A/N: This is it, The End, Le fin, El finito, V kontse, etcetera etcetera etcetera... It's been fun and I'm sorry I keep getting distracted with other stuff (i.e. Home from the Sea. End of shameless plug!). But finally, in the words of the man himself, "All good things must come to an end. What are you gonna show me now?!" Seriously, anyone who says Jeff and Penny didn't have a thing going on aren't watching the right episodes! Well, I'm gonna show you what Jeff's like when he's naked and in a good mood. That's right, I went there!

Dedicated with hugs to the only lady I know who is 100% Team Jefferson - Tikatu. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Apparently I'm not allowed a 50% share in Gordon. I dunno, just because I described him as 'a sort of ginger Ryan Lochte'...! Damn you, Gerry!

Jeff

It was a tough business, being in charge of two international organisations. Tracy Enterprises and International Rescue both needed a strong, able-bodied man to be at the helm. There was no doubt that Jefferson Grant Tracy was, in all ways possible, a strong and able-bodied man.

Sometimes, though, even the most able of men needed a little time on their own for quiet contemplation. Jefferson was no exception. He needed a place far away from the woes of the world, where people didn't need rescuing, nobody needed his signature for anything and where he could just spend a pleasant fifteen or twenty minutes not being Mr Tracy or Dad - he could just be plain old Jeff. He could relax, recouperate and ready himself physically and mentally for whatever the rest of his day had to throw at him.

After his leisurely breakfast and umpteen cups of coffee, Jeff leaned back in his chair, stretched out until his neck, elbows and knees cracked, and he yawned contentedly.

"Well this isn't getting anything accomplished," he said to himself. "Let's get this day underway! Jefferson Is Go!"

"Who on earth are you talking to?" his mother demanded, standing behind him with her hands on her hips. Jeff practically jumped out of his skin and let out a shriek of fright.

"Mother!" he yelped.

"'Mother'? You weren't talking to me!" his mother answered. "Right, you sitting there all day isn't going to get you anywhere, go and get dressed, young man."

"Mother. I'm fifty-six years old. I run two international companies. I have five children of my own who still live with me. I think I can manage to organise my morning routine unaided."

"Then stop talking to yourself like a madman and get out of my breakfast room," his mother answered, completely unimpressed by his rant. Jeff stood up, a little defeated.

"If we're going to get technical, it's my breakfast room," he told her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"If we're going to get technical, I'm your mother and I still outrank you! Quit with the backchat!" she ordered, pointing in the general direction of his bedroom. "Don't forget to wash behind your ears!" she called after him, unable to surpress a shout of laughter at the end of her sentence.

Jeff closed his eyes and counted to ten silently before heading to his room to get ready. He closed the bathroom door behind him, leaned heavily against it and sighed. He had to be the only man in his mid-fifties who still got ordered around by his mother.

"Maybe it's not too late to get her into a nursing home," he mused, before sighing again and shaking his head in resignation. "She'd only orchestrate an elaborate escape and wreak havoc onto an unsuspecting public, they'd probably blow up a hospital, International Rescue'd be called in... it's too much hassle. No, I'm stuck with her until we bury her."

Before he allowed himself to start casually contemplating matricide, he got into the shower and switched the radio on. Jeff was the only man out of all the Tracys, including Virgil, who loved to sing in the shower. He fancied himself as something of a Frank Sinatra type and loved to belt out a couple of his more famous numbers while soaping himself down. The opening bars to his favourite song began and Jeff let out a groan of delight.

"Aw, Frankie, how did you know?!" he muttered, turning the volume up to the maximum.

The sweet sounds of Fly Me To The Moon could be heard wafting through Tracy Villa, accompanied half a beat out of time by Jeff's dulcet baritone.

"Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars... doo dee dum dee dah de dah on Jupiter and Mars...!" he sang with gay abandon, scrubbing the back of his neck and shoulders.

Virgil sat at his piano and leaned his forearm heavily on his keys, then rested his forehead on his arm.

"Grandma, tell me I got Mom's singing voice," he begged. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry, Virgil, but you're all Tracy," she replied, shaking her head.

"In other words, hooold my haaand... in other words... baaaaaaaaby kiss meee...!" Jeff crooned.

"Say, Dad sounds in a good mood," Scott declared, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in his hand. Virgil looked up at Scott, fixed him with a withering glare and started playing the Funeral March on the piano.

Jeff, of course, was blissfully unaware of their conversation and let out a whoop of delight when the next song to be played on the radio turned out to be That's Amore by Dean Martin. He subsequently proceeded to belt that out at the top of his voice, imagining that he was on stage at Carnegie Hall.

"Oh, crap!" Mrs Tracy groaned, burying her face in her hands. Virgil gasped.

"Grandma!" he chided her. She glared at him.

Eventually, Jeff finished his imaginary concert and got out of the shower after three encores and a standing ovation to brush his teeth and shave. He continued humming various swing classics to himself during his shave and even started wiggling his hips in time to the music that was still playing in his head as he carefully continued dragging cold steel fearlessly across his throat.

He grimaced as he patted Old Spice onto his freshly shaved skin, but the stinging sensation didn't last for too long and, after combing his hair carefully in the mirror, he stood back and briefly admired his handiwork.

"Still got it, big fella," he told himself with a wink as he went into his room to get dressed.

His peculiarly good mood was still in place after he'd dressed himself and started dancing along the corridor, still with Fly Me to the Moon stuck firmly in his head.

"You are all I long for, all I worship and adore," he sang softly.

"Good morning, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, Tin-Tin, it's a beautiful day," he told her, cheerily. She nodded.

"You seem in a particularly good mood today," she pointed out. He beamed at her.

"Tin-Tin, I feel great - I think today is going to turn out just swell," he replied. Without further conversation, he swept her up in his arms and proceeded to waltz her into the living room, much to everyone's amazment.

"Mr Tracy!" she exclaimed, a little breathlessly.

"In other words, pleeease be truuuueee... In other words, Iiiiii looooove yoooouuuu!" he sang, twirling Tin-Tin around the living room floor and finishing into a spectacular dip.

Virgil couldn't help himself from bursting out into spontaneous applause. When Jeff finally released his grasp on Tin-Tin, Scott absentmindedly pulled her close to him, mouth agape and his eyes bulging out of his head in surprise. He didn't think he'd ever seen his father so happy in his life.

"Oh! Mr Tracy!" she sighed, not altogether sure that she wasn't swooning a little.

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. Now then, I think it's time for Coffee Number Nine," he declared, strolling merrily into the kitchen. Tin-Tin looked up at Scott, who was still utterly flabbergasted.

"I tell you something, Scott, your father has certainly still got it!" she told him. "You want to take a few tips from him about sweeping a girl off her feet!" Scott blinked a few times, still unsure whether or not he was actually awake.

"I dunno about him having got it, Tin-Tin - I'm pretty sure he's starting to lose it!" he answered, scratching his head in confusion.

THE END