Mayday!

by JanetD

Nick's plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.

2. Chapter 2

Title: Mayday! (2/4)
Date Written: 7/06/02
Author: JanetD
Rating: PG (language)
Summary: Nick's plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.
Author's Notes: 1) Thanks go to Goldie on this one for assisting with the research, Abby for vetting the medical aspects of the story (anything that still doesn't match up to reality you can ascribe to artistic license), and Meghan for providing her always helpful suggestions.
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.

To the casual observer, the Emergency Care Center at Grady Memorial Hospital was the embodiment of chaos. Phones were ringing, men and women in light blue scrubs were hurrying here and there, and two new victims from the Salmonella outbreak at a local restaurant were just coming through the door. The request for Dr. Lewis to triage coming out of the overhead speakers could barely be heard amid the fervent pleas of the male patient who was urging his fellow men to repent, as the world was coming to an end this very day.

The ECC waiting room was filled to overflowing, mostly with the working-poor of the city. These were the people who had no health insurance and couldn't afford to visit a regular doctor for their day-to-day medical care so had to seek it at the county-run emergency room. Mothers who had been waiting for hours bounced fretful children on their laps, while sullen teenagers leaned against the walls. A lone child crouching in the corner cried plaintively for his mother.

It was all just another typical day in the largest emergency department in Georgia.

Juanita Barajas was working the desk. She was supposed to have been off an hour ago, but her relief had been held up. Marlene's ex had been late in picking up their kids, so Juanita was stuck behind the desk until Marlene could make it in. The phone rang again for what seemed to be the tenth time in the last three minutes. "Grady Memorial ECC," Juanita said into the receiver. Despite the trying circumstances, she strove to maintain a pleasant tone.

"Hello," a male voice said urgently on the other end of the line. "This is Burton Fallin. My son Nicholas was in a plane crash north of Atlanta this morning. They told me they were bringing him to your hospital. I'd like to know if he's there yet, and how he is."

"A plane crash?" Juanita said.

"Yes."

"Hold on please." Juanita held her hand over the mouthpiece, and glanced around. "Marcie!" she called to a women in scrubs standing just inside one of the exam rooms. "You've been working the radio. I've got a man on the phone that says they're bringing his son in from a plane crash."

Marcie nodded, and started her way. "That's right. There are three criticals. They just landed on the helipad."

"He wants to know about his son's condition. Can you talk to him?"

Marcie nodded again. Reaching the desk, she extended her hand for the phone. "Hello, this is Marcie Waters. You were asking about the people from the plane crash?"

"That's right, Miss Waters. My name is Burton Fallin. I'm calling from Pittsburgh. My son Nick was on that plane. I was told he was being brought there to your ER, and I'm trying to find out if he's arrived, and if he's all right."

"The helicopter just touched down, Mr. Fallin. They'll be bringing your son and the others down from the roof any minute now."

"I see.... Is there anything you can you tell me now about my son's condition? All I've been told so far is that his injuries didn't appear to be serious."

"Hold on a moment, please." Marcie reached out and grabbed the sleeve of a passing orderly. "Mitch, could you grab the clip board off the radio table for me? Thanks."

She waited patiently for Mitch to return with the clip board. Then glancing quickly down the top sheet, she brought the phone back up to her ear. "Mr. Fallin, your son is 32 years old, is that correct?"

"That's right."

"The paramedics radioed in that he has a broken arm, broken ribs, and that he developed difficulty in breathing in-route, most probably due to a punctured lung."

"Christ! A punctured lung? That's serious isn't it?" the distressed father asked urgently.

"Yes, it can be, but the paramedics administered oxygen, and performed an emergency procedure to ease your son's breathing. He's stable right now."

"I see. She could hear the relief in his voice. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"No. I'm afraid not, Mr. Fallin. Not yet. However, if you give me your number I'll have the doctor call you after your son has been examined."

"All right. Thank you. The number is 412-211-7643. I'll be waiting for the call. Thank you very much, Miss Waters."

"You're welcome. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Marcie Waters hung up the phone just as another nurse was calling her name from exam room 3. Stuffing the paper with the phone number in her pocket, she made a mental note to let the doctor that treated the man's son know that he was expecting a call. Then she hurried over to see what the problem was in exam 3.

Eight hundred miles away in Pittsburgh, Burton Fallin hung up the phone, and raked a hand worriedly across the thin hair atop his head. A broken arm, broken ribs, and a punctured lung? Those didn't sound like minor injuries'. When Mr. Connors had told him that Nick had walked away from the crash under his own steam, Burton had hoped that he would have nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, maybe a bump on the head. But this? This news about the multiple broken bones, and especially the punctured lung, was not reassuring at all. Frowning, he reached for his cigarettes, and tried to resign himself to the fact that he would have to endure another several minutes of uncertainty about his son's well-being.

----+----

The rescue helicopter sat on the chopper pad atop Grady Memorial Hospital, its large blades spinning lazily in the bright Georgia sunshine. The most critically-injured plane crash victims, Pete Reynolds and Ned Barton, had already been taken out of the chopper on gurneys, and now it was Nick Fallin's turn. Frank Whitley, the paramedic that had been attending to Nick during the last part of the flight, rolled Nick's gurney over to the doorway. Then he and another fireman lifted the gurney out of the chopper. As they cleared the door frame, Whitley hit the lever to release the gurney's legs, allowing them to fully extend before the two men brought the gurney to rest on the concrete surface. In the next second, Nick was being wheeled toward the door that gave access to the interior of the building.

Three doctors had come up from the ER to meet the chopper. The one that now walked alongside Nick's gurney was Dr. Carolyn Vandenberg, a 2nd year resident. She was in her late twenties, medium height and weight, with dark hair pulled behind her head. She looked down at Nick as the paramedic began to fill her in. Nick Fallin, 32, Whitley said, Head lac, broken arm, probable broken ribs, probable punctured right lung. Pulse: 110, Respiration: 50, BP: 90/70. The paramedic then ran through the treatment they'd given Nick in the field. When he was finished, the doctor fixed her new patient with a reassuring smile and said, Nick, I'm Dr. Vandenberg. We're going to get you down to the ER, and then we're going to fix you up. Okay? Nick nodded, while saying behind the oxygen mask.

When they reached the elevator, the doors were just closing. The elevator could only accommodate two gurneys at once so Nick would have to wait for the car to make the return trip. Still doing okay there, Nick? Whitley asked. Nick nodded. He was still feeling pretty short of breath, but was managing. He'd be glad when they got him down to the ER. He longed to be able to breath normally again. Not only was it extremely uncomfortable (and very scary) to be so short of breath, but every time he inhaled he could feel it in his injured ribs and chest muscles. The paramedics had been unable to administer anything for his pain because of the fear that it would depress his respiration.

At last the elevator doors opened, and they wheeled Nick inside. Placing one hand reassuringly on Nick's right forearm, Dr. Vandenberg said, Just another few minutes, and we'll be able to do something about your breathing. You'll feel better soon, I promise.

Upon reaching the first floor, the doctor and Whitley quickly wheeled their patient into an open trauma room. Two nurses in light blue scrubs were already waiting inside. Nick's gurney was placed next to the examination table, and then Whitley, Dr. Vandenberg and the two other women all placed their hands on or under him. In a second he heard the doctor say, Ready? Okay, 1, 2, 3! On Nick felt himself being lifted up and onto the table. He grimaced in pain, nearly crying out. He saw the paramedic, Whitley, hanging his IV bag on a stand while one nurse went to the foot of the table and began to remove his shoes and socks. The second nurse was removing the oxygen mask from Nick's face. She placed the ends of two attached tubes into his nostrils, then looped one tube around each ear. Then she pulled up the slider that connected the tubes so that they came together snuggly under Nick's chin. She performed this whole maneuver so quickly that Nick barely had time to notice the absence of the oxygen flow. Next she placed a large, white plastic clip on the end of his right index finger. While all this was going on, a worried Nick could hear the doctor issuing a stream of instructions.

The first nurse had now finished removing his footwear, and was taking a large pair of snub-nosed scissors to his suit pants. He had a half a second to lament the destruction of his Armani before he was distracted by the second nurse removing the plastic splint from his left arm. Despite her care, it still hurt when she rested his arm back on the table. Things were happening so fast that a disconcerted Nick began to feel that he didn't have control of anything. It was not a comfortable feeling.

The nurse with the scissors had finished with his pants, and was moving on to his shirt when Dr. Vandenberg came up to stand right next to Nick's left shoulder. Placing her hand above his right eye, she gently pulled his eyelid wider open, and flashed her penlight to make sure the pupil reacted normally. She then repeated the procedure with his left eye. she said, satisfied. Now Nick, I want you to follow my finger with your eyes. Okay? She extended her index finger and moved it slowly left, then right, then up and down. Nick's eyes tracked along with the motion perfectly. Okay. The paramedic said you didn't lose consciousness when the plane made impact. Is that right? Nick nodded. You're sure? the doctor asked again. Nick said. The doctor nodded. Okay, we need to get a little history before we treat you. Are you allergic to any medications?

No. Not that I know of.

Do you smoke?



Do you drink?



Do you take drugs?

Nick hesitated. I-I used to. I don't anymore.

What kind of drugs?

Coke mostly.

How long's it been since you last used?

Uh, it was, it was around the first of the year, but I've been clean since then.

The doctor nodded, and said, Okay, we're going to get some chest X-rays now so we can take care of that punctured lung.

In seconds, a technician was rolling a portable X-ray machine up to Nick's side. They took one picture from straight above Nick, then moved the machine down to take a lateral view.

After that the doctor appeared by his side again. Okay, Nick, while we wait for the X-rays, let me tell you what's happened to your lung, and what we're going to do to fix it. The force of the impact to your chest forced your ribs into your right lung, resulting in a puncture. That puncture is allowing air to escape into your chest cavity every time you breathe. As that air built up in your chest it made it harder and harder for your right lung to expand, eventually causing it to collapse. Chances are good it's only a partial collapse, but I won't know that until I see the X-rays. What we have to do is withdraw that trapped air, and maintain an escape route for the additional air that will leak out of the lung until the puncture heals. So what we're going to do is insert a tube into your chest right about here. She held her hand above the mid-point of his chest, a little to the right. We'll attach that tube to a vacuum pump. The pump will suck the air out of the chest cavity. We'll keep the chest tube in, and the pump going, until at least 24 hours after the puncture has sealed itself and there've been no additional leaks. That usually takes about three days. She paused. Do you understand everything I've told you?

Nick nodded. He didn't like the sound of any of it, but he had no choice. He'd just have to endure it as best he could.



As Nick was still trying to adjust to the thought of the doctor inserting a tube into his chest, he heard the nurse near the end of the table say, There's no blood in the urine, Doctor. Nick had felt the catheter being inserted up into his bladder at some point, but he had done his best to ignore it. Now the doctor nodded to acknowledge the nurse's remark, then turned back to her patient. Okay, Nick, while we're waiting on those X-rays let's take a look at that arm.

----+----

The chest X-rays were back, and the doctor was able to confirm that his lung was partially collapsed, as well as identifying that he had fractures in the 5th and 6th ribs. Moving back to his left side, she smiled, and said, Okay, let's get started. Nick saw a nurse on his right side injecting something into his IV. He almost immediately felt the effects of some powerful narcotic spreading through his system. He began to feel very relaxed. He could no longer feel the pain of his broken arm or ribs. The nurse then asked Nick if he was allergic to iodine. When he said no, she wet a swab with dark orange-yellow fluid from a bottle, and then began to make circles on Nick's chest with the swab. She did this over and over for what seemed like a full minute, before finally pulling the swab away. Now a second nurse handed the scalpel to the doctor. Despite the soothing affects of the Demerol, Nick felt uneasy looking at that blade, imagining it cutting into his own skin.

The doctor was speaking again. Okay, Nick, this is going to be over before you know it. You're not going to feel any pain, I promise you, just some pressure. She nodded to the nurse on Nick's right (he later learned her name was Nancy) who took his right hand in hers, and said, Look at me, Nick. Just keep looking at me, okay? Nick nodded, and looked into the nurse's eyes. Out of his view, Dr. Vandenberg placed the scalpel on his skin, and made a smooth 3 cm. incision. As blood began to well up, she stuck her gloved finger into the incision to check for obstructions. When she was satisfied that there were none, the second nurse handed her the chest tube. Leaving her finger in place, Dr. Vandenberg inserted the tube into the incision. The nurse had already hooked the tube into the vacuum pump. Now she turned it on, and the doctor and nurse watched as a small amount of blood appeared in the collection reservoir. As the trapped air began to be sucked from Nick's chest, they saw bubbles rising up through the pump's water seal. the doctor said. Okay, Nick, we're going to stitch up the incision around the chest tube, and then we'll get another set of X-rays to make sure the tube is situated properly.

Nick had kept his eyes firmly fixed on Nancy until Dr. Vandenberg had spoken to him. He could tell he was already breathing easier, although the doctor had said his lung would probably not re-expand immediately. It would take some time.

----+----

Dr. Vandenberg had finished her examination of Nick, the new X-rays of his chest as well as X-rays of his arm had been taken, and were now developed and hanging on the viewing screen. The chest X-ray confirmed that the chest tube was in the proper place. And as the doctor had expected, the X-rays of his arm showed a fracture of the ulna. The surgeon on-call was now about to examine Nick. A man of about 30 with close-cropped red hair and a pale complexion, he glanced over Nick's chart while Dr. Vandenberg provided some additional information about his injuries and treatment to-date. The surgeon listened attentively then handed off the chart. He walked over, and had a look at the chest X-rays, then returned to the exam table. He asked Nick a few questions, prodded his belly in a few places, and pronounced him free of any additional internal injury. He left without further comment.

The nurse moved to assist Nick in putting on a hospital gown, while the doctor was pulling off her latex gloves. she said. I'll have an intern come in, and stitch up that cut on your face, and then we'll send you down for your cast. All right?

At just that moment, the door opened, and Marcie Waters walked into the room. Dr. Vandenberg, the patient's father called while you were up on the helipad. I told him what we knew at the time based on the paramedics' report in-transit. He'd like you to call him when you've finished your exam. Here's his number. She handed a folded piece of paper to the doctor.

Thank you, Marcie. Turning back to Nick, Dr. Vandenberg said, Okay. I'm going to go call your father, and put his mind at rest. Then I'll be back. Is there anything you'd like me to tell your dad?

The doctor watched as indecision flickered across the face of her patient. Finally he said, Just tell him...tell him I, I'll call him when I can.

The doctor nodded. Okay. Well, Nancy here is going to stay with you. If you need anything, or have any problems, you let her know. With a final smile she said, I'll be back, and then left the room, discarding her gloves and disposable gown into the hazardous waste bin before walking out the door.

Dr. Vandenberg used the phone in the lounge to call Nick Fallin's father. During the course of her examination she had learned that her patient was from Pittsburgh. He was a lawyer. And he had been flying here in a chartered plane on business. She didn't recognize the area code on the notepaper, so wondered if it was Pittsburgh she was calling. Dialing the number, she listened to the phone ring twice before it was picked up. A woman said, in a smoothly, pleasant tone of voice, Fallin and Associates. Burton Fallin's office. How may I help you?

Hello. This is Dr. Carolyn Vandenberg at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta. I'm calling to speak to Mr. Fallin about his son.

Just a moment, Dr. Vandenberg. I'll put you right through.

While she waited for the call to be connected she thought about that Fallin and Associates she'd just been greeted with. She assumed from the name that it was a business founded by the man she was about to speak to, quite probably a law firm. In which case, his son, who was a lawyer, very likely worked for his father. Hmmm.

Her speculation was interrupted by the sound of a deep, male voice coming over the line. Dr. Vandenberg, this is Burton Fallin. Thank you for calling. How's my son?

He's doing very well, at present, Mr. Fallin. He has a broken left arm and a couple broken ribs. He also has various contusions on his face, arms and legs, and a cut near his brow that's going to require stitches. The broken ribs are what caused his difficulties on the way in. One of the ribs punctured his right lung, which caused air to leak into the chest cavity, gradually causing the lung to partially collapse. But we've put a chest tube in place with a vacu-pump to draw off the leaking air, and he's breathing easier now.

I see. Is Nicholas in a lot of pain, Doctor?

He was, but we've medicated him for the pain, so he's a lot more comfortable.

She could detect the hesitancy in his voice.

Yes, Mr. Fallin?

Doctor, my son...in case he hasn't told you...I think you should know that...that Nick has a, a drug history.

He did tell me something about that, Mr. Fallin, but I was hoping you'd be able to provide me with more details.

The older man sighed perceptibly. She imagined this must be a difficult subject for him. She'd seen it often enough in her line of work. Distraught parents having to deal with the fact that their children abused drugs. Of course, in the majority of cases, the children were teens or young adults. She realized that Mr. Fallin was speaking again, and gave him her attention.

I'm afraid you're going to have to ask Nicholas for the particulars, Dr. Vandenberg. I can tell you that he went through rehab last year after, uh, after his arrest the previous November for...for cocaine possession.

I see. Well, thank you, Mr. Fallin. I'll discuss this with your son. It may very well affect the kind of pain medication I prescribe.

That was my thought, Doctor.... How long do you expect to keep Nick in the hospital?

I think he'll probably be here for several days. We'll have to keep the chest tube in for at least 24 hours after the air has quit leaking from the lung. We'll get him admitted, and then a staff orthopedist and pulmonary specialist will be taking over his care.

I see. Will he be able to travel once he's released?

He should be able to, yes. But I would advise against his traveling by air, and he may find riding in a car for extended periods uncomfortable.

I understand.... I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Burton paused, then added, I'm planning on flying down there this afternoon, Doctor. I was just waiting to get more news of Nick's condition first. When do you think I can speak to him, by the way?

Oh, I'm sorry. He asked me to tell you that he would call you as soon as he could. I think we'll have him up in a room in the next hour or so. He can call you from there.

All right. Would you let him know that I...that I'll be looking forward to his call?

Certainly. You know, Mr. Fallin, considering what your son has been through, he's really a very lucky man. None of his injuries are permanent. He should recover completely in 8 to 10 weeks.

Well that's very good to know, Dr. Vandenberg. Thank you very much.

You're welcome. Is there anything else, Mr. Fallin?

I...I don't think so, no. Please just pass my message on to Nick. And tell him I'll see him later today.

All right. Goodbye, Mr. Fallin.

Goodbye, Doctor.

As Burton Fallin hung up the phone, he exhaled a long breath. Nicholas sounded like he was doing fine now, and that was very good to know. The doctor had said Nick would probably call in about an hour. That gave him time to get some things done first. Depressing the intercom, he said, Sheila, could you step in here for a minute please? While he waited, he rummaged around in his desk for the office master key. As managing partner, he had one master key, and Monica Rialty, the office administrator, had the other. Ah, there it was. Good.

Sheila came through the door, notebook in hand. Yes, Mr. Fallin?

Well, first, I want you to know that the doctor says Nick is doing pretty well. He's still down in the ER, but she expects to have him up in a room in about an hour. He's going to call me then.

She smiled. That's very good to hear.

Yeah. So, I'm going to go by the house and pack a bag, then stop by Nick's house, and pick up some things for him. Have you got that flight information I requested?

Uh-huh. There's a flight on Delta at 4:25 or one on US Airways at 5:15.

Burton thought a second. It was about 1:30 now. If he hurried, he ought to able to make the earlier flight, even with the increased security measures. Book me on the Delta flight. He stood up. If Nick calls, take his number, and tell him I'll call him back. Then call me, and let me know.

All right. I've made your car reservations at Avis. And I've canceled all your appointments for the rest of the week, like you asked. Is there anything else?

No. No, Burton said with a smile. Not that I can think of. Thank you, Sheila.

She smiled at him in turn, and nodded, and then stepped back out the door. Burton grabbed his suit jacket from were it lay on the chair nearby, then closed his briefcase, and picked it up. He expected to go straight to the airport from Nick's house. He'd already advised all the other partners that he would be flying down to be with Nick. And there wasn't anything else he really needed to take care of here.

Burton walked out of his office, locked it behind him, and exchanged a brief farewell with Sheila. Then he headed purposefully over to Nick's office. He had to acknowledge a few well-wishers as he went, but most people didn't delay him as it was apparent he was in a hurry. Reaching Nick's door, he stuck the master key in the lock, and turned the tumbler. He opened the door, and walked inside, flipping on the lights, as he did so.

Burton knew that Nick kept a spare house key in his desk because a few years ago he had locked himself out while on a weekend run. Knowing that his father had a master key to his office, he had called Burton, and gotten his dad to run by the office, and retrieve his house key. It had been in the second drawer on the right then, Burton remembered, and he assumed he'd find it in the same place now.

Stepping behind Nick's desk, Burton put his hand on the drawer, and then hesitated. It really was something of an invasion of privacy to go into Nick's desk without his permission, but he wanted to be able to bring some of Nick's clothes down to him. He had no idea what condition Nick's suitcase from the plane would be in, yet alone when it would be returned to Nick. And, of course, all Nicholas would have had along with him would have been business attire. Burton intended to take him some more comfortable clothing.

Opening the drawer, Burton found the spare set of keys in the back--a house key and a key for the BMW. He grabbed the key ring, then shut the drawer. In seconds he was back out of the office, and locking the door behind him. Mission accomplished.

----+----

Nick's face had been stitched, and now he was waiting to see the doctor again before they took him down to get his cast. The intern who had stitched his cut had been a young woman who had seemed unaccountably nervous. She was pretty, in a fresh-faced sort of way, and her figure was nice, but she was all thumbs at first, rattling the instruments on the tray, even dropping the strand of suture on the floor. And all the time she had kept sneaking these little looks at him. Nick couldn't understand it. He had been tempted to call a halt to the proceedings, and request a different doctor, but the girl had eventually settled down. She regained her lost composure, and went from nervous schoolgirl to calm professional just like that.

Now Nick was sitting in a reclined position listening to the soft bubbling sound coming from the chest tube pump. One nurse was still with him--Nancy, the one who had held his hand earlier. Nurse Nancy, he mused, bet she gets a lot of jokes about that. He was much more comfortable now. His breathing was easier, and he felt no pain in his chest and arm. He was thankful for that. Whatever drug they had stuck in his IV had certainly done the trick.

Nick wondered what exactly Dr. Vandenberg had told Dad on the phone, and what Dad had said to her. He was glad to know that that phone call should have put his father's fears to rest. He couldn't say the same for the calls that Pete and Ned's families must have gotten. Once the doctor had finished her initial exam, Nick had asked about the condition of the two men. Dr. Vandenberg had sent someone to find out how they were. The news hadn't been good. Ned had a serious head injury, and was in a deep coma, and Pete was being sent up to surgery. He had extensive internal injuries, and it looked like it would be touch-and-go. Nick found himself feeling depressed all over again at the thought of the two men in such a state. He didn't know either of them well, but well enough to know they were good men, not just good businessman (which they were), but men that gave back to the community. Men who cared about other people.

Nick still couldn't quite believe all that had happened in the last two and a half hours. It seemed unreal. That thunk' when it had all started to go wrong, the crash, the pilot's smashed-in head (he shuddered at that recollection), the ascension in the wire gurney, the trip to the hospital in the chopper. It all seemed like something out of a movie. That was it, he realized. It was almost like watching a movie. When he replayed the events in his head it was like seeing it all happen to someone else, not to him. Huh. He wondered if that was some kind of protection mechanism the brain took refuge in.

Just then, the door opened, and Dr. Vandenberg came striding in. Nick took a closer look at her this time. In the beginning, he had been in no state to pay any attention to the doctor, except as someone who could help him. Now he looked at her as an individual, as a woman.

She was not unattractive. She carried herself with confidence, and she had a nice smile. He couldn't say much for her hairstyle though. Wearing her hair pulled straight back like that wasn't very flattering for someone whose face was a little on the thin side. From what he could see under her doctor's coat, her figure wasn't bad. His assessment was interrupted as the doctor began to speak. I talked to your father, she said. He was relieved to find out you were going to be fine. He said to tell you that he looked forward to your call, and that he was going to fly down later today.

Fly down? Nick almost said it outloud, but stopped himself. The thought of his dad flying brought his heart up into his mouth, and sent cold shivers down his spine.

Dr. Vandenberg said curiously. She had seen him go very still and from her (that was the best way she could think of to describe it). When she spoke his name, however, he came back to himself, and said,

Are you okay?

Yeah, yeah, Nick said, but then averted his gaze, looking down and off to the side. She could see he looked troubled. She studied him for an additional moment, and then said, Nick, I need to get some more information about your past drug use.

Nick didn't say anything, nor raise his eyes to her.

While I was on the phone with your father he told me that you'd been in rehab last year.

Nick shook his head back and forth a couple times with a look that was half disbelief, half disgust.

Your father was concerned about you, Nick. He thought it was important I know, and he was right. You're going to need a prescription for pain killers for a while. Before they're prescribed I need to know more about your history.

Nick didn't say anything. He was staring at the floor. She continued, Your father said you got arrested for possession of cocaine. Did they send you to rehab because you were addicted?

Nick's head came up. His eyes were blazing. "No," he answered defiantly. "They sent me to rehab because I got busted."

Dr. Vandenberg looked at him for a moment, then said slowly, Okay. So you're saying you were just a recreational user? Nick didn't reply. Is that right, Nick? she pressed.

Nick looked away, and ran a hand roughly down the back of his head. Then he looked back at the doctor. His voice rose as he said, I had trouble controlling my usage at the end, okay? But I wasn't an addict. I am NOT an addict.

I see. Do you have a history with any other drugs?

He compressed his lips, then sighed. When I-I, when I was young I experimented with a lot of things...mostly prescription stuff: pain killers, uppers, downers. My prep school was a veritable cornucopia of prescription meds.

Can you give me some of the names?

Valium, Percocet, codeine. He shot her a sardonic smile. You name it, I've probably tried it, doc.

Now it was Dr. Vandenberg's turn to sigh. Were you ever addicted to any of these meds, Nick?

he said with conviction, shaking his head for emphasis.

Do you use prescription drugs recreationally now?

No...no. Not since college. No, in recent years, I've preferred my mind-altering substances inhaled. The sardonic smile was back, with an even sharper edge this time.

Okay. Well, I'm going to prescribe Vicodin for now. I'll make sure your new physicians are aware of your situation. As I said earlier, you'll probably be here for several days. That puncture in your lung needs to heal before we take the chest tube out.

Nick nodded.

All right. Well, we'll get that arm taken care of, and then we'll get you admitted. I'll send someone right in to take you for your cast.

Okay. Thank you.

You're welcome, she answered with a small smile. Good luck.

----+----

Burton stood on the doorstep of Nick's Shadyside brownstone, a soft-sided suitcase held in one hand. He couldn't help but recall the last time he'd stood in this spot--that awful day the stripper had died on Nick's living room floor. God! What a mess that had been. He shook his head to dispel the memory, then turned the key in the lock, and walked inside. He glanced around the foyer. It felt funny to be standing here in Nick's house, uninvited. He hoped Nicholas wouldn't object to this foray into his personal space. Burton felt that it was warranted, and hoped his son would feel the same way.

Burton headed up the stairs to Nick's bedroom. He hadn't been upstairs at Nick's since his son had shown him through the house right after he'd bought it. Now he walked into the master bedroom with some trepidation. Flipping on the light, he looked around. Besides a small amount of clutter on the dresser, the room was neat as a pin. The bed was made. There were no clothes or shoes scattered around the floor. It all looked very orderly. But then Nick had always been a neat child. He didn't like living in a mess. Burton knew his son employed a maid service once a week, of course, but still he was sure that Nick's own nature had a lot to do with the appearance of the room.

Glancing at his watch, Burton set to work. Placing the flight bag on the bed, he walked over to the dresser, and began opening drawers. He quickly removed several pairs of boxers and socks, as well as a small stack of white t-shirts. He found pajamas in another drawer, then located colored t-shirts and shorts. He found sweat pants and khakis in the tall chest of drawers that stood on the other bedroom wall. Burton didn't know what Nick would want to wear, so was just trying to select a variety of things.

Walking into the closet, Burton grabbed a few casual button-down shirts, and a pair of sneakers. Returning to the bed, he began to place everything neatly into the suitcase. He'd like to bring Nick's personal toiletries too, but knew they would have been on the plane with him. He'd just buy whatever Nicholas needed, once he got down there.

Zipping up the bag, Burton picked up the suitcase. Taking a final look around to assure himself he hadn't forgotten anything, he headed out of the room, flipping off the overhead light as he did so.

----+----

The nurse and orderly had just transferred Nick from the gurney into his hospital bed. He was in room 421 on the fourth floor. The nurse had hung the chest tube pump on the bed frame. Nick could hear the bubbling noise that meant it was doing its work. The nurse was moving around the bed doing various things. When she was through, she filled up a pitcher of ice water for Nick, and, at his request, adjusted the bed to a partially-reclined position. She made sure he knew how to use the call button, and told him to buzz if he needed anything. Nick told her that he wanted to make a phone call, so she lifted the phone off the nightstand, and set it next to him on the bed, in easy reach. After making sure he was comfortable as possible, she told him that Dr. Stevenson and Dr. Herbert should be in to see him soon, and then she left.

Nick took a few seconds to look around him. It was a conventional two-bed hospital room, not much larger than required to fit the two beds, two nightstands, and a couple visitor chairs. The walls were painted a pale beige. They had put Nick in the bed next to the window (which was on his right), but there was no view to speak of, only other buildings. The second bed was currently unoccupied, which had been a relief to Nick. He didn't relish the idea of a roommate.

Placing his right hand on the phone, he prepared to call his dad. He had been pretty angry when Dr. Vandenberg had informed him that Dad had told her about rehab. Trust his father not to leave that decision to him. If Nick had thought it was important, he would have told the doctor about it himself. But, he'd had some time to cool off now. He wasn't angry about it anymore. He knew his father was just trying to watch out for his welfare. And to be fair, Dad didn't know the extent of his history with coke or prescription drugs. He probably thought it was better to be safe than sorry, and damn what Nick felt about it. Maybe he'd feel the same way himself if he was in his father's position.

Picking up the receiver, he dialed his dad's direct line. Sheila answered on the first ring, and he heard the familiar, Fallin and Associates. Burton Fallin's office. How may I help you?

Sheila, it's Nick.

Nick! It's wonderful to hear from you. We were all so worried. Your dad, especially, of course. When he thought that.... Well, he was devastated, Nick. And the waiting, the waiting was really hard on him.

Yeah.... Can I speak with him?

He isn't here. After he talked to your doctor he decided to go home and pack a bag--she told you he was coming down, didn't she?



Well, he went to pack his bag, and he was also going to stop by your house, and get some things for you.

Nick started to ask how Dad was going to get in, but then remembered he knew about the spare key in his desk.

Anyway, Nick, your dad asked me to get your number, and then call him so he can call you right back. Is there a direct line into your room?

Nick glanced at the front of the phone. Yes, it's 404-616-0421. I'm in room 421.

Okay, well, you take it easy, Nick. We'll be thinking about you.

Thank you, Sheila.

I'll call your dad right now.

All right. Bye bye.

Bye, Nick. Take care.

Nick hung up the phone, but left his hand sitting on top the receiver. In not more than forty-five seconds, the phone rang. Nick picked it up.

Nick! How are ya son? Nick could clearly hear the emotion in his father's voice. He could feel his own eyes grow wet in response.

I'm okay.

I.... You don't know how glad I was when they told me you were alive, son. I...I can't begin to tell you....

I know, Dad. Nick felt a lump in his own throat that he was sure was a twin to the one his father must be feeling.

Ya sure you're okay?

I'm pretty banged up, and I've got this tube in my chest...but I'm okay.

Good. Good. What have you heard about Ned and Pete?

Nick sighed. It's not so good, Dad. They say Ned's in a deep coma. The last I heard, Pete was still in surgery. They think his internal injuries are pretty severe. They said he, he almost bled to death before they got him to the hospital.

Burton was silent for a moment. I'm very sorry to hear that, son. They're both good men.

I know.

The doctor told you I was coming down there, didn't she? I'm catching the 4:25 flight. It gets in shortly after 6:00 so I should be to the hospital before 7:00.

You don't have to do that, Dad. You don't have to come down here.

Nonsense, Nicholas. Of course I'm coming.

No, you, you should just stay in Pittsburgh.

Burton didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, it was to ask quietly, Don't you want me there, son? Nick could hear the hurt in his voice.

It's not that. It's....

Burton waited, but when Nick didn't continue, he prompted, It's what?

I don't want you on a plane. Nick forced it out all in a rush.

On the other end of the phone, Burton smiled in relief. Nicholas, I'll be fine. It'll be perfectly safe. When Nick didn't reply, he added, Just think about it, son. If there's one day it's gotta be safe for me to fly, it's today. Think of the odds! Burton tried to sound jovial, but only partly succeeded. Look, don't worry. I'll be there before you know it. Try, try to get some sleep. I'm sure after, uh, after all you've been through today, you could use it.

Okay, I'll, I'll see you later, Dad.

Okay, son. I'll see ya.

Nick hung up the phone. His logical mind knew Dad was right. Nothing was going to happen to him on the flight from Pittsburgh to Atlanta, but visualizing Dad on that plane--in the air--still scared the shit out of him.

----+----

Burton Fallin opened the door to room 421 slowly. Stepping into the room, he saw his son lying in the bed farthest from the door. He was in a semi-reclined position, but Burton could see his eyes were closed. He walked up to the bed as quietly as he could. Nick didn't stir. He stood for a moment looking down at his son. Nicholas had on a hospital gown, white with a tiny print of blue. A sheet was pulled up to his waist. Burton glanced quickly at Nick's face--it didn't look too bad--and then down the rest of his body. Nick's left arm was encased in a white plaster cast from below the elbow to the middle of the back of his hand. A few inches above the cast, Burton could see a clear plastic tube coming out from under his gown. That must be the chest tube. It ran down into some apparatus hanging on the side of the bed. Burton realized then that he could hear the device making a sort of bubbling sound. So that was the pump the doctor had mentioned. The pump that was keeping the leaking air from the lung from building up in the chest cavity. Looking back up at Nick, Burton could see bruises coming up on Nick's right hand and arm. The one on the back of his hand looked like it was going to be pretty ugly. He must have banged it pretty hard. There was also an IV line running from Nick's right arm up to the bag on the portable IV stand and a large white clip on Nick's index finger. From previous visits to the hospital, Burton knew that this clip was a pulse oximeter. It continually monitored the heart rate and the oxygen saturation of the blood.

Burton brought his eyes back up to Nick's face then, and took a closer look. Nick had a clear tube strung across his face that were delivering oxygen into his nostrils. Burton could see the cut next to the right brow. He counted twelve stitches. The flesh was red and swollen around the cut, but it wasn't too bad. And there was a bruise coming up along Nick's jaw line on the same side. Burton wondered if in the force of the impact, Nick's head had hit once, then bounced up, and hit again. He didn't know whether Nick had lost consciousness during the crash. No one had told him, and he hadn't thought to ask Nick. God! It gave him chills to think of what Nicholas must have gone through those last minutes before the crash. It must have been simply terrifying.

Burton stood for another moment looking down at his only child, then walked around the bed, and carefully lifted the guest chair by the window from where it sat near the foot of the bed. He moved it up closer to the head of the bed, and set the chair down softly. He knew that sleep was the best thing for Nick, so he didn't want to wake him. Turning around, and grasping the arms of the chair, Burton lowered himself into it slowly. He sat, and just looked at his son while a string of thoughts ran through his mind. He thought about that terrible period this morning between the first phone call telling him that his son's plane had almost certainly crashed, and the call telling him that Nick was alive. That had been the worst 50 minutes of his life...no doubt about it. He had come so close to losing Nick that just thinking about the whole episode still scared the hell out of him.

He turned his mind away from that. He had relived the whole thing coming down in the plane from Pittsburgh several times (and despite his assurances to Nick about the safety of the flight, Burton had found himself wishing desperately for a cigarette more than once while they were in the air. He had been very glad when they touched down safely on the runway.) No, he didn't want to relive those awful minutes again. He sought for something else to occupy his thoughts.

After a little while, Burton found himself thinking about Nick as a child. He had really been an adorable little boy, a towhead with a mass of curls, and a ready smile. Even at that age, women were drawn to Nick, Burton thought, amused. Everywhere they'd go, women would come up to Nicky, unable to resist running a hand through his curls. Anne had always refused to cut those precious locks, but Burton had finally put his foot down shortly after Nick had turned three. They had been on a rare Saturday outing to the park, and two different women had come up to comment on their precious little girl. Burton had had enough. Later that night, for the umpteenth time, he had broached the subject of cutting Nick's hair. When Anne protested once again, Burton had lost his temper. He's a boy, goddammit! he had said loudly. He had immediately regretted it, and apologized. But Anne's feelings had been hurt, and she was having none of it. she said in a cold voice. He's your son. We'll cut his hair. And she had taken him to a barber the very next day. She had never said so, but knowing Anne, she must have wept as the barber chopped off those baby curls.

Yes, Nick had been a cute kid, Burton thought. He remembered one Easter when Nick was about four, Anne's parents had given him a baby duck. It was a cute little thing, just a yellow ball of fuzz, and Nick had loved it. From the start, the duck had seemed to adopt Nick as its mother. When it got old enough it would follow Nick around. It had been cute as hell, watching the little boy parade around the yard, the young duck waddling close behind. Come to think of it, had been the duck's name.

They had kept the duck for a few months, letting it swim around in one of those little plastic blow-up pools, but eventually, Waddles began flying over the pool fence, and they'd started finding duck crap in the pool. Anne and Burton had decided at that point that Waddles had to go. It had been hard to break the news to Nicky, of course, but Anne had told him that Waddles would be much happier at one of the local parks. She had said that there was a nice lake there, and other ducks for Waddles to play with. Nick had cried, but in the end, he'd been a brave little boy when he'd said farewell to his duck friend. It had been so sad and cute at the same time, Burton thought. Nick calling goodbye to Waddles, and promising to come visit him. He wondered now whether Nick even remembered that little duck.

Burton sighed, and stifled a yawn. He was tired. He'd be glad to get into the bed at the hotel tonight. He'd asked in the hospital lobby for a hotel that was close by, and they had recommended one a few blocks away, a Sheraton. Burton was starting to yawn for a second time when he heard a rattling noise coming down the hallway. It was quite loud, and he wondered what it could be. As it passed the door, the noise disturbed Nick. He rolled his head to the side, grimacing a little as he came back to consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he was looking almost directly at his father. he said softly. Hi, son, Burton said gently. He got up, and walked over to the bed, laying his right hand atop Nick's.

How ya doing?

Nick didn't say anything. Just looked at his father, as tears began to fill his eyes. He had thought he was going to die today. He had thought he was never going to see his dad again, and now he was here. He couldn't get any words past the lump in his throat. Burton seemed to understand what Nick was feeling. He squeezed his son's hand gently, as tears began to roll down his own cheeks.