Don't bite off more than you can chew

Summary- in which some goons do, and Gordon doesn't. A snippet that insisted on being written

Gordon sat up and cracked a sharp edged grin- the one that was all teeth and malice- spat out a mouthful of blood and meat, and over the screaming he started singing in the most annoying, nasal tone he could manage. "One, two, three four five, once I caught a fish alive. Six, seven, eight nine ten, then I let him go again. Why did I let him go? Because he bit my finger so. Which finger did he bite? This little finger on my right!"

It wasn't the guy's little finger, but it was close enough, and he hadn't quite taken the finger off like he'd been aiming to, but he had ripped a substantial chunk out of the guy's hand.

"Lesson number one!" He brightly announced. "If you can bite through a raw carrot, you can take off a finger! Wanna try grab my face again?" He offered, the dark looks and swearing only making him grin more broadly as he quickly thought of another way to goad them- something, anything, that would keep their attention on him and not on Alan who was still out cold on the dirty concrete floor. They'd been ambushed on a call out, knockout gas had been involved, and he'd come around to find himself lying on the floor with his hands tied in front of him and one of the goons touching his face. Reacting without thinking (because his family knew better than to do that) he'd whipped his head around and bit down.

"Come on you bastards, that's right, lookie me!" Gordon mentally urged as he gave voice to a particularly unhinged Joker-esk cackle that Virgil had once declared sounded like a hyena on helium. But despite everything, with the timing of this event and others it seemed like the universe had taken mercy on them for once. "John, I really hope your magic tracker box is doing its job!"

Three months ago John had finally made good on his long-issued threat to chip them all like puppies, designing GPS trackers that operated on the same waveband as their gear. Most of the time they were intended to be dormant, only activating if triggered remotely (because Scott) or by a sudden wild swing in their bio-monitors (also because Scott). The smooth, thumb-sized devices had been nestled between the bundles of muscles in their right thighs, but in Gordon's case all the hardware in his body had had an unexpected side effect- it acted like an antenna. He could almost feel the pinging as someone attempted to home in on him and Alan.

Gordon spat out some more bloody saliva, aiming for the closest of the four goons in the de regur of kidnapper fashion- dark, baggy clothes and balaclavas. He missed by about half a foot, but that was okay. Dude-missing-a-piece had progressed to whimpering as one of his fellow goons crudely bandaged his hand, so that left two that he had to continue to distract, to keep their hands off his little brother.

"So, you know what would be a really smart idea for you people to do?" He asked in a genial, conversational tone. "Leave, right now. 'Cause, you know, your guy over there really needs to get seen to- human bites are worse than dog bites and once infection sets in…" He shuddered. "Multicoloured pus, swelling, necrosis, gangrene, sepsis, oooh it's a whole bucket of nasty! He might lose his arm!" He grinned nastily again. "Have you ever heard the shrieking of someone who's literally rotting while still alive? It's nightmare fuel."

"Shaddup!" The goon he'd been aiming the spit at stepped closer and backhanded him across the face. Gordon rocked under the surprisingly powerful blow- yeah, that was going to leave a heck of a bruise- landing on his back. But it put him into the perfect position to draw his legs in and kick out at the guy's knees, now that he'd moved into range to hit him. Something, probably the kneecap, made a very satisfying crunch under his heel and the goon collapsed with a scream.

The other two managed to drag him away before he could hook his handcuffs around the guy's neck though, that was a pity. He shifted to kneel, still placed protectively in front of Alan, eyeing them and grinning like a sea leopard eyeing up a seal. "Anyone else want to try that?" He asked in a disconcertingly chirpy voice. "Two down, two to go, and my very pissed off backup is enroute."

"Actually, she's here."

Kayo launched herself at them from the darkened doorway, all fists and fury as she attacked without mercy. From behind him, there was a muted whine that resolved into the distinctive sound of one of their cutting lasers as Scott made a hole in the roof and dropped in to assist her, followed moments later by Virgil with the medical backpack. Alan was checked over first, an oxygen mask fitted over his face and cuffs removed, then Virgil turned his attention to Gordon. "Blood?" he asked as he cut the handcuffs off.

"Not mine." Gordon told him as Scott and Kayo finished mopping up, using the cables from Scott's grapple packs to tie up the goons and leave them for the GDF.

"Good." Medical mode slipped for a moment and Virgil squeezed his shoulder, his worry and relief shining through. "Let's get outta here."

"F.A.B."