As I've said before, I don't own 'em, just the ones I made up! Enjoy!

"I just don't get it! There's got to be a logical reason for the transponders shorting out, I just don't see it!" John frowned as he peered down at the computer screen. He punched in a series of codes, then sat back and watched as the computer ran through his data.

"Processing information."

"Yeah, no kidding." John muttered. "Just get on with it."

"Fatal error detected. Shutting down Thunderbird Five."

"Dammit!" John pounded the desk in frustration. He got to his feet and paced the length of the office, muttering to himself. "The transponders aren't holding. They're being overcharged somehow, causing them to blow. I ran the check on the internal power system and it all came back clear. So what is causing the overload?" John sat down at the desk again and glared at the screen. "Why won't you work!"

He sighed and spent a few minutes typing in a new series of commands. "Try this you worthless hunk of junk." He pounded in the last key. "Ha!"

"Processing information."

John merely stared at the screen.

"Transponders holding."

John sat up, his gaze fixed firmly on the screen in front of him. "Come on…"

"Power to Thunderbird Five has been re-set. You are now online."

"Yes!" John shouted. He put in a call to the island. "Brains, you getting this?"

"J-John! You managed to restore the p-p-power to TB 5?"

"Looks like it Brains. Turns out that the—"

"Fatal error detected. Shutting down Thunderbird Five."

John whirled back to his computer. "God-dammit!"

Brains sighed. "So much for t-t-that."

"I don't get it Brains. Something is overloading the whole system." John was baffled. Thunderbird 5 was his baby, he'd practically designed the whole computer mainframe by himself. "There's no logical reason why this keeps happening!"

"I'm just as con-con-con-perplexed as you are John." Brains shook his head and peered at his own computer.

"Did you run a diagnostics on the entire system? Sub-categories too?" John asked.

Brains nodded. "F-First thing I tried."

"Damn." John started thoughtfully at the screen.

"It's almost like s-s- some kind of…outside interference…" Brains mused.

John's head snapped up. "Are the perimeter cameras still working?"

"Y-Yes, why?"

John didn't answer, but hastily pulled up another screen. "Panning left….up a little….There! Brains, can you see this?"

"What is that?"

John peered at the tiny blinking box attached to the power cables on the outside of Thunderbird 5. "If I was to guess, I'd say it's a power modulator of some kind. Probably the reason we keep blowing the system."

Brains nodded. "Hood must have a-a-attached it to the missile." He bent over his own computer. "I've never s-s-seen anything like it. It could be some k-k-kind of homing device."

"Or he just didn't want us back up and operational." John mused.

"P-P-Probably both. How do w-w-we get rid of it?"

"Some one's going to have to go and pry it off." John shook his head. "Damn."

"Do you w-w-want me to talk to J-J-J-your father?"

John nodded. "Sure. I mean, you've got all the data there. Have him call me if he has any questions."

"FAB John. T-Talk to you s-s-soon." Brains's face disappeared from the screen.

John stared at the blank screen, his thoughts in turmoil. I should be up there helping. It's my 'bird. Or it was anyway. He sighed. I'm interested in what that thing turns out to be. And if it was actually the Hood who put it there. And if it was him, does that mean he wasn't trying to kill us in the first place? He got up and paced the office again, his left hand idly rubbing his left side. He's toying with us…with me. Like a cat with a mouse. Well, this is one mouse who's got teeth.

He was still working a few hours later when Christa walked in. "Hi there."

John looked up in surprise. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven."

John shook his head. "Huh, I guess I lost track of time."

She walked over to the desk. "Have you been working all day? I thought I told you to take it easy." Her eyes scanned his paperwork. "What are you working on?"

John hastily shut down the computer and shoved his notes into a desk drawer. "It's nothing. Just some stuff for my Dad. I've been here at the desk most of the day." He wrapped his arms around her waist as she sat on the desk. "How was your day?"

"Not bad. Only three traumas. A fairly quiet day in the inner city." She replied, bending over to kiss him.

"Hmmmm….." He held her close. "Love ya."

She smiled and ran her fingers through his platinum hair. "You've got more color today. Feeling better?"

"Yep." He leaded back in the chair. "Better enough that I'm sick of staying in the house. It's stopped raining, want to go out for dinner?"

"Sure! Just let me change."

A short time later, they were walking through the Common. "What are you in the mood for?" Christa asked.

"How about Italian? I know this great little dive bar in the North End." John grinned.

She swatted him lightly. "Brat. There's a nice little Malaysian place over in Chinatown. Want to go?"

"Sure. The people who work for us, the Belagant's, come from Malaysia. I kinda miss Onaha's cooking."

Christa laughed. "You need to put a few pounds on you. You're too thin!" She teased.

John grumbled under his breath but took her hand as they strolled into Chinatown. The rain had stopped and people were taking advantage of it, as the sidewalks were crowded. Soon they reached the restaurant and were able to get a small booth in the back.

John glanced at the menu. "Let me order."

Christa shrugged and shut hers. "OK, but nothing too spicy."

John just grinned and turned to the waitress, firing off an order in rapid Malay. The girl looked and him in surprise, then smiled and answered back. She then turned and hurried off to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plate of long crispy looking sticks. Smiling again at John, she went back to the kitchen.

Christa arched her eyebrow up at John. "You speak Malaysian?"

He shrugged. "A little."

"That was more than a little." She watched as a blush crept along his face. "Why are you blushing?"

He shrugged again. "I…like languages. I speak a few of them."

"Like what?"

"Just…a few."

"John, how many?"

He looked up at her. "Eight, counting English."

Christa's indigo eyes opened wide. "You speak eight languages? What are they?"

"French, German, Russian, Spanish, Malay, Mandarin Chinese, and Japanese." He said quietly. "And a little Greek, but not enough to be considered fluent."

Christa leaned back in her chair. "Wow." He looked up sharply at her. "No, I'm serious. That's pretty incredible. Considering I can barely speak English."

"I noticed when you 'pahked' my 'cah' the other day." John grinned at her.

"Brat." She timidly poked at the dish in front of her. "What is this exactly?"

John picked up one of the sticks and dunked it in the sauce. "Keropok Lekor. Try it, it's good."

She cautiously took one. "What is it made of?"

John shook his head. "If I tell you, you won't eat it." His eyes twinkled. "Unless you're chicken."

She frowned at him and bravely bit into her appetizer. "Well?" John asked.

"Not bad." She took another bite. "Quite good actually."

"Told you." He grabbed another one. "Its fish, ground into a paste, then mixed with spices."

Her hand froze, halfway to her mouth. "Fish paste?"

"Yep."

She shuddered and put it back on the plate. "I think I've had enough."

"Wimp."

"That's right." She stared at him a minute and grinned.

"What?" He asked.

"Eight languages huh? Brainy and hot. I am one lucky gal." Christa smiled seductively at him, the burst out laughing as he blushed again. "I love you." She told him as she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

John rolled his eyes, but grinned back. "Love you too."

They sat back and leisurely enjoyed their dinner, talking quietly and just taking pleasure in being together. When they had finished, both decided it was too early to head home, and hand in hand, they walked down the street. It was a warm night, in the mid-seventies. They made their way down to Faneuil Hall, all lit up for the tourists, and John paused at the flower shop and bought a pink rose. He handed it to Christa, making her indigo eyes twinkle.

"You're a hopeless romantic John Tracy." Christa said as she kissed him on the lips.

"One of my many virtues." John said, gazing down at her. Suddenly, he stiffened up, his eyes turning cold and wary.

"What is it?" Asked Christa, following his gaze.

John glanced around. "Let's go home." He took her hand firmly in his and started off, walking so fast he was nearly dragging Christa as she struggled to keep up.

"John wait!" She pulled her hand out of his grasp and stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just want to go home." John's eyes darted to and fro.

Christa planted her hands on her hips. "What is it John? What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid." John snapped, walking forward again.

Liar…Christa sighed and hurried after him. They walked along in silence, John looking behind him every once in a while. "John, there's no one there." Christa said quietly as they entered the gates to Boston Common.

"There was." John replied curtly.

Christa reached forward and placed her hand on his arm. "John, stop." He paused. "Talk to me."

John shook his head. "It's nothing."

"You don't have a panic attack like this over nothing." Christa met his gaze fearlessly. "Now talk to me."

"Not here…" He glanced around, his blue eyes wide with fear. "He'll find us."

"Who'll find us John?"

John shook his head again and looked away. "I can't…Christa I just want to go home."

The simple pleading of his request nearly broke her heart. "All right." She took his hand and they started off again. They had almost reached the far gate leading to the brownstone when a figure stepped out from the bushes. John started and instinctively pushed Christa behind him. The man stepped into view and John breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"What do you want?" John demanded.

"Just hand over your wallet and you'll be fine." The man growled.

"I don't think so." John's tone was icy.

"John just give it to him." Christa whispered behind him.

"Listen to her pal and no one gets hurt." The man reached under his jacket and pulled out a lethal looking knife. Christa gasped and pressed closer to John. "Now, hand over your wallet."

"Whatever you say." John started to reach into his jacket. The thug moved closer and John struck.

John's fist connected solidly with the man's face, staggering him backwards. Before the would-be robber could react, John followed up with a kick, knocking the knife to the ground. The man darted forward fists flying wildly. John pushed Christa away and met the man with fists of his own. They fought for a few minutes, then John scored a lucky punch and the man sprawled to the ground.

John grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet, slamming him up against a tree. "Still want my wallet?" John growled. He slammed the man against the tree again. The man yelped in pain. "Think its fun to prey on people?"

"John stop!" Christa pleaded.

This time John's fist connected with the man's midsection and he doubled over in pain. "This is easier than actually working for a living?"

"John don't! You'll kill him!" Christa tried to grab John's arm but he shook her off.

"This scum doesn't deserve any mercy." His voice and eyes were cold and utterly emotionless. John hit the man again, this time in the face. The man moaned and blood dripped down from his nose and lips.

"John stop this! You'll kill him!" Christa said again as pushed herself in between them. "Please John, stop!"

John let go of the man, and he sagged to his knees. John glanced around and spying the knife on the ground, grabbed it and hauled the thug to his feet again. He waved the knife under the man's nose and his eyes widened in fear. "Don't…don't kill me…Please!"

"I'm not like you. Now get out of here, and remember this next time you try and rob someone." John gave the man a shove and he fell. The man stumbled to his feet and without a backward glance, fled across the park.

John watched him go, breathing heavily, his eyes not quite sane. "J-John?" Christa called hesitantly.

The sound of her voice quivering snapped John back to reality. He turned and took her in his arms. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, clinging tightly to him. "Let's just go home."

They started forward, John keeping one arm wrapped around her, the other hand holding the knife he had taken from their attacker.

"What are you going to do with that?" Christa asked.

John paused and looked around. Then he smiled and marched towards the curb. He held the knife over the sewer grate and let go. It fell, landing with a splash. "That takes care of that." He turned back to Christa. Her face was pale and her eyes darted around in fear. "C'mon honey." He led her down the sidewalk and up the stairs into the house.

Once inside, John steered her to the couch. "Sit for a minute." He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured two drinks. Walking back, he sat down next to her and handed her a glass. "Here, drink this."

Christa eyed the glass and shook her head. "No." She got to her feet and wrapping her arms around herself, paced the living room.

John downed his whiskey in one swallow. "Honey, you need to relax. Sit down."

She whirled on him. "Relax? You want me to relax? We could have been killed!"

"It wasn't that bad Christa."

"Wasn't that bad! He had a knife John!"

"Operative word here is 'had.'"

"It's not funny John! You should have just given him what he wanted! But no, you had to be the big hero!" Tears ran down Christa's cheeks.

John got up and poured himself another drink. "So, letting him get away to do this to others was the right thing to do?" John's tone was eerily calm.

"That's not what I meant." Christa told him.

He turned and met her gaze. "Then what did you mean?" He asked, downing his drink again.

She turned and hugged herself again. "I don't know…It all happened so fast." She sighed then turned back to him. "Who were you running from? Before this happened?"

He avoided her eyes. "No one."

"Don't lie to me John."

"Drop it Christa. It's nothing."

"That wasn't nothing. You had a full blown panic attack. And by hiding at the bottom of your glass, you're avoiding dealing with it." She said to him.

"Back off. You have no idea what I'm going through." John shot back.

"I would if you'd just talk to me!" She cried. "But no, you withdraw back into yourself." She watched as he poured himself another shot of whiskey and she scowled at him. "That's your answer to everything isn't it? Just have another drink and it will all go away!"

John cursed and threw the glass across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered. "I don't want to talk about it." He growled, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"That's pretty obvious." Christa refused to back down.

John turned away from her, his body shaking. "Just leave me alone."

"No."

He whirled around. "Don't you get it! I want you to leave! Just go!"

Christa shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "No. Not until we finish this."

"It is finished." He sat down on the couch with his head in his hands.

"I don't think so." Her tone softened. "John, I love you, but I can't help you unless you let me in."

John didn't look up but shook his head. "I can't! He knows I'm here."

"Who knows?"

His body trembled and his breath was ragged. "He's here." He said again, this time looking up.

The anguish in his blue eyes nearly broke Christa's heart. "Oh John…" She knelt down in front of him and drew him close, holding him tightly against her chest and ran her fingers through his hair.

John leaned against her, clenching his eyes shut. He wrapped his arm around her, nearly crushing her. "I can't take this anymore Christa…I can't!"

"Who did you see John?" She asked him, more gently this time.

He pulled back and shook his head. "Him. The guy who did this to me."

Christa's eyes opened wide with shock. "He wasn't caught? He got away?"

John sighed and put his head in his hands again. "No, he's in jail, but…He can still hurt me. Hurt you."

Christa shivered. "We need to call the police. The FBI, someone!"

"NO!" John took a shuddering breath. "No. They wouldn't believe me."

"Your family then?" She started towards the phone, but John grabbed her arm.

"No, I can't tell them."

She frowned. "John, if you're in some sort of trouble, wouldn't you think they'd like to know?"

He smiled, a sad, thin, little smile. "No, they wouldn't." He sighed. "My family and I aren't exactly on the best of terms at the moment."

"Your father seemed fine when…that time…"

John shook his head. "That was an extenuating circumstance." He sighed again. "They…It wouldn't matter to them. Trust me." His voice was thick with emotion. Christa's eyes filled with tears as she drew him close once again. He rested his head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry Christa, I'm so sorry. Please don't leave. Don't leave me alone." He said brokenly.

"Never John. Never."