A Blow from the Past - alternate ending

Author: Janet E. Dillon (shaet111)
 
Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG-13 (strong language)

Summary: This is an alternate ending for my previous story "A Blow from
the Past".

Author's Notes: 1) This is the (obvious) alternate ending to my earlier
tale about Nick's questionable paternity. Since I would not like to see
the events in this story happen to the Nick we all know and love, you can
consider that this version plays out in an almost-identical, alternate
universe. ;-) 2) If you haven't read "A Blow from the Past", I would
recommend that you read it first. 3) As before, this follow-up is set in
the past. However, I had set the original story sometime after "Heart",
but before "Loyalties", and after I posted it someone correctly pointed out
to me that that wouldn't quite work because Nick was unaware of his
mother's affairs in the episode "Family". So, to account for that I've
adjusted the timeframe forward a little.

Author's Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of a
character in this story to any person living or dead is purely
coincidental.

February 2002

Story Recap: Nick was minding his own business one Saturday morning when a
woman named Marcy Pratt appeared on his doorstep claiming that her father
and his mother had been lovers in college, and that Nick was the result of
a night they spent together after Anne was married. Nick is floored by the
news, and consults Burton. Burton has a private detective check out Marcy
and her father. When nothing shady is found in their past, Nick decides
that he wants to have a paternity test done to determine whether or not
Burton is really his father. Picking up...

It was late Friday afternoon when Nick decided to call the paternity lab,
and see if their test results might be back. He was in his office with the
door shut, so knew he should have some measure of privacy. He pulled the
number for the lab out of his breast pocket, and dialed the phone. The lab
had provided him with both an ID number and a password that would allow him
to properly identify himself to the customer service representative. As
Nick heard the phone begin to ring he felt his heart rate increase.
"Please let the results be back," he thought to himself. "I don't want to
have to wait until Monday." In another few seconds he heard a
professional-sounding feminine voice coming over the line. Nick identified
himself using the id number and the password, and then asked if she could
tell him if his test results were in. "Just a moment please," she said,
and put him on hold. Nick heard some sort of classical music playing in
the background, and grimaced. In about forty seconds the service rep was
back. "We do have the results, sir. We'll mail you the complete report,
but would you like me to tell you the results now?" Nick felt his heart
jump up into his mouth as he said, "Yes. Thank you."

"The test results are negative. Paternity has been ruled out with a
99.999 % degree of certainty."

Nick was stunned. He was silent a second, and then said, "Negative?
You're sure? Those are the results for case number 4438156?"

"Yes, sir. I'm looking at the id number here on the screen--4438156. The
DNA shows conclusively that the two individuals are not related. You
should receive the written report in the next day or two. Is there
anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Uh, no, no thank you."

Nick slowly hung up the phone, still trying to absorb the blow. He
couldn't believe it--his father wasn't his real father. "I'm not Burton
Fallin's son," he thought. "I'm not a Fallin, at all, I'm a, a Pratt."
Nick felt like his whole world view had shifted, that everything he'd known
about himself and his world was suddenly set on its head. It was jarring.
He'd known that the test might turn out this way, of course, had even tried
to prepare himself for such an eventuality, but the reality of it was much
worse than what he'd imagined.

After sitting for a moment in stunned silence, Nick decided that there was
nothing for it but to tell his dad the news. Running a hand down his face,
he picked up the phone and dialed Sheila's extension.

"Sheila? Nick. Is my dad free?... Good. Thanks."

Nick got up and made his way across the office. He opened the door,
stepped out, and then walked at much less than his normal brisk pace around
the center island and to his father's door. He spared Sheila a brief
glance, then knocked, and went right in.

Burton Fallin was just about to light a cigarette when he saw his son walk
in the door. From the look on Nick's face, he knew immediately that
something was wrong. "What is it?" he asked quickly. Nick, eyes averted,
said in a voice taut with strain, "I called and got the test results.
I-I-I'm not your son."

Burton's face fell. Cigarette forgotten, he sat back in his chair, and
just stared at Nick. "They're sure?" he asked finally.

"Yes."

Burton didn't speak for a moment. Then he said, "Well, did they, uh, did
they give you any kind of odds?"

Nick nodded, and then looked at his father. "Yes. 99.999 percent certainty."

"Ohh."

Burton held his son's gaze for a moment, and then dropped his eyes. Nick
said, "Well...," and then turned to go. Before he'd taken more than two
steps, Burton said, "Nicholas...I'm sorry, son."

Hearing the familiar "son" from his father's lips sent a jolt through Nick,
but he quickly recovered. Without turning around he acknowledged his
father's comment with a quiet, "yeah," and then walked on out of the
office, pulling the door shut with a 'click'.

Burton could feel his eyes grow wet. "Dammit, Anne," he thought. "Why'd
you do this? Why'd you do this to Nick and me?"

Nick walked slowly back to his office, head down. Once inside, he seated
himself at his desk, and tried to return to work. But it was no use. He
couldn't keep his mind on the papers in front of him. The phrase, "Dad's
not my father" kept playing in his head. After a few minutes, he gave up.
Stuffing the papers into his briefcase, he stood and reached for his coat.
He'd take a trip over to the clinic. Maybe that would get his mind off
things.

Burton came out of his office just in time to catch sight of Nick exiting
through the main doors. He stared after his son, his expression bleak,
then turned around and went back inside.

Nick walked out of the elevator and into the beehive of activity that
seemed to be LSoP these days. Purposely avoiding making eye contact with
anyone, he made his way quickly around the corner to the broom closet that
served as his office. Hanging his coat on the pipe sticking out from the
top of the water heater, he sat down at his desk, and looked through the
couple of files that Lulu and/or Alvin had placed there. They were all for
cases that had to be dealt with on Monday. Nothing there to occupy him.
He sat and stared around his `office` discontentedly. It really was a
dump--a mop and broom in the corner, the cleaning supplies on the shelf
above his head, and that god-forsaken sink behind him that had been sitting
there since he had first staked claim to the broom closet all those months
ago. God, couldn't they at least get rid of the damned sink?

After a moment, Nick found his thoughts turning back to the revelation
about his parentage, and his face grew dark. Damn his mother and Robert
Pratt! Damn Marcy Pratt for digging up the past. Why couldn't she mind
her own god-damned business?! Lead her own life and stay out of his.

Nick was interrupted from his brooding by the appearance of Laurie Solt at
his door. She said rapidly, "Nick. Good. We've got an emergency shelter
hearing, and Alvin said I could grab you if you were in." She looked at
Nick expectantly. He just stared at her without comment so she continued.
The little girl's name is Haley Ivie. She's eight. Her father's not in
the picture, and her mother was hospitalized today with a burst appendix.
She's in critical condition. There's no family or friends to step in, so
Haley will need to spend at least a few days at the shelter." Nick still
made no comment. "The hearing's in fifteen minutes. Haley is waiting
outside."

Nick nodded, and got up. He put on his coat and picked up his briefcase.
Then followed Laurie outside where she introduced him to Haley Ivie. She
was a small child, with long brown hair and big eyes. She was currently
twisting a lock of that hair around one finger. She looked up at Nick with
trepidation as Laurie said, "Haley, this is Mr. Fallin. He's going to help
us out. He's going to speak for you in court." Haley said, "hi", shyly,
and then sought for Laurie's hand. Nick returned her 'hi', then punched
the button for the elevator.

----+----

The shelter hearing had been cut-and-dried. After it was over, Nick had
made his usual rapid exit from the courtroom, and was now walking back to
the parking garage to get his car. It was close to 5:00, and he didn't
feel like returning to either Fallin & Associates or LSoP so he'd decided
to just call it a day. It was chilly out, and heavy, gray clouds filled
the sky. As he walked, Nick found his gloomy thoughts matched the weather
perfectly.

Reaching his car, Nick got inside, and sat with his hands on the wheel,
staring out the windshield at nothing. After a moment, he started the car
and slowly made his way down the parking structure to the exit. He knew if
he went straight home he'd just sit there and feel like crap. What he'd
really like was a hit, just a little hit to make him feel good, to maybe
help him discover the positive side of this whole mess. As he came out of
the parking garage he almost turned his car in the direction of Colin's
apartment, but stopped himself. No! No, he wouldn't let himself get
sucked back into all that again. He couldn't.... After a few moments of
internal struggle he won that mental battle, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But seconds later, the part of himself that usually got him into trouble
said, "Well then, why not the next best thing?"

"Why not?" Nick thought. He drove towards home, but before he reached
Ellsworth Avenue he made a quick detour to Jack's Packaged Liquor. He
walked out with a bottle of tequila under his arm. If he couldn't get
high, he'd get drunk.

Nick walked in his front door, briefcase and tequila bottle in hand. He
dropped his briefcase in the hall, then hung up his coat in the closet.
Heading into the kitchen, he grabbed a tumbler from out of a cabinet, and
then walked into the living room. He set the glass and bottle down on the
coffee table, and then collapsed down onto the couch, loosening his tie as
he did so. Reaching in his jacket, he retrieved his cell phone, and turned
it off. He didn't want any contact with the outside world tonight. He
planned to spend the next couple hours getting stinking drunk. Then maybe
it wouldn't hurt so much.

----+----

More than an hour had passed and Nick was well on the way to his goal.
Somewhere along the line he had retrieved the picture of his mother that
sat on the shelf, and placed it on the coffee table. He'd stared long and
hard at the photograph, trying to figure out how the mother he had loved so
completely could have betrayed him in such a devastating fashion. He had
discarded his jacket, and unbuttoned his collar. His tie was now a loose
loop around his neck. The telephone had rung about 20 minutes ago. He'd
let the machine answer it. It had been his father ("Nick, it's me. If
you're there, pick up.... Okay, well, uh...call me when you get this
message."). Needless to say Nick hadn't returned the call.

Nick poured himself another drink, and turned it all over in his mind for
what seemed to be the hundredth time. His life up until now had been a
lie. He wasn't Burton Fallin's son. He was the bastard of some man named
Robert Pratt. He held his glass out toward his mother's portrait in an
unsteady salute. "Here's to you, Mom. Here's to you and the dead Robert
Pratt, my honest-to-god, fucking father." Robert Pratt. Robert Pratt, had
been a...a what was it? An engineer that was it. Hmmm. An engineer.
Would he have been an engineer if he'd been raised by Pratt? Would it have
been "like father, like son" then too? This made him think about his
father and the firm. He wondered if he should leave Fallin & Associates,
quit trading on a name that wasn't rightfully his. Just...start over.
He'd be tempted to give New York another try if it wasn't for the fact that
his probation kept him bound to Pennsylvania. Well, maybe Philadelphia
then. There ought to be opportunities there, maybe he could get his
community service transferred to Philly. "Right, Nick," he found himself
thinking scathingly. "Who's going to want to hire you with a possession
charge on your record and another two-plus years of probation to serve?
You're screwed." He drained his glass, and reached for the bottle for a
refill. His thoughts continued down in a dark spiral. Finally, he picked
up his mother's picture, and stared at her smiling face, as angry tears
filled his eyes. "Why Mom?" he said aloud. "Why'd you have to go and, and
fuck Robert Pratt? Why'd you lie to me?!" He wanted to hurl the picture
across the room, wipe that smile off her face. But he didn't. A few
seconds later he passed a hand across his eyes, then asked tearfully,
"Why...why'd you die on me, Mom? Why?" He stared at the picture for
another moment, then set the photo back down on the coffee table, and
rested his head in his hands. A minute later the doorbell rang. Nick
raised his head. The doorbell rang again, followed by insistent knocking.
Nick stood up, and carefully made his way to the door. He peered through
the peephole, and saw it was his father. "No," he corrected himself
grimly. "Not my father. Burton Fallin." He opened the door slowly, then
stood there, resting one hand on it for support.

Burton was greeted by the sight of his only son, jacket off, collar open,
tie askew. Nick's eyes were wet, and his face reflected his recent
distress. Burton also thought it looked like he'd been drinking. He
sighed internally. Just as he had feared, Nick wasn't dealing well with
this. "Nicholas, I tried to call. You okay?"

Nick, eyes downcast, nodded abruptly, but didn't speak.

"Well, can I come in?"

Nick moved back from the door, and headed for the living room. Burton
noted that he stumbled slightly going down the two stairs into the room.
Burton shut the door, and followed Nick. He wasn't surprised to see the
open bottle of tequila on the table. Nick moved to stand next to the
couch, and his father stood a few feet away, surveying the items on the
coffee table--the open bottle, a partially-filled glass, a framed picture
of Anne. Jesus. This wasn't going to be easy.

Burton took a breath and began, "Son, I know you're upset--"

"Don't!" the word exploded out of Nick's mouth. He raised a hand and
stumbled backwards. "Don't-don't call me that. It's not true. My mother
saw to that."

"Nicholas, I know you're...you're hurting. This hurts me too. But we'll
get past this. You need to believe that."

Nick shook his head. "No. No, it-it's too much. It changes too much."

"Nicholas," Burton said, both sadness and a note of plea evident in his voice.

Nick stared at his father, his face a mask of pain, then asked tearfully,
"Why'd she do it? Why? She-she lied to me. She lied to you."

Burton sighed. "She made a mistake, Nick. She just made a mistake. She
was afraid to admit it...afraid of the consequences."

Nick replied bitterly, "'A mistake'. Right. I was a mistake."

Burton replied quickly, "No, no. You...you were everything to her, Nick,
the light of her life. She loved you more than...than anything else in
this world. We both loved you, Nicholas. You were our boy.... You're
still, you're still my boy."

Nick's face crumpled, and the tears that had been brimming in his eyes now
began to overflow. Burton moved forward, and awkwardly took his son into
his arms. Nick stiffened, then gradually allowed himself to accept the
comfort of his father's embrace. Burton held him tightly, and whispered,
"You're my boy. You'll always be my boy."

Father and son stood together for a long moment. Then Burton pulled back.
Still keeping his hold on his son, he looked at Nick, then at the bottle on
the table. He said with mock sternness, "Now then, enough of this, okay?
You're going to have one hell of a headache in the morning as it is." Nick
nodded, but didn't speak. "Okay," Burton said, then pulled Nick back for a
quick hug and a sturdy pat on the back before releasing him. "Okay."

The End