caught under a bookcase when I get up there, I was in the middle of—" Kayo's footsteps on the stairs up from the kitchen are loud, angry, but she stops immediately when Gordon springs to his feet and manages to pantomime something that seems to convey that she needs to keep quiet. He points to the icon above the central comm and then, loudly, "Bullshit, John."

Another of those pauses. Kayo's eyes widen and she jogs down the steps into the lounge, stands next to Gordon and peers at the data Brains is trying to pull from the call. Gordon can't make head or tail of it, but then—

"I won't, then. Gordon, I'm not calling about me. I need someone to find Penelope. She's in trouble."

Gordon's not aware that he's sat back down until he feels Kayo's hand on his shoulder and realizes that he has to look up at her. She jerks her head at the icon, prompts him to continue in the same moment that John says, "…Gordon?"

"…is that true?"

It occurs to him suddenly that these long pauses all occur on about the same interval—three or four seconds—and that John's reactions are always just a little out of true for the time that they take. There's a time delay. Gordon's used to time delays, TB4's comms are the worst for them. There've been times when there are as many as ten seconds between what he says and what John hears, and vice versa. He's not sure what it means, but he makes a note of it. John's tone is urgent as the delay passes, and, "What? Of course it's—this is important. Gordon, I need you to find her, she—"

He can't interrupt, but as John finishes, Alan's hologram flashes up. His expression is as grim as Gordon's ever seen it, his blue eyes like flint. He lifts a hand and scribbles with his fingertip in the air, leaves a rendered line of text, "TALK. TRACING CALL."

"—'s gotten herself involved with something…I can't give you the details, but just—Gordon. It's important."

John can't see him, can't see the way Gordon rolls his shoulders, shoves himself back to his feet. Kayo's hand goes from his shoulder to around his elbow, deliberate, careful restraint, like she can feel the anger starting to tense through his muscles, the way his hands clench into fists. "Yeah? Fuck you. You goddamn liar, John, you punched a hole through our fucking family."

Four- three - two - one—"…I know. I know that, and I'm sorry. It was—find Penelope. Find her and tell her that I…that I did what she asked. That she can stop. Gordon, I need you to stop her."

He doesn't know what the hell that could possibly mean, but he can't be diverted by it. It's still hard to say, still makes his stomach twist and his back ache when he heaves a deep breath and presses on,"Penny…Penelope lied to us about you. And she's not our goddamn problem right now, you are. Whatever she's…whatever she dragged you into, John, just—just tell us. We'll help. Whatever it is, if it's something with EOS, we'll figure it out. Where are you? Why the hell are you doing this, John?"

Scott's comm starts flashing and Kayo's hand leaves his arm, she jumps nimbly up the stairs to their father's desk and routes it to a secondary line. Gordon can hear her voice behind him, low and urgent, but John speaks again. This time there's a noticeable tremor in his voice, a break, "I…it's not mine to say. But it's…Gordon, I swear, it'll be worth it. All of it, I promise, it's…please. Trust me. I'm sorry. I promise, this'll all be over soon. On Mom, Gordon, I swear."

Alan flashes up again and rapidly spells out "ONE MORE MINUTE", but Gordon doesn't know if he can manage that. He's short on sleep and he'd already been keyed up about Penelope, and the idea of even talking to John—here and now and like this and after everything—he has to take another deep breath before he even manage to come up with something he hasn't already asked, "Why did you call? Why now?"

Four seconds. John seems to have mastered himself slightly, there's steel in his tone again. "Find Penny."

There's no way in hell John can know what he's doing, throwing her name around like that. Can't know that Gordon just keeps hearing her say "Goodbye", again and again and again. "Why?"

Three, two, one. Total of something like ten seconds down, eating into Alan's one more minute. "She…she's going to do something. Something really wrong. She doesn't know it's not necessary. Don't let her."

You were wrong about me. This tracks so well with the conversation that's still replaying itself in the back of Gordon's brain that he feels the desperate need to throw up. He shakes his head, muscles past it, hopes his voice doesn't betray the way he's been shaken, "She cut all contact, how the hell d'you think we'll find her?"

Gotta be twenty seconds now. He wishes Alan would have thought to put up a timer, Gordon's only good with numbers when he can see the numbers. Used to play hell with him in the pool, even though he's long since past the ability of posting times that mean anything any more. Seconds stretch out. It's probably not more than five before John responds, "Catherine Cassidy."

"…The reporter? She's supposed to be helping us find you, why the hell would she—is she in on this? John, man, c'mon—"

He wishes he didn't know it needed to be a minute. There's no way in hell it's going to be a minute. Three more seconds and, "I need to go. Gordon, I'm—"

"No! John—please. Just…just what the hell is this about? Johnny, come on, please, we—"

Four more seconds. There's something that might almost be a laugh, something soft and sad and self-recriminating. It's not going to be enough. Maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe Alan's going to figure it out anyway.

Five, four, three, two—"Gordon." Something about John's voice that jerks Gordon back—years back—to the last time John made him feel like this, all twisted up and angry and sick inside.

"There's only one thing that anything we've done has ever been about, Gordon."

And the call drops in the same moment Gordon does, his knees hitting the floor with an impact he's gone too numb to feel.