Title:Picking Up the Pieces (1/2)
Date Written: 3/27/03
Author: JanetD
Rating: PG (mild language)
Summary: This is a follow-up to my alternate universe story, Nick's Alternate Reality. In that story, rather than being assigned probation and community service, Nick was sentenced to twenty-four months in a minimum security prison. This story picks up with Nick being released on parole some thirteen months later.
Author's Notes: 1) Please keep in mind as you read this story, that I have projected what would happen in the TG universe if Nick had gone to prison (e.g., he would never have worked at LSP). Therefore, certain changes that we have seen take place at his father's law firm on TG, have not taken place here.
2) In the original story, I made reference to Nick's house. This was a boo-boo, as we have been told on more than one occasion that Nick was living in an apartment when he was busted for drug possession. Therefore, I have rectified that mistake this go 'round.
3) Thanks go to Goldie and Meghan for the beta reads.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.

Monday, Sept. 30th, 2002 10:30AM

A black Cadillac stood parked in front of the gates of the Waynesburg Minimum Security Correctional Institution. Its single occupant smoked a cigarette while staring intently at the entrance. After a few moments, a door next to the gates opened, and a lone figure came through--a man in his early thirties, dressed in dungarees and a long-sleeved blue shirt. He carried a bag of personal possessions in his arms. The man's dark-blonde hair was longish, and curling locks stuck out at awkward angles around his head. A few of these locks now glinted brightly in the Autumn sunshine. Catching sight of his son, Burton Fallin's heartbeat quickened. He made a rapid exit from the car--discarding his cigarette--and strode forward eagerly. As he drew closer, it struck him again how much thinner Nick's face looked now than it had when he had entered Waynesburg some thirteen months ago. He's lost weight, no question about it, Burton thought. Well...that will take care of itself soon enough. Now that Nick was free, and could eat what he wanted, Burton was confident his son would regain his normal appetite.

Burton was smiling broadly as he closed the remaining distance between Nick and himself, and he was glad to see his son smiling in return. the older man said joyfully, as he covered the last few feet. Before Nick had time to react, Burton had grabbed him by the arms and pulled him forward into a bear hug. Nick allowed himself to be held for a couple seconds, and then broke away from the embrace. he said in a chiding tone.

Ah, sorry, Burton said, his eyes wet with emotion. Well, uh, you look great, Nicholas. Just great. He allowed himself another few seconds to just gaze at his son--his son, at last out of that hated prison garb. Then he said, Uhm, well, I imagine you're eager to get out of here. So let's, let's go.

As father and son began the walk to the car, Nick asked, Got a cigarette?



Burton reached into his pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes. With his other hand, he retrieved his lighter. He gave both to Nick, who quickly lit up. Much to Burton's dismay, this was a new habit that his son had picked up in Waynesburg. He supposed it was understandable. Cigarettes were the only vice allowed inside the prison. Nick had probably turned to them out of boredom, and then grown to enjoy the soothing effect of the nicotine. Nonetheless, now that he was out, Burton hoped that Nick would give up the smokes. One member of the family hooked on the things was enough.

They reached the Caddy, and climbed inside. As Burton turned the key in the ignition he said, I thought the first thing we'd do is get you a good meal--anything you want. What do you feel like?

Nick leaned his head against the headrest, exhaled a stream of smoke, and thought about it. What did he feel like? Various tasty entrees floated before his eyes, but finally he just said, Burger and fries. I'd like a thick, juicy hamburger with some of those big steak fries.

Burton replied with a nod and a smile. One big, juicy hamburger and fries coming up.

They drove the approximately forty miles from Waynesburg to Pittsburgh mostly in silence. Burton made a couple attempts at starting a conversation, but Nick didn't seem interested. So finally, Burton left his son to his thoughts. Nick stared out at the passing landscape, at trees that were already beginning to turn color with the coming of Fall. The sense of relief and thrill of freedom he felt at being out of prison was overwhelming. Every day he'd spent inside had been hell. Not because the conditions were so terrible, or because of the things that he'd been forced to do--or had done to him--but because everything he did, almost every minute of his time was dictated by someone else. He was told when to get up, when to go to sleep, when to eat, when to shower... The list went on and on. For someone like Nick that had been the worst punishment, far more degrading than working in the prison laundry, or being subject to the insults of some of his fellow inmates. The regimentation was worse than anything he'd ever experienced at prep school, and there were times in the first few weeks that he thought he'd simply go crazy if he wasn't allowed to make some small decisions for himself. Not that everything was decided for him. They didn't tell him what books to read or who he could talk to, but still the amount of control that had been exerted on his life had been maddening.

Nick let out a long sigh, and Burton glanced over at him thoughtfully, then turned his eyes back to the road. He had to admit that he was a little concerned about how Nicholas would make the adjustment back to his old life. Things had changed--hell, Nick must have changed--there was no getting past that. But Burton was determined to do all he could to make his son's transition back into society as painless as possible. If all went well, they'd get Nick's law license restored, and he'd be back practicing law at the firm in no time. Of course, he'd still be on parole (and would be for another eleven months), so life wouldn't be completely normal. But Burton hoped that that would have only a minimal impact on his son's activities. He wanted more than anything for Nick to be able to resume his old life. His old life--minus the drugs, Burton wished fervently.

Burton pulled the car into the parking lot of Randy's Steakhouse. Randy's was famous locally for their excellent beef, and though Burton always had a steak when he came here, he was sure their burgers would meet Nick's criteria.

The hostess seated the two men in the smoking section, and told them that a waitress would be with them shortly. They briefly looked over their menus, and then laid them aside as the waitress appeared with their water glasses. She set one in front of each paper place mat, and then asked cheerfully, What can I get you to drink?

Just water's fine, said Nick.

Coffee, black, Burton answered.

Actually, could you change mine to coffee too? Nick interjected.

Nick took a sip of his water, and glanced around the restaurant. It was a bit early for the lunch crowd, but still there were several people in view. He realized how nice it was to see people dressed in all different colors, all different attire. His gaze lingered longest on a couple of attractive young women seated a few booths away. They were engaged in animated conversation, and obviously enjoying themselves. His eyes drank in the sight. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a woman in thirteen months. There were always women in the visitor's room when his dad would come to see him, but still...this was different. It was a pleasure to just sit here and watch two attractive, vibrant women talking together. After a moment, he realized he was staring, and lowered his eyes. When he looked back up, he caught his father giving him a smile and a knowing look. Nick felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He was aghast to realize that he was about to blush like a school boy. Christ! Mercifully, the waitress chose that moment to reappear, coffee pot in hand. She poured them both a cup, then set the pot down to take their orders.

After the waitress left, both men sipped at their coffee. Nick savored the aroma and taste of the first good cup of coffee he'd had since his incarceration. The stuff at Waynesburg had been crap.

Burton settled back into his seat, and said, Son, I've been thinking about what our game plan should be. After you've had a little time to...to decompress, we need to put things in motion to get your license reinstated. I've already talked to Michael Stone. I think he's the one to represent you before the disciplinary committee.



In the mean time, you can start back at the firm whenever you're ready. We'll just have to, uhm, limit your activities until you're reinstated.

Nick made no comment, and Burton said,

Nick looked noncommittal, but replied, Yeah, okay.

Okay.... I figured you could stay with me until you get a new place. I've already brought some of your clothes and things out of storage. And, oh...Sheila has arranged for you to get a leased car through Kleiner Automotive. You can go down there tomorrow, and pick it out.

Nick nodded. He wasn't at all surprised that his father had everything mapped out like this. That was his style--assume control and lead the charge. He was an old campaigner from way back.

The two Fallins continued to discuss the things that Nick would need to accomplish over the next several weeks to get his life back to normal, then moved on to what had been happening at the firm--current cases, staff changes that had taken place since Nick had left. Burton did most of the talking, but Nick made the appropriate responses in the appropriate places. Truthfully, his mind was only half on what his father was saying. The other half was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was really a free man, no longer under the thumbs of the Waynesburg guards. Nick thought to himself sardonically, not under their thumbs, but shortly to be under the thumb of someone new--my parole officer.

When lunch arrived the two men set to eagerly. Burton felt very pleased as he watched Nick devour his burger and fries with relish. Burton thought to himself, he just needs some good food set in front of him, that's all.

After lunch, Burton took Nick home to his house. Nick had been living in an apartment in the city when he was arrested. He'd given up the apartment when the judge had sentenced him to prison time. He couldn't see paying one, maybe even two years rent on a place he wasn't using. So one of the first tasks, at hand, would be to find a new place to live, then get his furniture and personal possessions out of storage, and set up housekeeping.

Nick and Burton walked into the kitchen of Burton's comfortable two-story home. Nick glanced around curiously. Everything looked the same, but then that wasn't really surprising. After all, only thirteen months had passed out here in the real world. It had just seemed like twice that within the confines of Waynesburg Prison.

Well, son, I hate to leave you on your own this soon, but I've got a meeting with Arthur Schuller that I just can't miss. Your, uh, your clothes and things I got out of storage for you are up in your room. If there's something I missed that you really need, we can go back this evening, and retrieve it. Okay?

Nick nodded.

Burton continued, You know where everything is. If you need anything call me at the office. Otherwise, I'll see you about 6:00.



Burton smiled fondly at his son. It's good to have you home, Nick. Real good.

Nick allowed himself to return his father's smile.

Okay. I'll see you tonight.



With one last look at Nick, Burton turned and headed back to the garage. He would rather have spent the whole day with his son, and had considered rescheduling the meeting with Schuller, but he knew that Nicholas might consider that a sign that he thought he required babysitting--something Nick wouldn't appreciate. So Burton had decided to go on back to work, and leave Nick on his own.

As Nick heard the garage door close, he let out a long sigh, and ran a hand down the back of his head. He appreciated everything his father had done--and would do--for him, but he had been a bit overwhelmed by the list of things that had to be taken care of, the plans that had to be put into motion. It was more than he wanted to deal with right now. Right now, all he wanted to do was sit somewhere quiet, and soak in the silence. But first, he wanted to get out of these prison-issue street clothes, and have a shower.

Nick headed for the stairs, and up to his childhood bedroom. His family had moved here when he was eight. It was in this house that his parents' occasional arguments had grown to be almost nightly events. Nick had ugly memories of that time. Finally, when he was ten, his father had moved out of the house. The divorce had followed not long after that. Only a few months later his mother learned she had cancer, and began the battle that would ultimately end in her death. His dad had moved back into the house at the end--to help take care of his mother, to help take care of him. But it had never been the same. Nick's wounds from his father's desertion ran deep. They had only be exacerbated by his father's decision to send him off to boarding school after his mother's death. That was all more than twenty years ago now, but Nick's psychic wounds had never truly healed. They were only scabbed over, ready to break open at the slightest blow.

Nick found that the clothes his father had taken out of storage had been neatly put away in the dresser, or hung in the closet. There were ten or twelve suits hanging there, about half of which were inside dry cleaner bags. Checking a tag, Nick found that the suits had been cleaned last week. Returning to the bedroom, he dug underwear and socks out of one dresser drawer. He could tell by the lingering scent of fabric softener that they had been freshly laundered. He pulled some jeans and a black tee-shirt out of another drawer, and headed for the bathroom. He wanted a shower...wanted to wash the last traces of Waynesburg from his body. He found soap in the shower stall and towels on the rack. He smiled involuntarily. His father, or more likely, Rosita, the housekeeper, had thought of everything.

Nick took a long, hot shower, luxuriating in the hot pounding spray and the privacy he hadn't had in more than a year. He began to feel himself relax in a way he hadn't since he'd walked out of prison that morning. The water felt so good he didn't want to get out--it was heaven. But at last, as he began to feel water-logged, he turned off the shower, and stepped out of the stall. He quickly dried himself and dressed in his own clothes. He saw the clothes the prison had supplied laying on the floor, and briefly debated tossing them in the trash. But then, there was really nothing wrong with them. He would never wear them again, but someone else could get some use out of them. Throwing them in the hamper, he decided that he'd ask Rosita to see that they got to the Goodwill.

Nick towel-dried his hair, and then ran a comb through it. That was one thing that would have to be on the agenda--a decent haircut. The prison barber had only seemed to know how to give one kind of haircut, and it wasn't to Nick's liking, so eventually he'd just decided to do without. That's why his hair was longer now than it had been since college.

Returning downstairs, Nick walked through the rooms of the empty house. When he stepped into the den he noticed his father's liquor cabinet in the corner. That brought back memories, memories of the times as a teenager that he'd snuck liquor from in here. He half-smiled. After all these years he still felt a sense of pride that his father had never caught him at it. He'd always been careful not to drink too much out of any one bottle, and he'd always washed and replaced the glass (when he'd used a glass) after he was through. Walking up to the liquor cabinet, Nick took down the Bourbon, and poured himself a double shot. He replaced the bottle, then walked over to his father's desk. He figured he'd find some cigarettes there, and he was correct--he found cigarettes and a lighter. Stopping to retrieve the glass of whiskey, he headed out to the back patio. It was a lovely late September day, with temperatures in the low seventies. He tossed the cigarettes and lighter on the patio table, and then pulled out a chair. He sat down, then took a slow sip of the Bourbon. He reached for the lighter and cigarettes. Opening the pack, he found it was half full. He removed a cigarette, and lit it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. Leaning back into the cushioned chair, Nick straightened his legs out in front of him. The warm sun on his skin felt wonderful. Closing his eyes, he took another drag from the cigarette and tried to block everything else from his mind. He just wanted to enjoy this moment, enjoy the sunshine and the sounds of the birds, his cigarette and his father's good liquor.