Houston: The Girl Of His Dreams, Pt. 02
The following story is set shortly after "
Houston Goes To Washington, Pt. 03
" and runs concurrent with "
Revenge in Advance: The Briefing
." For the full story of John and Houston, I suggest you read my series, "Houston," and the follow-up series, "Houston Goes To Washington."
There are a number of people I would like to thank for helping to make this story a reality. I would like to start by thanking Colinthedog for giving permission to reference events and characters from his story, "Retreat." I would also like to thank ACSpectre1 and QuantumMechanic1957 for their assistance as well. Others have helped with beta reading and getting me through some of my "Americanisms." To them I extend a hearty "thank you."
Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...
* * * * *
The end of "Houston: The Girl Of His Dreams, Pt. 01":
"That's right," Regis said. "Everything our two countries have built up over the last 100 years or more would be gone, like THAT," he added, snapping his fingers. "My agents were this close," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger very close together, "to busting the whole damn thing wide open when my man was attacked. And that was despite your people's best efforts to stonewall them."
"You think my people may have been in on it?" Brent asked.
"My agent -- Houston Smith -- believes someone tipped them off," Regis said. "The only ones who knew they were going to Hackney were my agents and Callahan's team."
Brent sat in his chair, thinking about the potential ramifications and considering all his possible moves. He stroked his chin as he played political chess in his head. He finally came to a decision and looked at Regis.
"What do you need from me?" he asked.
"Well, for starters, something a bit more civilized than this crap you call coffee," Regis said with a sly smile. Brent smiled back. Yes, perhaps this American was redeemable after all, he thought to himself.
* * * * *
And now, "Houston: The Girl Of His Dreams, Pt. 02"
The next morning, John woke up, pulled back the covers and got out of bed. He looked and saw his clothes neatly folded on a chair in the bedroom. After rinsing his mouth out in the bathroom, he did his business and got dressed.
Just then, Houstonia came into the room with a tray. She walked through the bedroom and out onto a balcony before calling to him.
"You need your strength, John," she said. "Please join me on the balcony. It is such a nice morning." He went onto the balcony and he had to agree. The temperature was just right and there was a slight breeze blowing. He looked down at the plate and saw what looked like scrambled eggs. He sat down and began eating. Yes, they tasted like scrambled eggs with a bit of salt and pepper, just the way he liked them.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked.
"It's not necessary," she said.
He finished the eggs and drank the dark, hot liquid from the cup in front of him. Coffee, with just a hint of cinnamon. It was rather delicious, so he gulped down half the cup in one swallow.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
"I slept well, thank you," he told her.
"Did you dream?" she asked.
"Yes, I had a rather strange dream," he said. "I was in a room. There was a woman sitting next to a bed. She looked a lot like you, in fact. Except for her hair. There was a man in the bed. I couldn't see his face, but there were a lot of tubes and wires attached to him. The woman was crying. I felt bad for her. I wanted to comfort her, but when I reached out, my hand went right through her. It's strange -- I felt like I knew that woman, like we have some kind of connection. I can't explain it."
"The girl of your dreams, perhaps, John Smith?" she asked rhetorically.
"I don't know. None of it made any sense to me."
Houstonia nodded her head and looked out over the strange landscape.
"You will not be able to stay here much longer, I am afraid," she said sadly.
"Why not?"
"The corpuscles are gaining in strength and numbers. When they are ready, they will come for you."
"Can't you do something?" John asked. "You're the Queen Protector. Surely you can make them see reason." She smiled at that.
"You don't understand. The corpuscles do not reason, and they do not understand language. They are driven by instinct and programming. It is their job to eradicate and remove invaders to the System."
"Is that what I am? An invader? And what is this System?"
"The System is all that you see. Urhart is just one part of it. North of us is Urmind. There are many other realms. Together, all of them make up the System, and when one realm suffers, the entire System suffers. And yes, technically, you are an invader and you have not yet been accepted by the System. Perhaps one day, if you survive, you will be. But that may take a very long time, and there is no guarantee you will ever be fully integrated. Look at yourself, then look around. Surely you can see the difference."
"Of course I can see the difference," John said. "So, what do we do?"
"As much as I would like you to stay, the truth is we need to find a way to get you back where you belong," she said. "Of course, you are welcome to remain here as my guest. And you may remain in my bed while you are here." She looked out over the landscape before speaking again. "There's a storm brewing. You probably shouldn't stay out here too long."
John looked and saw a gathering of large red clouds in the distance. As he watched, he saw flashes of lightning jump between them and he felt the humidity suddenly increase.
"Good idea," he said as he stood up.
* * * * *
Houston sat in the chair next to John's bed, her head in her hands. She had spent much of the night crying for her husband, hoping to get news that someone had figured out how to counteract the drugs that had been pumped into his system.
She thought back over the days leading up to the visit to Clive Barker's flat. She couldn't understand why Roisin and some of her colleagues hated them so much. This wasn't their first trip to the UK, and so far, most of the people they had encountered there were quite warm and friendly.
She remembered one day as she and John were walking along the sidewalk. A group of rather rough-looking teenagers dressed in leather came up to them. She wondered if they were going to attempt a mugging, but one of them simply asked if John had the time.
"Pardon me, sir, but would you happen to have the time?"
"Of course," John said, looking at his watch. He told them what time it was, and the teen who asked simply nodded his head and thanked them.
"Thank you very much, sir," he said. The group strolled off and they continued walking down the sidewalk, taking in the scene around them. They always enjoyed visiting new places and meeting new people. So, she wondered, why was Roisin and some of the others so rude to them? What had they ever done to deserve such treatment?
She recalled the day that John nearly ended up in a fight with one of Roisin's men. It was their second day here, and Ross had just wrapped up their morning briefing. Most of the others had gone off to do whatever it was they had been assigned to do, and she went to the sink to rinse out her cup.
She felt a man's hand on her ass, and was about to respond, when the hand was suddenly removed and she heard John's voice. She turned and saw that John had put the taller man's hand in a vice-lock and had him on his knees on the floor. John's face was red with anger as he spoke to the man.
"What's your name again, asshole?" John asked.
"Sheffield," the man responded through his pain.
"Ah, that's right. Shithead," John said. "Tell you what, Shithead. The woman you just assaulted happens to be an agent of the United States government. She also happens to be my partner AND my wife. If you ever assault her again, I swear to God I'll personally introduce you to levels of pain you can't even begin to imagine. Understand me, Shithead? I said, DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?" Sheffield nodded his head as John continued to put pressure on his hand and wrist.
"Yes, I understand," he gasped. "I'm sorry." John released the man's hand and watched as he tumbled back on the floor. He turned to Houston.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. Houston nodded her head and John turned to Ross and Roisin, who stood there, watching the altercation. By then, a few others had gathered at the door and were watching intently.
"Try to keep your fucking animals under control, willya?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he escorted Houston out of the kitchen, pausing long enough to punch a hole in the wall by the doorway. The others got out of the way as John and Houston walked through them. They turned and looked at the large hole in the wall left by John's fist. One of them helped Sheffield get back on his feet.
"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, Sheffield, I'll have you sacked. Understand me?" Roisin snarled. "That goes for all of you."
"Yes, mum," Sheffield said sheepishly. The others nodded their heads and went back to their business. Roisin may not have thought much of the two Americans, but she was not about to tolerate sexual harassment from anyone.
Houston was brought back to the present by the sound of tapping on the door. Perhaps it was a nurse or a doctor coming in to check on her husband. She wiped the tears from her face before responding.
"It's open," she said. She heard the door open and looked to see who was coming in. She was shocked to see Roisin step inside, a smile on her face. She held a drink carrier in her hand with two cups.
"I stopped at the Starbucks over by Hyde Park," she said. "I thought you might enjoy a caramel mocha this morning. I understand that's a favorite." Houston smiled and nodded her head.
"That sounds good," she said. "Thank you." Roisin handed her a cup and took the other for herself. She pulled up a chair and sat next to Houston.
"How is he?" she asked, looking at John.
"He seems to be resting for the moment," Houston said. "He goes through periods where he tosses and turns and his vitals are all over the place. But right now, he's okay." She looked at Roisin and noticed that she actually seemed concerned about her husband's well-being. And the coffee surprised her. "So, who are you and what have you done with Roisin Callahan?" she asked with a smile. Roisin smiled at that.
"This is the real me, I assure you," she said. "What did the doctor say?"
"They say he was hit with a very potent psychotropic compound that's affecting his entire nervous system," Houston said.
"Are they working up a cure?" Roisin asked. Houston shook her head.
