"You're pretty handy with a gun."
Penelope presses her fingers against her thighs, inhales as deeply as she can, and turns to face Peter. "I am," she agrees. "They say he's okay - they just want to keep him to be sure." A pause. "Are you going to arrest me?"
Peter doesn't answer for a long time. Penelope isn't completely surprised; she knows that he has made more than a few exceptions where Neal has been concerned over the years, and Penelope isn't sure how much longer he can keep doing it.She isn't even completely certain that she supports Peter always fixing Neal's mistakes - he needs to answer for them, or what did those years in prison mean?
"I don't think that's necessary," Peter finally says, and he can't quite keep the tiredness from his voice. Penelope can't blame him - the most she can manage is a weak smile as she thanks him.
Her fingers tap briefly against her legs, in time with the machines hooked up to Neal's body. Neal has always had a way of looking tan regardless of the weather - he just glows - but under the harsh hospital lights, he seems washed out and fragile.
"I don't have to tell you that it wasn't always like this. Attic apartments in mansions and skyline views," Penelope finally says. Peter watches her silently. "I had to know how to fire a gun. And I had to be willing to do it."
"You're not so adverse to it."
"I will hurt somebody before they hurt me," she says.