Mayday!

by JanetD

Nick's plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.

4. Chapter 4

Title: Mayday! (4/4)
Date Written: 7/20/02
Author: JanetD
Rating: PG (mild language)
Summary: Nick's plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.
Author's Notes: 1) This story picks up where chapter three left off. It's Friday morning, and Nick and Burton are driving home to Pittsburgh from Atlanta. 2) I know we've now seen for the new season that indicate that Mandy Gresler lived, but in this story, I continue with my earlier thread in which Mandy died due to a drug overdose. 3) Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta readers, Meghan and Goldie. You guys are great. =)
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.

Nick and Burton had left the hospital in Atlanta around 10:30, and had been driving for about two and a half hours. Nick had spent most of that time sleeping. Now Burton pulled the car into the parking lot of a road-side restaurant, and stopped. he said, loud enough to wake up his son. Nick opened his eyes, and blinked against the daylight, then rubbed at his face with his good right hand. Burton said, I thought we'd have some lunch. Nick nodded, and glanced around, Where are we? he asked.

Dillsboro, North Carolina.



Burton waited until Nick had started to climb out of the car before he opened his own door. He got out, and walked up onto the sidewalk, and met Nick there. Then they walked into the restaurant together. It appeared to be a mom and pop establishment -- not very big, with red gingham tablecloths on the tables. A girl who looked to be in her late teens, greeted them at the door. She glanced curiously at Nick's cut and bruised face and his plaster cast, before leading them to a table. She handed each man a menu, and said, Your waitress will be right with you. Then she left.

Nick and Burton began to examine the menu. In a moment, their waitress appeared. She was a large woman in her mid to late forties. Her yellow-blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore a light blue waitress' dress. She came walking up to the table, took one look at Nick, and asked loudly, Why, honey, what happened to you? Nick immediately began to color with embarrassment, but answered, I, I was in an accident.

That's terrible! When?

Nick ducked his head, and replied,

Aww. That's a shame. You poor thing. After an additional minute of study, she switched her attention to Burton, Well, what can I get you two to drink?

Coffee, black, Burton answered.

Just water, said Nick.

Okay. I'll get your drinks, and be right back to take your orders. She gave Nick one more sympathetic look, made a regretful sound by tapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth, then left.

Nick stole a glance at his father, and found he was looking down at his menu with the trace of a smile on his face. Nick grimaced, then returned his attention to his own menu. In two minutes, the waitress was back with Nick's water and the coffee pot. She filled Burton's cup, then took their orders. Nick was relieved when she left without making any further reference to his injuries.

The two men sipped at their drinks, then Nick said, You said we're in North Carolina?

Burton looked up.

Didn't we take a vacation in the Carolinas once?

Yeah...Myrtle Beach... but that's South Carolina. We spent a week there. Burton exhaled a breath, and brought his hand up to his mustache. Guess that would have been...1977. You would have been about, about eight then.

Nick nodded. I remember. We rented a cottage at the beach.

That's right, Burton said, smiling. He looked away, as memories of that week came back to him. Your mother always loved the ocean. She spent a lot of time there summers when she was a kid.... You had a great time too. You made these...amazing sand castles. Do you remember that?

Nick smiled almost shyly.

Burton smiled back at his son. The first day... I remember, you built your castle down close to the water. Well, when the tide came in, it wiped the whole thing out.... You were kind of upset about that...but I explained how the tides worked...and the next day, the next day you found the high-tide line, and built your castle above it. You got me to haul buckets of water up to the spot to wet down the sand. Remember?

Nick nodded with a small smile. I remember.

his father said fondly. You were always a clever kid. By the end of the week you were building these incredibly elaborate constructions. It was something else.

Nick remembered all that. He realized then that this was one of the few family vacations he could recall taking with his mother and father. His dad had rarely taken time away from the office for them to *go* anywhere, and since his parents divorced when he was ten, there hadn't been all that many years where he was old enough to retain vacation memories anyway. He did recall this one fondly, though. They had spent the entire week at the beach. He had played in the water and built his sand castles, and his parents had relaxed. Oh, they had played in the water with him too, but they'd spent most of the time sitting side-by-side, reclining in a couple of beach chairs. The fierce fights that would eventually lead them to divorce hadn't begun yet, so it had been a happy vacation for all of them.

Burton said, a hint of apprehension visible on his face.

Nick answered, still lost in his own recollections.

I've been thinking about it, and, uh, I think you should, should come stay at the house for a while before you go back to your place. That way, you wouldn't have to worry about fixing your own meals, and if you needed help with anything, chances are good Rosita or I would be around to help you out.

Nick's face reflected his doubt about this proposal. Oh, I don't know, Dad--

Just think about it, Nicholas. You don't have to decide right now. I just think it would be a good idea if you weren't totally on your own yet.

Nick stared at his father for a few more seconds, indecision flickering across his face. Finally he said, Okay. I'll think about it.



Both men fell silent then until the waitress came by to top off Burton's coffee. After that, Burton found a new topic of conversation, and the two of them talked quietly until their meals arrived.

----+----

Nick and Burton had finished their lunch, and now Nick drew the bottles with his pain pills and antibiotics out of his pants pocket. It was still a little before the time he was supposed to take them, but he figured it was close enough. He took two of the Vicodin and one of the antibiotics. Then returned the bottles to his pocket. His father had watched him silently. How are ya feeling, Nick? he asked.

Nick shrugged, Not too bad, I guess.

Burton nodded. Ready to go?

Nick gave a brief nod, and got up from the booth with care. Burton put a few dollars down on the table for the tip. Then they walked over to the cash register. The young woman who was serving as the hostess came up to meet them at the counter, and Burton paid the check. After that, father and son made a stop in the restroom, and then headed back to the car.

----+----

Burton pulled up to the entrance of the Ramada Inn, and stopped the car. It was after 5:30, and he had decided that Bluefield, West Virginia was a good place to stop for the night. That would leave them about 300 miles to make tomorrow. Nick was dozing in the other seat. Burton placed a hand on his shoulder, and said his name. Nick woke up, and looked inquiringly at his dad.

I think we'll stop here for the night, son. I'm going to go in, and see about getting us a room.

Nick yawned. Okay. Where are we? he asked.

Bluefield, West Virginia, right on the Virginia-West Virginia line. Burton opened the door, and started to get out of the car. I'll be right back, he said.

Nick closed his eyes, hearing the thud' of the car door as he did so. He leaned his head against the back of the seat, and waited. In no more than three or four minutes, his father was back. All set, he said, climbing back in the car. I thought...if you want...we'd just go ahead and grab some dinner first. That way we don't have to make an extra trip up to the room.



Okay. We passed a couple places on the way. What sounds good? Cracker Barrel, a steak house, or Village Inn?

Anything's fine.

Okay, well...let's give the Cracker Barrel a try then.

Burton put the car back in gear, pulled out of the motel driveway, and headed back down the street to the restaurant.

----+----

Burton set the two suitcases down in the carpeted hallway, and used the key card to open the door of the motel room. Holding the door open with his shoulder, he picked up the bags, and walked inside. Nick followed him into the room. Which bed do you want, son? Burton asked, as he laid one suitcase on the dresser and the other on the bed.

Doesn't matter, Nick replied with a shrug.

Okay. Why don't you take the one by the window? I'll take this one. You know how it is...you get to be my age, you're in the bathroom a couple times a night. He half-laughed, but Nick didn't seem to take note. He had walked to the foot of the other bed, and was gazing down at it.

Burton noticed his contemplative stance. You think you'd be more comfortable on the bed or in a chair for now? he asked. He gestured to a small round table with two chairs that stood next to the window.

I don't know. That's what I was trying to decide, Nick said. Moving to the head of the bed, he pulled down the bedspread, and then took the two pillows, and placed them, standing on end, against the headboard. He sat down on the bed slowly, and took off his shoes. Then he carefully swung his legs onto the bed, and pulled himself further up on the mattress until he was sitting with his back against the pillows. I'll try this for a while, he told his father.

Burton had been watching Nick silently. Now he nodded. He grabbed the TV remote from the night table, and turned on the TV. He flipped around until he found CNN. This okay? he asked.



Burton used the bathroom, and then took a look in the small closet. He found a luggage stand inside, and brought it out. He opened it up, and placed the suitcase that he had earlier laid on the bed on the stand. He pulled out a couple magazines from the side pocket of the bag, walked over, and offered them to Nick. Nick took one with a small .

Think I'll go down to the lobby, and see if I can get a paper, Burton said. Nick nodded.

After his father left, Nick sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and began flipping through the magazine. In just a few minutes, his father was back, papers in hand. I got USA Today' and the Charleston paper. You want either of these?

No, thanks.



Burton laid the papers down on his bed, then walked around the corner to the sink, and picked up the ice bucket. I'll be back in a minute, Nick, he called from the doorway. I'm gonna get some ice.

Nick nodded, but didn't lift his head from his magazine.

In a couple minutes, Burton walked back in the door with the filled ice bucket. He placed it on the counter, then unwrapped a couple cups from their plastic sleeves, and filled two with ice and water. He carried them over to the night table, and set one down on Nick's side, one on his own. Then he arranged the pillows on his own bed, and sat down.

Father and son passed a quiet evening. At 10:00, Burton took the remote, and flipped around until he found a local news broadcast. At that point, Nick got gingerly off the bed, and walked over to his suitcase. He pulled out his toiletries, and headed to the bathroom. The faucet and vanity in this room were in an outer area from the enclosed commode and bathtub. Nick set his things down on the counter, and then went inside to use the toilet. When he came out, he washed his hands, then brushed his teeth, and washed his face. He still had to be careful when he got the cloth close to his stitches. After taking a last look at his battered face, he walked back into the main room, and up to the nightstand. He took the bottle of pain pills and the bottle of antibiotics out of his pants pocket, and set them on the table. He opened the plastic bottle of Vicodin first, and shook out two pills. He placed them in his mouth, and then washed them down with water from the cup his father had fixed for him earlier. He replaced the cap on the Vicodin, and then opened the bottle of antibiotics, and took one of those too. He left both bottles on the nightstand, and began to undress. He undid his belt buckle, and unsnapped and unzipped his pants. He lowered them, carefully stepped out of the legs, then laid the pants on his bed. Next he unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled his right arm out of the shirt first, then slipped it down his left arm, being watchful of his cast. Nick now stood in just his boxers and socks. He picked up his pants from the bed, then walked over to the table by the window, and draped his pants over the back of a chair, followed by his shirt. Sitting down on that side of the bed, he pulled off his socks. He got up then, and walked back around to the other side of the bed.

Burton had been aware that Nicholas was undressing. He had been keeping half-an-eye on his progress, in case he needed assistance, but was trying not to be obvious about it. Now, as Nick walked back around the bed, he looked fully at his son. He almost winced at the sight of Nick's bruised ribs. Burton had seen the injury a few days before, but the bruises seemed to be even more prominent now. There was a large swath, maybe three inches wide, that ran across the right side of Nick's chest, about half way down. It was still black and blue, and looked very painful. Then, of course, there was the gauze that Burton knew covered the healing incision from the chest tube, and the bandaid that covered the site of the needle catheter. He cringed inwardly as he looked at the evidence of all his son had endured this week. The poor kid!

Nick came on around the bed. He picked up the discarded magazine, and set it on the nightstand, then pulled down the sheet and blanket. He returned the extra pillow to the other side of the bed, and laid the other pillow flat on the mattress, then climbed in bed. He turned off the light over his head, then pulled the sheet up over him, and spent a few moments getting as comfortable as possible. Then he said, Good night, Dad.

'Night, Nick. Burton doused his own light, watched the end of the news, then got himself ready for bed.

It was almost 1:00AM, and both Fallins had been asleep for several hours. The only sound in the room had been Burton's soft snoring until Nick began to stir. he said softly, tossing his head in his sleep. The last words were loud enough to rouse his father. No...please, God...I don't want to die! Burton got out of bed, and quickly crossed the few feet to Nick's side. I don't want to die! Nick was still repeating. Burton bent down, and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Nicholas, wake up. Wake up, son! he said, shaking him gently. The words and motion at last got through to Nick, who opened his eyes, and stared up in confusion. It's okay, Burton assured him. You're safe, son. It was just a bad dream. You're safe now. Nick stared up at his father for another second, or two, then ran a hand down his face, and nodded. Burton noted that he was breathing rapidly. After a moment, he said with concern, Okay, now?

Nick answered, exhaling loudly, and nodding again.

Okay...go back to sleep, Nicholas. Everything's all right. Go back to sleep now.

In a few more seconds, Nick's eyes had closed. Burton sat down on his own bed, and watched him silently. After a few minutes, Nick's altered breathing pattern assured him that his son was asleep. Then Burton climbed slowly back into bed. He didn't go to sleep immediately. He laid there and wondered whether Nick had been having these nightmares all week, or if this was the first. His eyes grew damp as he thought of his son being dogged by the residual terror of the crash even in his dreams. My poor boy, he thought. My poor boy.

----+----

Nick woke about 7:00AM to the realization that his pain meds had worn off. He sat up with a groan, and reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the nightstand. Luckily there was still enough water left in the plastic cup to allow him to swallow down the two pills. He knew he was overdue for the antibiotics too, but he had finished off the water with the pain pills, and he wasn't going to make a trip to the bathroom to get more until the Vicodin had had a chance to do its work. He glanced over at his father to find he was still sleeping, then laid back down in his own bed, and waited for the analgesic to take affect. As he cast his thoughts about, he suddenly remembered his nightmare of the night before. He'd been dreaming about the moments right before the crash, and Dad...Dad had woken him up. Oh God, that was right! He must have cried out, or...something...in his sleep, and awakened Dad. And then Dad had woken him up from the dream. Christ! I wonder what I said? Nick thought, chagrined. He'd been having these nightmares all week, but hadn't mentioned them to anyone. Now his dad knew. He wasn't happy about that.

----+----

The Fallins walked back into the Cracker Barrel about 9:30AM. They had had a good meal the night before, and Burton knew the restaurant was well known for its breakfasts. It was Saturday, so there was a bit of a crowd, and they had to wait a few minutes to get a table. Eventually, the hostess seated them, and handed them their menus. In another couple minutes, a waitress appeared at the table, coffee pot in hand. she asked with a smile. Both men nodded, and she filled their cups with the steaming, black liquid. Setting the pot down on the table, she took out her pad and pen, and asked, Are you ready to order?

Burton glanced at Nick, then back to the waitress. I think so.... I'll have the three egg ham and cheese omelette and an order of bacon.

Would you like toast or biscuits? she asked pleasantly.

Biscuits please...and honey, if you've got it.

She took his menu, then looked expectantly at Nick.

I'll have the french toast.

Would you like a side order of bacon or sausage with that?

Bacon.... Thanks, he said, handing her back the menu.

Coming right up, she added, with another smile, and then headed over to a nearby table to top off their coffee cups.

The two men sipped at their coffee in silence. Burton studied Nick for a few moments, and then said, Nick looked up inquisitively. Son...about that...nightmare, you had last night. How-- Is that the first time that's happened?

Nick stared at his father, then compressed his lips. Averting his gaze, he said,

Burton said, nodding his head slowly. After a moment he set down his coffee cup. Well...you know that, that Dr. Stevenson said it might be a good idea for you to...to talk to somebody about the, the accident. Nick started to speak, but Burton didn't give him a chance. I know you're not one for opening up to people, Nicholas...it's not your nature... but maybe it would be a good idea, in this case.

Nick had barely let his father finish before he was saying, I'm fine, Dad.

Burton nodded, Still, it couldn't hurt to talk to somebody, son.

Nick ran a hand down the back of his hair, and frowned. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. I'm fine, he said, placing a strong emphasis on the second word. I don't need to talk to anybody, Dad. I'm fine.

Burton considered his son's words for a moment, and then decided to let the subject drop. Nicholas could be as stubborn as a Missouri Mule when he wanted to be. It wouldn't do any good to push him on this now, and besides, he might be right. Maybe he was fine'. Maybe the nightmares were a normal part of the healing process. Burton really had no idea, but he decided he'd make a few calls when they got back, try to talk to someone who would be able to answer that question for him, and the others he had had this past week about post-traumatic stress.

----+----

Nick and Burton had been driving since breakfast. Nick had spent his time in the car alternating between dozing, staring out the window, and conversing with his father. They had just stopped for gas, and were now back on the interstate. Dad had said that they were making good time, and even if they stopped for a quick lunch, they ought to make it home by 4:30. It was 1:00 now, and Nick was still feeling full from breakfast.

Nick sat staring out the window, thinking his own thoughts. He found his mind turning to a subject that had occupied him much this past week: death. How close he had come to death...whether there was a heaven and a hell...what would have happened to all his things if he had died...and what had been at the back of his mind during all these mental wanderings, how his dad would have reacted if he had died. Part of him thought that Dad would just be destroyed by it. But another part knew his dad was a very strong person. He'd fought many battles in his life, overcome a lot of adversity. He wasn't one to throw in the towel when things got rough. But still, Nick knew his death would have saddened his father greatly. And he would been left alone in the world, with no other family. No...wait...technically, that wasn't true. Nick knew his dad had had several brothers and sisters, and he thought most of them were still living. But, as far as he knew, his father didn't have any contact with them. They had never seen the Fallin side of the family when Nick was growing up. Well, there had been that one time, at his grandmother's funeral. He thought he had met most of his aunts and uncles, and lots of cousins then, but he had only been five or six, so the memories were hazy.

His father had never talked about why he had no contact with his family. They only lived about 20 miles south of Pittsburgh, in and around Donora. Nick had just always assumed that there had been some schism in the Fallin clan. He used to wonder whether it had anything to do with the fact that his father had gotten out of Donora, had pursued an education, and made something of himself. From what little Nick had gathered, it sounded like his father's siblings had all worked blue-collar jobs. His brothers, anyway. He supposed his father's sisters had mostly been housewives. Maybe his Dad's siblings had resented their younger brother's success.

Nick knew that there had been eight children in the family, although only seven had lived to adulthood. His father was the second-to-youngest. However, after that visit to Clayton Steel last Fall, when Dad had told him how his own father had been blackballed after the attempt to unionize the steel mill, and had ended his days drinking in a bar across the street, Nick had wondered if that was the cause of his father's break with his family. Dad had even said something about feeling like he had a hand in his father's death. Nick had wanted to ask Dad about that ever since, but hadn't quite been able to bring himself to raise the issue. He decided maybe now was the time to rectify that.

Nick turned to face his father.

Burton replied, shooting Nick a quick glance, before returning his eyes forward.

Why is it-- Nick had difficulty getting the question out. I-I'd like to know why we never saw your side of the family the whole time I-I-I was growing up.

Burton took his eyes off the road to look at Nick again, longer this time. What brought that up? he asked mildly, stalling for time.

Nick half-shrugged, his expression bland. I-I've been thinking about a lot of things since Monday. I'd like to know what caused the, uhm, the estrangement between you, and your, and your family.

Burton chuckled nervously. That's a long story, Nicholas.

We've got plenty of time, Nick replied seriously, keeping his gaze fixed on his father.

A small smile broke out on Burton's face, then rapidly disappeared. Yeah, yeah...I guess we do.... And I guess, it's time you knew all that anyway. Burton paused, and lit a cigarette, then cracked his window. I tell you, son, it's been more than forty years, but, uh, I still find this hard to talk about.

Nick glanced down at his father's words, then nodded, and looked back up.

After a moment, Burton continued. You remember how when we were out at Clayton Steel, I told you about my father losing his job? About his spending the rest of his days in O'Hara's bar across the street?



Well, Nicholas, you see...even though my dad went along with our efforts to, uh, to unionize the mill, he wasn't a ringleader.... It was me and some of the younger men at the plant who, who were the instigators. In fact, my dad tried to talk us out of it, said that we'd never beat ole man Clayton, that it would end in failure.... But we wouldn't be dissuaded...so in the end, Dad joined with us...just like my brothers did. They all worked there then...except Malachi. Malachi was working as a mechanic -- he was always quick with his hands. Burton paused to take a drag from his cigarette. Anyway, Dad was right. Clayton kept the union out, and everybody who'd tried to bring the union in was fired.... It was devastating, son. My brothers were all married then, with kids. It was rough for a few months, but they all found other work --not in the mills, doing other things. Burton let out a sigh, and frowned. But not my dad. Working steel was all he knew. And Clayton had blackballed him at all the steel mills.... Your grandfather was a broken man after that, Nicholas...a broken man.

Nick was listening intently to his father's story, and watched as he took another puff on his cigarette. In a moment, Burton continued.

I went back to law school then. My brothers all pitched in to contribute to the upkeep of the household -- your grandparents', I mean. Only Ruth was left at home by that time -- she's my younger sister. Dad...like I told you, Dad spent his days in O'Hara's, drinking. My oldest brother, Johnny, tried to get him to, uh, snap out of it...but Dad was having none of it. Burton let out a long sigh, and put his cigarette to his lips again. The worst thing was, son, my dad was a...a mean drunk. Burton glanced down, and then over at Nick. He was as easy-going as they come sober, but drunk...drunk he was a man you didn't want to cross. He developed a fierce temper.... Unfortunately, my mom and my sister bore the brunt of that. Burton clasped the steering wheel with the hand that held his cigarette, and brought his other hand up to stroke his mustache. He stared ahead silently for a couple moments.

Anyway, a few years later my dad died -- drank himself to death. My mother...well, your grandmother didn't handle it very well, Nick. She was hysterical with grief. After Johnny called me with the news, I got there as soon as I could. When I came into the house, my mother.... Burton paused, and cleared his throat. My mother threw herself at me, and started pummeling me with her fists. He glanced at Nick, and saw his son's face reveal his shock at this revelation. She, uh, she started screaming at me that it was my fault. That Dad had lost his job, and, uh, and become a drunkard because of me. I knew...I knew she was right.

Nick said with quick insistence, But it was Clayton who blackballed him. He was the one who kept your dad from getting work.

But it would never have happened if it wasn't for me, Nicholas. That was the truth, and I knew it.... Anyway, one of my brothers pulled Mom off me. He held her, but she yelled then that she wanted me out of her house. She said... Burton paused, and bit his lip. Nick could see a tear forming in his father's eye. She said, I don't want to see you here again, ever!'... So, I...I left.

Nick was astounded. He could never have imagined his own mother treating him like that. It would have been unthinkable. What happened then? he found himself asking. His father took another long drag of his cigarette before he replied.

I went back to Pittsburgh. I never came back home for the funeral.... A few days later, Malachi and my sister Helen came to see me. They said I just needed to give your grandmother some time, that she'd, uh, that she'd realize eventually that Dad's death wasn't my fault. But by that time...by that time, son, I'd thoroughly convinced myself that she was right, that it was my fault. After that, I threw myself harder than ever into my work -- I was with Williams and Bradley then. I didn't want to think about my family. I didn't think I deserved to be a part of their lives anymore.

Nick objected.

It's true, son, that's how I felt. I know better now, but that's the way it felt at the time.... Life can be complicated, Nicholas, but I guess you know that by now.

Nick lowered his head, and frowned. So, you didn't see your family after that?

No. Oh, one or two of my brothers and sisters would come to see me from time to time. They'd try to convince me to come down to Donora for one family event, or another -- a christening, whatever. When I'd ask, Burton stopped to clear his throat, and Nick saw his father's eyes had began to glisten. Uhm, when I'd ask if my mother wanted me to come, there'd just be this...silence. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, and then ran a hand across his head. So, I, uh, I never went back. He glanced at Nick to see how he was taking this, and then continued.

The years went by. The visits and phone calls from my brothers and sisters got less frequent. They were all busy with their, their own lives. I eventually met your mother. We got married.... You came along a few years later, and I started the firm a couple years after that. And life went on.... Burton paused in his story. When he started again, Nick could clearly hear the raw emotion in his father's voice. One morning in June of 75 my sister Ruth called to tell me that my mother had died in her sleep. The doctor figured it was a, a massive heart attack. He glanced down, then over to Nick. We went to the funeral. I don't know if you remember that.

I remember, Nick said quietly.

Burton nodded. We went to the funeral, and they were all welcoming -- my brothers and sisters, and their families. But, a lot of years had gone by, and we'd...we'd grown apart. I was still carrying a lot of guilt about your grandfather, and now I felt the weight of your grandmother's death on my shoulders, as well. So, I guess, guess I decided it was just easier to go on the way I had been...living my life with you and your mother, pouring myself into my work, and not thinking about the family I had in Donora.... After the funeral, Helen and Ruth tried a few times to invite us down for Christmas or Easter. But I always declined the invitations with one excuse, or another. Finally they gave up.

After a moment, Nick asked, And you haven't seen any of them since?

His father shook his head sadly, No, no, I haven't.

Are they all still alive?

Burton was nodding slowly. Except for my sister Marie, of course, she died when she was three -- meningitis. My brother Johnny -- he's the oldest -- he'd be, let's see, he'd be seventy-seven now. Yeah, seventy-seven.

Nick was quiet for several moments. His expression was contemplative. At last he said, "Do you ever think about getting back in touch with them?"

Burton exhaled a large breath. I used to think about it...but it's been a long time now, son. You can't just...you can't just turn back the clock, Nicholas. It doesn't work that way.

Nick wanted to argue that it wasn't about turning back the clock, it was about reestablishing a connection with the family his father had shut out of his life more than forty years ago. But, he and his father had never done very well in these types of personal discussions. Still, he'd give it a shot.

I-I bet they'd like to get a chance to know you again, Dad. They're -- he found it hard to get out the words -- they're your family.

Burton didn't say anything at first, then said, Maybe. You might be right, son. But let's concentrate on getting you back on your feet again...before we worry about my long, lost relatives. Okay?

Nick nodded. he said simply. He hoped his dad would take what he'd said to heart. Dad wasn't getting any younger, and neither were his siblings. Nick didn't know why he felt so strongly about this, but he thought his father ought to reach out to his family before it was too late. Before another death took away the chance to reconnect with a brother or a sister. He knew his father would regret that, whatever he might say.

Nick turned his head back to stare out the window, and watched the green landscape pass by. He was glad his father had finally told him the story behind his separation from his family. He felt it would help him understand his dad better in the future. And Nick wanted that. He wanted to understand his dad, and he was thankful that he was still here, still alive, to have the chance.

----+----

It was about 4:20 when the rental car pulled up in front of Nick's brownstone. Earlier in the day, Nick had agreed to his father's plan for him to stay at his house for the short-term, so they were just stopping by Nick's to let him pick up some more clothes. As they got out of the car, Nick couldn't help but think about all that had happened to him since the last time he'd been home. He'd been in a plane crash, had spent four days in the hospital, and was returning now with a broken arm and broken ribs. He shook his head. You just never knew what life was going to hand you. You just never knew....

Nick unlocked the door, and walked into the house, trailed by his father. He still couldn't enter his foyer without glancing at the living room rug, and remembering Mandy lying there lifeless. God! He shuddered inwardly. That was another memory he'd like to excise from his brain, that, and the plane crash. But he wasn't going to think about either of those things now. He was here to pick up some more of his stuff, and that's what he was going to concentrate on.

Nick saw his answering machine was blinking, but decided he'd deal with that later. He headed slowly up the stairs, his father following behind. Burton was carrying Nick's own garment bag and the flight bag that he had brought down to Nick in the hospital. As Nick walked into his own bedroom, he was heartened by the familiarity of it all. This was his room. These were his things. He still wasn't crazy about going to his dad's, but had decided maybe it was the practical solution. He wasn't suppose to drive while he was on the pain medication for one thing (not that he hadn't driven in the past while under the influence of stronger drugs - he grinned inwardly - but he was going to try to play by the rules this time), and, frankly, the lure of Rosita's cooking had been an enticement. She had been with his father as a housekeeper/cook since Nick was in his late teens. He had never spent that much time at home during that period, but from the times he had been there, he had learned to appreciate Rosita's cooking. Not that his dad was a bad cook, far from it. But Nick had acquired a special fondness for many of Rosita's dishes. And she, in turn, had made a point of cooking his favorites when he was home. Nick had always felt warmed by the gesture, and he was fond of Rosita. She'd always treated him with easy affection.

Burton placed the two bags on the bed, and opened them up for Nick. Son, you want me to hang up these suits and shirts for you?

Nick nodded. Yeah, Dad, thanks.

As Burton moved to do that, Nick began to lift everything out of the flight bag, stacking it all neatly on the bed. Then he began to sort through what he'd take with him to his father's and what could be put back away. He found it all a little awkward, with his cast, but managed. In just a few minutes, he had returned the unneeded items to where they belonged, and was replacing the things he did want to take in the suitcase. Then he headed back to the dresser to get some additional things.

With his father's assistance, Nick had soon packed enough clothes for five or six days. He didn't really plan on staying that long at his father's house, but better to take too much, than to have to make a second trip.

Burton carried the suitcase down the stairs. As they stepped down into the foyer, Burton saw Nick looking at the blinking light on the answering message. You want to listen to those, Nicholas? he asked.

Nick shook his head. No, not now. I'll call later, and pick them up. He didn't want to listen to the messages in front of his father, even though he didn't really figure there would be anything personal there. Probably just people calling to say they were glad he was all right after the crash. But Nick also didn't want his father to realize that he didn't want to listen to the messages in front of him, so he hoped Dad would just think the car trip had tired him out.

Returning to the sedan, Burton placed the suitcase in the backseat, while Nick climbed into the front. Burton got in a few seconds later, and started the engine. He glanced at his watch. It was 4:45 now, so they'd face some traffic, but still ought to make it to the house in about 30 minutes. Nick leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew they were pulling into his father's empty garage. Burton had left his Cadillac at the airport, and planned on going there tomorrow to drop off the rental, and pick up his own car.

Now, the two Fallins walked slowly into the house. Burton was toting his own suitcase and the newly-packed bag from Nick's. As they came into the kitchen, Burton noticed his own answering machine blinking merrily away, but decided it could wait until he got Nick settled in.

Burton said, I'll go ahead, and take these bags upstairs. You want to go up, and rest till dinner time, Nick, or you want to settle yourself down in the den?

Nick rested his hand on the back of his head, and exhaled a breath through mostly-closed lips. I'm kind of thirsty. I'll just, uh, get myself something to drink for now.

his father said with a smile. Well, you know where everything is. I'll be right back.

Nick headed over to the frig, and peered inside. He decided that Rosita must have cleaned out the refrigerator sometime while they were gone, because usually there would be several containers of leftovers on the shelves. He figured when she knew his father wasn't coming back until the end of the week, she must have thrown everything out. Not that he was hungry right now, anyway, just thirsty. He didn't see anything he wanted to drink in the frig, and considered checking the pantry for a Coke, but decided to just settle for water for now.

Nick had poured himself a glass of water, and had walked over to the couch off the kitchen to sit down, when his father came back into the room. Burton saw what he was drinking, and said, I'm sure there's soda in the pantry, Nicholas. Or, I could make you some juice.

This is fine, Dad.

Well, okay. Burton ran a hand across the top of his head, and let out a sigh. He glanced around. Let's see...guess I should go ahead, and listen to those messages. He walked over to the counter, and picked up the pen that sat next to the note pad by the phone. He saw that the message counter showed there were five messages waiting for him. He pushed play' on the machine. The first message was from Walt Henderson, a client and old friend. He had heard about the plane crash when Sheila had had to cancel his appointment with Burton on Tuesday. Walt expressed his joy at Nick's survival, and included wishes for his quick recovery. The second message was from another old friend, Sylvia Morgan, and ran along the same lines. The next message was from Burton's assistant Sheila, bringing him up to date on some of the happenings at the office, and the appointments she had scheduled for him on Monday. Then there was a call from Ron Hulsey, one of the F&A partners, asking that Burton call him when he got in. The last message was a recorded advertisement for the purchase of time-shares in Florida. Burton hit stop' before more than just a few words of that message had played.

Nick had listened with interest to his father's messages. He knew both Walt and Sylvia. His dad had dated Sylvia Morgan at one point, years ago. He thought Dad still escorted her to the occasional function, but he didn't think there was anything but friendship between them now. -- that suddenly made him think of Lulu, and he wasn't up to that right now. he said, to take his mind off the image of his attractive, frustrating, now married, co-worker. I think I will go into the den for a while, watch some TV.

Okay, son. Maybe I'll go ahead, and return some of these calls then.

Nick nodded, and headed for the den.

----+----

Nicholas....wake up, son. Dinner's ready. Nick opened his eyes to find his dad standing over him. What time is it? he asked, suppressing a yawn.

It's about 7:15. You hungry? I made spaghetti.

Uhm...yeah, that sounds good.

Nick had been lying down on the couch when his father woke him. Now Burton watched, as Nick first sat up, then placed his feet on the floor, and stood up from the sofa. Burton reached for the remote on the coffee table, and flipped off the TV. Then father and son walked into the dining room. Nick found the table already set, and a steaming bowl of spaghetti sauce sitting on a trivet. The bowl of spaghetti was nearby, and a basket of garlic bread. After getting a whiff of the sauce, he realized he truly was hungry.

Both men took their places at the table, and began to serve themselves. As Nick took his first bite, he smiled with appreciation. This is good, Dad, he said, when his mouth was a little less full.

Glad you like it, son. You can see there's plenty, so eat up.

Nick nodded, and then reached for the cup of coffee his dad had poured for him.

Dinner passed without much conversation. Both men seemed to be reserving their concentration for filling their stomachs. Burton did find himself thinking how good it was to be home, and how nice it was to have Nick sitting across the table from him, even if it was a bruised and battered Nick. Nick enjoyed the quiet sociability of the meal. Too often when he'd sat across this table from his father there had been an undercurrent of unease. He didn't feel that tonight. He felt...well not quite at home', but close to it. It was a nice feeling.

After dinner, Nick decided to head on up to his room. His father told him he'd put fresh towels in the bathroom, and added that if there was anything else he needed, to let him know. Nick nodded, and said good night.

Water glass in hand, Nick walked up the stairs slowly, and into his old room. It looked exactly the same as it had when he'd stayed here after Mandy's death. In fact, it looked the same as it had when he had left for college all those years ago. Same nice, but plain, furniture, same dark blue bedspread with the grid of white lines, same matching curtains.

Dad, really ought to redecorate in here, Nick found himself thinking. He walked over to the nightstand, and set down the water glass. He saw his suitcase sitting atop the bed. Tonight he only needed his toiletries. He opened the bag, and took them out, then moved to set the bag down on the floor. As he did, he felt his injured ribs violently protest the motion. Damn, that hurt! Shit!... Way to go, Nick, he thought to himself. Despite the pain medication, he had really felt that.

After he had recovered, Nick picked up his kit, and went into the bathroom. In a few minutes, he was back. He walked over to the bed, dug his prescriptions out of his pants pocket, and set the bottles down on the nightstand. It was still about three hours until he should take his next dose. His old clock radio was still on the nightstand, although it was unplugged. Nick plugged it in, and saw that it still worked. He retrieved his watch from the side pocket of the flight bag, and set the clock. Then he set the alarm for 11:00PM. He started to return his watch to the suitcase, but then set it on the dresser instead. He had decided he'd have to get used to wearing his watch on his right arm until his cast came off, but he hadn't given it a try yet. Guess he could tomorrow.

He turned off the light, then climbed into bed, and lay staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow was Sunday, so his father would be home. On Monday, Dad planned to go in to work. Nick figured his father would call Rosita, and let her know that they were back, so she could come over on Monday. He thought she usually worked for his dad, Monday through Thursday. She did the housework, laundry, and prepared his dad's evening meals. Nick could imagine her reaction when she got her first sight of his injuries. She'd make over him too, although probably not as bad as that waitress in...North Carolina, that was it. God, that had been embarrassing! He'd half-expected that next, she'd pull him to her ample bosom, and start patting his head. Sheesh!

Nick's last thought before drifting off to sleep was that it was good to be home, whether it was his father's house, or his own, it was just good to be home.

The End