He still wants Penny.

He's got Parker and Kayo, but they're fighting about something, and neither of them are Penny. Gordon still just really wishes she were here.

That way he could know she's safe.

In fairness, she's a great deal more likely to be safe than he is, just on the balance of who she is and what she does.

Although apparently what she does has all gone rather horribly wrong, and Gordon's aware that he's lucky to have made it out the other side, having blundered into the middle of What Penny Does. He's lucky he hasn't been killed, lucky that there's a makeshift tourniquet cinched securely around his wrist and a handkerchief binding up his lack-of-a-finger, courtesy of Parker. Lucky that he's still semi-conscious and that the numbness of shock hasn't won out yet. He's even pretty sure he can stand, if he needs to. He'll be unsteady on his feet and probably he'll throw up, but he does think he can stand. He's lucky that the span of the whole ordeal probably hasn't been more than about an hour, two at the absolute most, though his sense of time is muddled and muddied and every time he blinks it seems to eat up more moments than it should, darkness taking bites out of every passing minute.

And Parker and Kayo are arguing, which seems counterproductive. Kayo's arm remains looped protectively around his chest and she's warm and solid where he's leaning his weight against her torso. Her hand clasps the one of his that still has all its fingers. The right. That's a fucker, that the goddamn bastard's gone after his left hand. Gordon's the only true leftie in the family, and having his already disadvantaged southpaw deprived of a finger—it's just not fair. And the ring finger, too. That's just mean. He wonders if he's going to get it back. He'd hoped to need it someday.

And he's thinking about Penelope again, on that count.

Or maybe it's because Kayo's just said her name and snapped Gordon's attention back to whatever the hell it is that Kayo and Parker have to argue about.

"—not responsible for her. You said Penelope can handle herself, let her handle herself. I'm getting him out and we can manage. We'll get back to my bike, we'll both take Shadow if we have to, we don't need your damn chopper. This is her mess, and she's your partner, you go get her."

"The devil take you, Miss Kyrano, I've said; I'll see the lad safely out! You've no reason not to trust me. Her Ladyship needs—"

"—Her Ladyship should've known better than to drag Gordon into this, because look what's happened to him! Christ! And if what you've told me about Jeff is true, then…"

Gordon needs to put a pin in that comment, needs to come back to that one later. He gets the sinking suspicion that he's not going to remember, but he sure as hell means to try. The mention of some unknown potential truth about his father is confusing and startling, but not what's relevant right now. A little clumsily, he shakes his hand free of Kayo's and makes a fumbling grab to tug at her collar. Ends up nearly putting a finger up her nose, but she catches his wrist gently and he's got her attention, anyway. "…s'Penny okay?"

The beat of silence conveys Kayo's anxiety and frustration, but her voice remains even as she answers, "I'm sure she's fine. She can handle herself. You're really hurt and we need to go home. We've got to get out of here, Gordon, and we can't—"

"Mmmno. Get Penny."

Kayo draws a breath in and Gordon hears it hiss past her clenched teeth, and with a warning in her voice, "Gordon."

"S'why we came, Kayo."

"Gordon."

In full command of his faculties, he could win this argument, easy. But then, in full command of his faculties, he wouldn't need to, because he could just go get Penelope his own damn self, and explain all the things that he'd come here to try and tell her in the first place. That whatever's going on, if she's in trouble, she doesn't need to face it down alone. That nothing she's done is unforgivable, not even close. That they all still care about her, and even if that's not true, then he still does, anyway, and he'd really like that to count for something.

But that's all kind of a little too complicated to try and parse into anything resembling sense, and anyway, Gordon's pretty sure Kayo can pick it up from the subtext, if all he can manage to say is, "…but…please? Kayo?"

Another one of those long pauses, but he doggedly hangs on through this one, keeps track of each moment as they start to stack up. And then—

"…Fine." Kayo's answering sigh is as frustrated as it is irritated, but she's still got a hand around his wrist and she squeezes gently, acquiescing. "Next time," she admonishes, as she gives his shoulder a shove to help him start to sit up, "maybe you try and fall in love with someone just slightly less dangerous, hey?"

He laughs at that, because it's funny. As though anyone could follow Penelope. "Next time," he echoes, and then as she starts to help him to his feet, it's another of those dizzy dark stretches during which he fails to track what's happening, and when he blinks back into awareness to finish the thought, he's got his arm slung around Parker's shoulders and it's brighter than it was and Kayo's gone. "Not gonna be a next time," he mumbles, though it seems to have a different meaning to it than what he'd meant when he'd first started to say it.

It's an elevator again, ascending this time, heaven instead of hellward, up, up and away from that damned and damnable basement. The soft, sweet chime of the passage of each floor rings like a bell in Gordon's head. He counts for a while, but then realizes he doesn't know when he'd started, nor does he know what he's counting towards, and so he stops.

Parker clears his throat, a gravelly noise right in Gordon's ear that gets him to lift his head and try to pull himself together a bit better. It's Parker, after all, and Gordon's relationship with Parker is best described as cordially adversarial. Worst, it's described as an ongoing and years' long campaign of mutual sniping and snide commentary, the onset of which Gordon can't quite pinpoint, but would probably ballpark in the neighbourhood of the time he'd first dropped a cheesy pickup line in Penelope's direction.

So. Gotta save face. And whatever the circumstances, Gordon's always quick with a line, especially at Parker's expense— "Prob…probably oughta be heading in the other direction, if you're s'posed to bring the car around. Right? Jeez, Parker. Th—hhhn. Th-thought you were an old pro at the chauffeur gig."

It's not the best shot he's ever taken and neglects a fundamental truth about just where FAB1 can be parked, but—improbably—Parker chuckles.

That's a new one. Gordon blinks a little dazedly, at that. Maybe he's got it backward, because up's gotta be down, if he's making Parker laugh.

Parker shifts his shoulders, adjusts his grip. The older man's hand is caught firmly through the back of the belt at Gordon's hips, and Gordon has the sudden impression of just how easily Parker's bearing up, taking most of his weight. The old man's stronger than he looks. "H'actually, Master Gordon, at present I'm taking care of some of Her Ladyship's more unfortunate baggage. Dreadful kit, this lot. All ghastly black leather. Doesn't match m'lady's usual set at all."

That doesn't click into place immediately, but when it lands, Gordon cracks a grin. "Ouch." Parker shifts his weight again and this time Gordon thinks he cracks a rib, and the context changes as he repeats himself, whimpering a little, "Ouch, oh—ow. Fuck."

"Sorry, lad." There's a grimness in Parker's voice that, even in the worst of their encounters, Gordon's never heard before. Something steely and grey and flat and hard, as he says, "No one else'll lay a hand on you, Master Gordon. 'Ave my word on that."

Possibly that's the nicest thing Parker's ever said to him. Still. Too little too late, and it's not in Gordon's nature to let that pass without comment, "Could…could've used that word 'bout an hour ago. Parker. So thanks, but…but…" Nothing clever manages to materialize at the end of the sentence, and he trails off feebly instead.

Parker doesn't laugh, anyway, and there's a slight, almost apologetic sigh. "I know, lad. Bear up. Not much further. Four more floors and then the roof, the helicopter. I'll even let you ride up front, 'stead of stuffed in the baggage compartment."

Lucky me. Gordon manages to think it, but can't quite say it, because sooner than he expects the four floors are up. The abrupt bouncing stop of the elevator results in another dizzy swoop of vertigo that steals the sight of the rooftop away, even as the doors open and he gets a breath of the cold night air. Doesn't quite do enough to pull him back from the edge and so he falls, instead.

Back around again, and his field of view is slowly filled by the helicopter's cockpit, all aglow with a blurry rainbow of lights and switches and Parker, methodically going through his pre-flights. Gordon's been deposited across the puffy leather bench seat that dominates the back of a pretty spiffy private helicopter. He's also curled on his side, with his injured left hand tucked up by his shoulder. The interior lights dimmed almost all the way down and the rear door is open, waiting. It's a nice chopper. White leather, though. White carpet. Tasteful, sure, but he's left dark red droplets and smudges everywhere, and these are a disheartening reminder of the fact that he'd really like his damn finger back.

Too tired to say that, though. And too tired to apologize about the upholstery. He doesn't think Parker's listening anymore, anyway. And really, Gordon's gotten too tired for anything much more than slow, deep breathing and very deliberately trying to keep himself awake. He wants to be awake when Penelope gets aboard, because she's gotta be here soon, and he's got a lot he needs to say, about a billion questions he needs to ask.

That trips a wire in his brain and, almost miraculously, reminds him of something he'd been sure he was going to forget.

If what you've told me about Jeff is true—

He'd have to be an idiot to let that slip past again. He can't be sure he'll keep hold of it a second time.

So— "…Parker?"

To his own ears his voice had sounded all groggy and quiet, and he'd been ready to try again, but Parker looks back over his shoulder and inquires, "H'all right back there, Master Gordon?"

Solicitous treatment from Parker is still weird, but Gordon muscles past it. This is important. "M'kay. S'just about how Kayo s-said…said something. S'there…about Dad? S'there something with my Dad? …Parker?"

Parker's only about eight feet away, the distance from the back of the chopper up to the front, the span between the pilot and the passengers. But it feels like far away and getting further and Gordon's not sure if Parker heard him or not, because he doesn't answer, and instead starts to fiddle with toggles and switches.

Overhead, the helicopter blades begin to turn, and the rising roar of white noise starts to beat him into submission. It seems a little bit unfair that after everything else he's held out against, it's just the roar of sound that finally drowns his thoughts out.

And the last thing he wants is the same thing he's been wanting for a while now—just for Penny to show up, and be safe, and make everything make sense.

There's something about Penelope that's just always made everything make sense.