WARNING: references to torture, whipping, and stitches.

Poor Unfortunate Souls

English thunderstorms were not the spectacular events that one witnessed in other countries. More often than not, they seemed to occur in the dead of night, so ordinarily Penelope missed them. Which was a pity because she did quite enjoy them. There was just something about the rain on the windowpanes, the patterns it formed, illuminated by forks of lightning streaking across the sky that she loved. And she'd never been scared of thunder – instead, she found it soothing. If there was one thing that could lull her to sleep if she had not already drifted, it was the sound of thunder.

Only, tonight she was neither sleeping through it nor being soothed by it. Tonight, her mind was as tumultuous as the sky. She supposed that was to be expected. These last few days had been… troubling.

She'd been investigating a lead on the Hood – escaped from prison, again – which had led her to an abandoned storage facility. While the man himself had not graced her with his presence, there was certainly plenty of evidence left in his wake, including some rather brutish henchmen. Now, Penelope was perfectly capable of handling herself, thank you very much, but there were seven of them and they were easily three times her weight. Really it was impressive that she managed as well as she did – she'd managed to knock six of them unconscious before the last one snuck up on her with a taser. Always room for improvement.

After that she'd been treated to rather torturous stay in one of the units. Hung from the ceiling by her wrists with her toes just scraping the floor, it was about as far from a five-star stay as you could get. Whipping was a rather old-fashioned form of torture in Penny's opinion, but the henchmen – freshly reawakened from their state of unconsciousness – seemed to rather enjoy it. Each blow she received seemed to return a little of their lost masculinity to them. It was quite juvenile. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her pain – her face was stone and not a single sound escaped her.

The seventh henchman – the one that she hadn't knocked out – stepped up next, wielding a knife. Apparently, he'd decided they'd had enough fun and was determined to finish it. By now she'd realised that they had no idea who she was and that the torture really was just an act of revenge. They didn't know her value, nor was she about to reveal it to them in an attempt to spare her own life. Had he been told, The Hood would have used her to leverage information, or perhaps to lure one of the Tracy boys to him. It was better that he was none the wiser to her visit, or that if he did find out she was already dead.

As it happened, it was at that moment that Parker and Gordon arrived. They made quite the entrance too, crashing through the wall in FAB1. Two henchmen were taken down by debris alone. Another two had succumbed to the wrath of Parker and Big Alice, and Gordon had seen to the rest. Then they'd cut her down, hurried her back to the car, and taken her to the nearest hospital. They'd kept her in for two nights before sending her home, and Gordon hadn't left her side the whole time.

He still hovered around her when she was home, too. Apparently, his father had allowed him to take the week off to ensure she was okay, and he'd taken the liberty of ensuring that she wasn't disturbed by work either. In fact, the only time Gordon did leave her alone was the day after her return from the hospital, when Parker had finally snapped and scolded her for going in alone. They still weren't on speaking terms, and she knew it was making Gordon nervous. Especially when she turned her wrath on him.

The kitchen light flicked on, and she blinked owlishly. Turning slowly so as not to tug her stitches, she gave a strained smile to the figure in the doorway. 'Do come in, Gordon, I won't bite this time.'

He sat down on the opposite side of the table, helping himself to some tea from the pot. Of course, he knew she'd made enough for two, just as she'd known he'd join her eventually. Afterall, he was sleeping in the guest room, which she had to pass on her way down the stairs. He'd have been listening out for her anyway, trying to gauge whether or not to follow her.

'I couldn't sleep,' he said finally.

Penelope nodded. 'Yes, the storm's quite loud, isn't it?'

'I've heard louder.' It wasn't a brag, just the truth. English thunderstorms were a walk in the park compared to the kind they got on Tracy Island. 'Actually, I was… I felt guilty, you know.'

'Guilty?'

'Yeah.'

'What on earth for?'

Gordon raised an eyebrow at her. 'You're kidding, right?'

'No, I'm not.' She reached across the table, taking his hands in her own. 'This wasn't your fault. This is my job, and I'm well enough aware of the risks.'

'Oh. Oh no, that's not – that's not what I'm talking about,' he replied. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he was trying to find the right words. 'I just… Okay, so I know what it's like to be the injured party. I know what it's like to have people constantly asking if you're okay and getting in your personal space because they're fretting. I know what that's like, and I hate it… but on the other side of it, I do exactly the same thing. And I think, maybe, that I made you feel like a damsel in distress and that I was trying to be the hero, swooping in and saving you and taking care of you. That was so not my intention, and I'm really sorry if I made you feel… small. Or weak. Especially because you're join top three of the most badass women I know, and I know you could knock me flat on my ass in a fight. You're strong and ferocious, and you're more than capable of taking care of yourself. I'm sorry if my behaviour made you think that I didn't know that. Because I do. And I'm so, so sorry.'

That was… a lot to take in. But then that was Gordon – his mouth tended to run away with him. Especially when he was nervous, and Penelope knew she made him plenty nervous. What she was still learning though was how open he was about his feelings. Her family were very much the smile-through-the-pain type. Openness simply wasn't in her DNA. She was still getting used to the way he rambled and gushed; but it was endearing, to say the least.

'Darling, you have nothing to apologise for,' she assured him. 'I'll admit you've been… a little overbearing. But it's simply that I'm not used to affection being shown that way.'

'I can reign it in –'

'I don't want you to. I don't. Why do we always have to reign our emotions in all the time? It's horribly British.' Her own words caught her slightly off-guard, and she was surprised to have actually meant them. Because she did. 'Gordon, I – yes, I've been in a terrible mood since I came home the other day. But it's because I've been… annoyed at myself for letting myself get into that situation, and not being able to save myself.'

Gordon frowned. 'We all need help sometimes. Even at the things we're best at.'

'I know.' She smiled. 'And, sweetheart, as much as your fussing… reinforced that feeling, my anger was never really aimed at you. Because nobody other than Parker has ever cared for me like that before. I don't think I've ever felt so loved.'

'Oh.' A blush crept onto his cheeks, and he returned her smile. 'Well, in that case, I'm happy to oblige. But I still think I can stand to take it down a notch on the fussing; just thinking about it has made me annoyed at myself.'

She rose slowly from her seat, accepting his outstretched hand to steady her before tugging him up to join her. 'Come along, back to bed. I daresay we could both use the rest.'

'I can walk you back to your room if you'd like?'

'I think I'd much prefer it if you joined me, darling,' she replied. 'That way I don't have to worry about you worrying about me all night.'

Gordon grinned. 'You sure? I've been told I'm a flailer.'

'Oh really?'

'Yep. Swim in my sleep.'

'Well then –' she tugged him down the hall – 'I'll just have wrap you up extra tight.'