Before I upload chapter 26 of 'Shore Leave', I just caught a glimpse of John by himself, thinking on how his life had changed since meeting Karen. Whether you see this as an exercise in self-indulgence or a little add-on to the main story (which can be found in the M Ratings), I hope you find it to your liking. To regular readers of Shore Leave, thank you so much for your incredible support. I'm not looking forward to wrapping up the story because it's been my baby for so long, but there may just be a sequel one day.

Teobi xx

SHORE LEAVE and Interlude are both set in the TV-Verse.

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John Tracy stood at the open kitchen window while bacon crackled and spat in the pan. It was shaping up to be another hot tropical day, small birds flitting from palm frond to palm frond, the gentle warmth of the morning breeze caressing his cheek and toying with the little curl of blond hair that always hung over his forehead- the curl that she was always twining round her fingers as they lay together in the afterglow.

If anyone fit the Eternal Bachelor mould, it was John Tracy. The lone wolf. The intellectual, the one who didn't mind the endless hours of alone-time up on Thunderbird 5. To an extent this was true, but all human beings needed some kind of love if they weren't to wither and die. Even lone wolves and intellectuals. He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Like a force of nature she'd buffeted and thrown him, like a typhoon hitting the deck of a ship, a tornado lifting up a house, an earthquake shaking his foundations to the very core. Love had proven itself to be every bit as nerve wracking and unpredictable as any one of the danger zones he and his brothers had ever encountered. And while there was more chance of him physically surviving the cataclysmic effects of romantic love, there was still every chance his mental faculties would be left battered and bruised and altered forever.

He flipped bacon, cracked eggs. This was a nice, normal, routine activity. A sparrow hopped onto the windowsill, probably the one that Scott was always feeding. He threw it a piece of bread and watched with a smile as it flew off with the crust clamped tightly in its beak.

His fingernails were still painted lilac, although he'd managed to dislodge the little gold star she'd placed on his middle finger by picking at it constantly. Nerves? He didn't think so. A subconscious railing against the way she'd changed his life? He hoped not. He didn't think he could ever go back to his old way of life now- even if he wanted to.

But I don't want to. Do I?

He continued to flip the eggs. He already knew just how she liked them done, and he made sure he got them perfect. A little crispy around the edges, the white still soft but the yolk not too runny. He'd crack another egg if he got it wrong- Scott would always be on hand to eat the rejects.

As he flipped the eggs he began whistling.

Maybe that was all love was. Knowing how your loved one liked their eggs, and never giving up until you got it right.