Houston: The Girl Of His Dreams Pt. 02

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.

"They don't even know where to start. I've sent information about it to our medical people. The doctor said if he stays out much longer there could be permanent brain damage. Told me I should prepare to take him off life support."

"Well, then, I guess we'd better find Barker and get the antidote, eh?" Roisin asked. Houston looked at her.

"I want to be there when you do," she said.

"I just happen to know the person in charge of that team. I think we can arrange that." Houston looked back at John.

"I can't bear to be without him, Roisin," she said. "He's everything to me. Tell me, have you ever loved someone like that?"

"I did, once," Roisin said quietly.

"That's right. Lt. James Harmon, U.S. Naval Attache Officer. Regis told me and I checked it out. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Roisin said. "We were very happy together. He asked me to marry him and I agreed. Then about six months later, I caught him in bed with some sleazy tart and threw him out. I couldn't believe the nerve of the wanker. He just looked at me and carried on without a word."

"We're not all like him, you know," Houston said.

"I know," Roisin said. "He just left a very sour taste in my mouth. In more ways than one." Houston smiled.

"Well, Lt. Harmon is now Lt. Commander Harmon, and he's been stationed in Antarctica for the last three years," Houston said. "He got caught screwing an admiral's daughter. She was barely 19. The admiral was so pissed, he sent Harmon to Antarctica and that's where he's been ever since. Got passed over for promotion twice now. I don't think he'll be in the Navy much longer." Roisin chuckled at that.

"I guess I dodged a bullet with that one," Roisin said.

"Yeah," Houston said. "You know, I almost blew it like that with John once. He gave me one hell of a wake up call, though. He had faith in me and stuck by me. I owe him everything, Roisin. Even my life. That's why I have to be there when you go after Barker."

"I understand," Roisin said.

"Roisin, I want to apologize for going off on you yesterday," Houston said. "It was unprofessional and I'm sorry."

"No worries," Roisin said. "We've been pretty hard on you and John and I can understand how you would feel. If it were my husband laying there, I might very well have done the same thing. And, I... apologize for being a bloody awful witch to you." Houston could tell it was hard for her to apologize. She nodded her head.

"Apology accepted. Why have you guys been so hard on us?" Houston asked. Roisin shrugged her shoulders.

"A few reasons," she said. "When they told us what it was all about, we figured it was just another wild goose chase. Most of us really didn't take it all that seriously. As far as we were concerned, it was all a bunch of crazy conspiracy theories. When we were told that two of our best people would be part of an exchange for some kind of joint briefing, we couldn't believe our ears."

"But you've changed your mind since then?"

"Yes," Roisin said. "I don't know who your boss talked to or what he said, but things have changed drastically. We had a very long meeting last night. They briefed us on the whole situation. And you could say we had a few rockets fired up our arses. Until then, we had no idea just how serious this was. So, starting today, the team is moving back to Vauxhall Cross. You will be given full unfettered access to whatever you need. And I've heard a rumor that the two of you may receive a letter of apology from the Home Secretary himself, delivered in person."

"Wow," Houston said.

"You were right about one thing, Houston," Roisin said. "Barker was tipped off by someone on the inside. But it wasn't me."

"Do you have any idea who it was?"

"Yes, we have a few suspects. We'll know for sure soon enough," Roisin said. "Tell me, Houston, when was the last time you slept?"

"I honestly don't remember," Houston told her.

"Well, if you expect to be on my team when we go back after Barker, you need to get some sleep. Understand?" Houston nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said. "I can rack out on the couch over there for a bit. I just feel like I need to be here with my husband."

"Very well," Roisin said. "I was just wondering something."

"What?" Houston asked.

"Isn't it a bit... odd for you and your husband to be assigned to each other as partners?"

"It is," Houston said. "But Regis -- my boss -- kinda marches to the beat of his own drum, if you know what I mean. And no one questions him. At least, no one with the desire to keep his balls intact questions him." Roisin chuckled at that.

"I don't doubt that at all. Here, let me give you my mobile number. You can ring me up if there's anything you might need. I'd better get over to the old house and make sure they have everything packed up." She extended a hand to Houston. "Truce?" Houston looked at her hand and smiled.

"Truce," she said, shaking Roisin's hand. "And thanks for the coffee." After Roisin left, Houston finished her coffee, then laid down on the couch that ran alongside John's bed and fell asleep.

* * * * *

"They know everything, I'm telling ya," the man said as he spoke into his mobile phone.

"They can't know everything. That's impossible," the man at the other end of the call said.

"They certainly know enough. They know about you and the Yank First Lady. They also know about the cash you've been bringing over from the States."

"How?"

"I don't know, but they do." The man at the other end of the call sighed. "So, what do you want us to do?"

"I'm thinking. Have you spoken to Clive yet?"

"No, not since all this blew up."

"Good. Does he still have the antidote?"

"As far as I know."

"Get it from him. Then take care of him. Permanently. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong or something. We can't have any loose ends."

"What about the American agent he shot? You want me to finish him as well?"

"No. There's still a chance we can get out of this. Make it look as though you took the initiative and recovered the antidote. That should throw everyone off for a while."

"You want me to help the American? After all this?"

"What are you complaining about? You'll end up looking like the hero."

"I don't like it."

"That's the way it has to be. And it has to be done today."

"Why today? What's the rush?"

"It's going down tonight." The man said nothing for a few moments as he took in what he just heard.

"Right. I'll take care of it today. Personally."

"See that you do." The call ended and the man put the phone in his pocket. He looked at the other man with him.

"Well, what did he say?" the man asked.

"We have a job to do. Give Clive a ring. Now."

"Then what?"

"You go meet him. Get the antidote. You know what to do after that. I'll go to the hospital. I'll pretend to be concerned about Smith. You meet me there with the antidote."

"What about the Yank? And his wife?"

"I'll take care of him. Personally. I owe him one," he said, looking at his hand, which was still a bit sore from the twisting he received from John that day in the kitchen.

"What about his wife?"

"We'll take care of her together. I've got what I need to get her good and ready. Once her husband is awake, we'll give her the shagging of her life. Then we take care of both of them."

"You saw what she did to Roisin that first day. You really think we'll be able to take her?"

"Parlor trick. Trust me, she's as soft as she looks."

"I hope you're right. I'll ring up Clive now."

* * * * *

Somewhere in the middle of the MI6 building at Vauxhall Cross, five people sat in a darkened room as they listened to audio of an overseas phone call. The only illumination in the room came from the computer monitors in front of them.

The man in front of the computer clicked on an icon and confirmed the phone at the overseas end was located somewhere in the U.S. Midwest. The official map had no name for the location, but two of those in the room knew it was the location of a secure U.S. Government facility known to many as Fort Apache, the headquarters of the HomeFront Security Task Force.

They also knew it was the current location of Prime Minister Brown, who was there to participate in a top-secret briefing with the newly-inaugurated American President. The conversation they just heard and recorded was thanks to one of the men who sat in the back of the room.

"That feckin' prick," Roisin hissed. "So much for being out sick." She turned to the one-eyed man sitting in the back of the room. "You were right. Tell me, are all of our mobiles equipped with that surveillance chip?"