London, England

December 16 1991

Showing him around the beautiful space, the Claridge's butler asked whether he had any questions, made it clear he was available at any time of the day and then left him alone to rest before his dinner reservation.

Pouring himself a glass of water, thirsty and tired after the long flight, he sat down and admired the living room of the historic suite.

It was entirely too much for one person but he supposed the travel agent hadn't thought he'd be alone when he'd mentioned needing a place to stay while he spent the holidays with his wife and son. Sly would have understood his request, unfortunately though, Sly didn't work for him anymore. Actually, nobody worked for him anymore, he didn't even work himself.

Yawning, he looked at his watch which read 8.15am, a reminder firstly that he needed to change it to local time, and secondly that he'd effectively been awake all night. First class was meant to be comfortable, and comparatively it was, but flying just wasn't his thing and he'd never arrived in another time zone without feeling jetlagged.

Doing the conversion in his head, he noted he had another five or so hours before he had to be up for dinner so a rest was easily attainable.

Showering and throwing on a fresh pair of pyjamas, he didn't bother to call for turndown service, falling asleep soon after pulling the covers over himself.

He dreamt, he always dreamt, and recently he'd dreamt the same things, repeating night after night.

He had a wife and a son, they were here, or he was there, whatever it was there was less than a mile between them now.

He hadn't seen either of them for a long time; John Ross had run from him back in April, and Sue Ellen had moved away more than a year ago now, but he could picture them so clearly, his memory was still sharp.

Things could be as they had been before, they could be happy; John Ross said he'd forgiven him, and once upon a time Sue Ellen had promised him she'd always love him. They weren't where they were supposed to be, but that was about to change.

Startled by a sound, he didn't register where he was or what was going on at first, but as the ringing became more persistent he roused.

"Good evening Mr Ewing, this is your wakeup call."

Grumbling a thank you, he hung up the phone and lay back down. He was exhausted and it didn't feel like he'd been asleep for hours, but according to the clock on the nightstand and the orange glow of lights in the windows of the building opposite him, it was definitely not early afternoon anymore.

Willing himself to get out of bed, he wandered into the bathroom to freshen up again, feeling much better showered, shaved and dressed.

Pouring himself a drink, he walked around the suite, watching the world go by outside the window as he waited for the clock to turn to 7.00pm, knowing that when it did his trusty butler would almost magically appear by his side.

So far, London was as he remembered it, but he was aware he'd been sheltered since his arrival, so he couldn't be entirely sure that it really was the same. One thing was certainly different, his wife and son were residents. Dallas was his town, but London was theirs.

They knew he was here, he'd arranged it with them, both of them, but that didn't mean he was confident that they truly wanted to see him.

It had started with a letter, one he suspected John Ross might have been required to write for a school assignment because it was incredibly well spoken, far more than the subsequent ones that reflected his natural voice as he remembered it.

A single letter had turned into correspondence exchanged once or twice a month, then the request for a phone call, then weekly phone calls. John Ross wasn't yet a man, but he was showing maturity far beyond his years. He had acknowledged what he'd done wrong, he'd acknowledged where he felt he'd been wronged, and he'd suggested a path to right the wrongs of the past.

Sue Ellen was more complicated. He hadn't had any written correspondence from her, and every phone call they'd had had been short and singularly focused. She cared about their son and she'd made sure he realised that he couldn't come to London expecting to pick up where he'd left off in Dallas months ago; John Ross had changed and she hoped he had too.

Everything he knew about his wife and son's lives abroad came from other people; he hadn't yet seen anything for himself and he felt he needed to, which was part of the reason why he'd made the trip.

He had expectations, ones he was counting on not being too unrealistic, because he missed having a family, he missed having a purpose, and if his trip to London wasn't all he'd imagined it to be he didn't know what he'd do with the remainder of his time.

"Good evening sir," knocking, entering the living room, his butler announced what he'd been expecting, "your car is here."

"Thank you."

Setting his glass down, he accepted the coat his butler had kindly retrieved for him and then followed the man out of the room and down the hallway.

He had plans for his vacation, and they started tonight.