A Little Problem
 
Author: Janet E. Dillon 
 
Email: jdillon@mail.win.org
 
Rating: PG (language)

Summary: A tale of what happened to Nick in 1996 when he took too much
cocaine, and got into difficulty. This story is based on events mentioned
in the Season Two episode "Where You Are".

Author's Notes: 1) In "Where You Are", Nick's old friend Rob has just
become an F&F client. Burton knows Rob from an incident in 1996 when Nick
was living in New York City and partied a little too hard one evening and
over-dosed on cocaine. Rob made the phone call that alerted Burton to what
had happened. In the episode, Rob relates a detailed version of the
incident to Burton. When Burton repeats the story to his son, Nick
basically tells him it didn't happen as Rob described, and ends the
discussion by saying, "I had a little problem, and I asked him to call
you." This is my version of what actually transpired that weekend. As
with any nicfic, I've made certain assumptions and invented certain details
to fill in the holes for the things we don't know. For instance, I have
made Rob Nick's roommate, although that was never stated in the show, and
I've also supplied him with a last name.
2) Thanks go to Goldie for the beta read. =)

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. Likewise, any resemblance to an actual organization is
purely coincidental.

Setup: Fall 1996. Nick and Rob and some friends from Swann & Cranston
have been partying at a bar on a Friday night after closing a big bond
deal. Coke has been used freely, along with alcohol. It's about 10:00PM
when the crowd decides to move on to a model party on the East Side.
 
 


Two suit-clad figures, one heavily supporting the other, emerged from
O'Shea's Bar and Grill, and into the steadily-falling rain. "Oh, great,"
thought Rob Martell. "That's just what I need right now--rain." He
clasped his arm tighter around the back of his roommate Nick Fallin, and
pushed on toward the car. His friend was finding walking difficult due to
having over-indulged in a combination of cocaine and alcohol. Nick
stumbled, and Rob adjusted his hold. "God," he thought to himself. "Nick
is really stoned." As they made their slow way to the Mustang, Rob
observed the two cars carrying their other friends pulling out of the
parking lot. "Thanks, guys. Leave me here alone to deal with a totally
wasted Nick. Thanks a lot." A moment later, he felt the young attorney's
body begin to sag to the ground. Rob grabbed Nick with both hands, and
struggled to bring him back to his feet, yelling, "Nick, hey, stay with me
here! Stay with me!" The next thing Rob knew he was watching Nick's eyes
roll back in his head as he lost consciousness.

"Oh, shit!" Rob said loudly. "Nick! Come on, man! Come on, don't do this
to me." He grabbed Nick under the arms, and lugged him to the car--Nick's
expensive black leather shoes scuffing along the pavement in their wake.
When they reached the cherry red Mustang, Rob laid Nick's upper torso
across the hood of the rain-dampened car, and dug out his keys. He opened
the passenger-side door, and then went to try to revive Nick. "Nick, wake
up! Wake up! Come on." He shook his friend, and after a minute, Nick
roused enough to get into the car with Rob's assistance. Rob walked around
and got into the driver's seat, and then turned to Nick with a serious look.

"Nick, I think I need to take you to the hospital."

Nick had his eyes closed, but mumbled, "No, no...no hospital. I'm okay."

"Nick, man, you're in bad shape. I think you need help."

"NO! No hospital, just, just take me home."

Rob sighed with frustration. He thought Nick really should see a doctor.
But then, he told himself, he really didn't want to deal with the questions
that would be asked at the E.R.--Nick wasn't the only one that was high
right now. Rob didn't think the hospital would get the police involved,
but there could be other negative consequences if word somehow got out
about this thing. No, he could manage it on his own. He'd have to manage
it on his own. Starting the car, Rob glanced over at Nick, and shook his
head. God, it was going to be a long night.

---+---

Rob half-carried Nick into the lobby of their apartment building,
struggling to keep his roommate on his feet. They made their painful way
to the elevators ("Thank God for elevators," Rob said silently), and up to
their sixth floor apartment. Rob leaned Nick against the wall, and kept
one hand on his chest to steady him as he unlocked the door. "Come on,
Nick, we're home," he said, as he assisted the other man into the living
room. He guided Nick to the couch and down to a sitting position, then
went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. When Rob came back to the
living room he found Nick sprawled on the sofa, passed out. It took him
longer to rouse his buddy this time, and he began to get scared. "Dammit!"
he thought. "What do I do?" As he stared at Nick, he suddenly remembered
what he'd always seen in the movies when somebody was in this kind of
condition. Getting Nick to his feet, Rob moved his friend into the
bathroom. Pausing to put down the raised toilet seat, Rob placed Nick on
the commode, and began to remove his roommate's clothes. He pulled off his
shoes and socks. Then, with Nick protesting weakly, stripped off Nick's
suit jacket and removed his shirt and tie. Pulling him to his feet, Rob got
Nick's pants off. Holding on to his friend to keep him upright, Rob
reached over and turned the shower on full-force--all cold water. He
guided the half-conscious Nick, now clad only in his boxers, into the
shower, and listened to him holler as the cold water made contact with his
skin. "Son of a bitch!" Nick cried. He attempted to come back out of the
shower, but Rob, who was still supporting Nick's weight (and getting very
wet in the process) held him there. "Not yet, buddy, not yet," Rob said.

After a couple minutes, Rob decided that Nick was as awake as the cold
shower was going to make him. "Okay, you can come out now." He helped
Nick out of the shower stall, and then grabbed his roommate's white terry
bathrobe off the back of the door, and wrapped it around him. Walking Nick
into the kitchen, Rob got him seated at the end of the kitchen table. Nick
leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, while Rob went over to the
counter where the freshly brewed coffee stood waiting. He pulled a coffee
cup down from the cabinet, and filled it two-thirds full with the steaming
black liquid (he knew a full cup of hot coffee would be a dangerous thing
to have around Nick in his current state). He returned to the table with
the coffee, and placed a hand on Nick's shoulder.

"Coffee, Nick."

Nick didn't respond.

"Come on, Nicky, you need to drink this. Come on."

Nick raised his head slowly, and Rob brought the cup to his lips. As his
friend started to drink, Rob said softly, "That 's it." But Nick pulled
back after the first sip. "It's too hot," he complained.

Rob looked at Nick for a second in exasperation, then said, "Okay, I can
fix that." He went to the sink, poured a little coffee out of the cup,
and then added some cold water. Turning around he found that Nick had his
head down on the table, and his eyes were closed. "God dammit!" Rob
thought. He walked back to stand next to Nick, put the coffee cup down,
and then shook his roommate's shoulder roughly.

"Nick, man, you can't sleep! You go to sleep, you might never wake up.
Come on!"

Rob pulled Nick up off the table and leaned him back in the chair. "Come
on!" he said again, slapping Nick's cheek briskly. Nick came awake at
that, and put his hand up feebly to try to block Rob from striking him
again. "That's it. Good boy," Rob said encouragingly. "Now drink this."
He picked up the cup and put it to Nick's lips. He watched him take a
tentative sip. When Nick made no objection about the temperature, Rob
forced him to take another sip and then another. When the cup was
emptied, Rob went back to refill it, again adding water to cool it off. He
succeeded in getting most of the second cup down Nick's throat before the
young man pulled back, refusing to drink any more.

"Okay," Rob said. "Then it's time to walk. Come on. We're going to go
for a little walk, Nick."

Nick protested, but Rob pulled him out of the chair, and got one arm around
his back and under his left arm. He put Nick's right arm around his neck,
and grabbed onto his dangling hand. Rob's own wet clothes were feeling
quite uncomfortable by this point, but he didn't have time to worry about
that. He knew it was important to get Nick moving, and to keep him moving.
He started walking Nick out of the kitchen, and into the living room, as
his friend mumbled his displeasure, "Don't want to walk. Wanna sit down.
Let me sit down."

Rob ignored Nick's complaints, and began walking him up and down the room.
It was a struggle, as Nick's legs would start to collapse under him about
every third or fourth step. After about ten minutes of this Rob felt worn
out. The next time Nick started to go limp, his roommate decided it was
time for a rest. He got Nick back into the kitchen, and into the chair.
He forced more coffee into him. After a little while, he got him up for
some more walking. This process was repeated for the next few hours, with
occasional side trips to the bathroom breaking the rhythm.

Finally, about 2:00AM, Rob let Nick settle down onto the couch in the
living room. Nick had begun to support more of his own weight on their
most recent back-and-forths across the room, and Rob was too tired to keep
up the pacing any longer. Nick leaned back into the corner of the couch,
and closed his eyes. Rob stared at him for a moment, then got up and
headed for the kitchen. He returned shortly with a cup of coffee, and sat
down on the opposite end of the sofa from Nick. As he watched his friend's
slow, even breaths, he thought, "Maybe we're past the danger point." But
he really didn't know for sure. He did know that he'd have to spend the
rest of the night watching Nick, making sure he continued to breath those
slow breaths. Rob sighed, took a big sip of the hot coffee, and settled
back to begin his vigil.

Around dawn, Rob found that he was having an incredibly hard time staying
awake. He could barely keep his eyes open despite the many cups of coffee
he had had. Finally, he decided to wake Nick, see how he was doing, see if
he was coherent and aware again. He reached forward, and took hold of
Nick's arm, calling his name, "Nick, Nicky, wake up.... Nick." Nick
stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at Rob in confusion.

"Hey, man, are you with me?" Rob asked.

"Hmmm?" Nick asked sleepily.

"Are you back with me?... How do you feel?... Talk to me, Nick."

Nick was still confused. Glancing down he realized he was dressed in his
bathrobe. "What...what's going on? Why"--he rubbed at his hair--"why am I
out here in my robe?"

"Don't you remember?"

Nick looked at him blankly.

"What's been going on is that you had a little too much fun at the party
last night. You od'ed, buddy. I tried to take you to the emergency room,
but you didn't want to go. So I brought you back here, and it's been a
long night, let me tell you."

Nick put a hand up to his eyes, fuzzy memories of Rob forcing him to walk
the floor coming back to him, but most of the night was a hazy blur. He
listened distractedly as Rob related the tale of how he had brought him
back to the apartment, gotten him into the shower, poured coffee into him,
and so on. Nick remembered little of it, and it scared him. This had
never happened to him before. He'd been high...lots of times, but he'd
never lost consciousness, let alone experienced what he apparently had gone
through tonight. "Oh, God," he thought. "What's happening to me? What am
I doing?"

Rob was still going on at length about what he'd done for Nick to keep him
from sinking into a coma when Nick suddenly interjected, "Call my dad."

"What?" Rob had been going full-force, and it took him a second to realize
what Nick had said.

"Call my dad."

"Now? Are you crazy? It's not even 6:00 in the morning."

"I don't care. Call him."

"Nick," Rob said exasperatedly.

Nick stared at his roommate, resolute. "Call him.... Please."

Rob shrugged. "Okay." He reached for the pen and note pad that sat on the
end table by the phone. "What's his number?"

Nick reeled off the number, and Rob jotted it down.

"What do you want me to tell him?"

Nick was silent for a second. "Just, just tell him what happened."

Rob nodded. "Okay."

Satisfied, Nick leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Rob glanced at his watch--5:45--and picked up the cordless phone to dial.
He listened as the phone trilled in his ear. His call was answered on the
third ring. Rob heard a gruff male voice say, "Hello?"

"Mr. Fallin?"

"Yeah, who is this?"

"This is Rob Martell, Mr. Fallin, Nick's roommate."

"Nick's roommate? What, what time is it? Is Nick okay?"

"It's 5:45. Nick's okay, yeah, but...he had a rough night."

Burton's voice sharpened. "What do you mean?"

"He, uhm, well, he partied a little too much--"

"'Partied'? Are you talking about drugs?"

"Uh, yeah."

" God..."

"Like I said he was partying last night and got into some trouble, but he's
all right now."

"'Trouble'?" came the quick reply. "What kind of trouble? Is my son under
arrest?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Moving away from the couch, Rob lowered his
voice. "Nick...Nick had too much coke and booze last night, Mr. Fallin.
Like I said, he's fine now, but it was scary there for a while...really
scary. Just thought you should know."

Four hundred miles away in Pittsburgh, Burton Fallin shook his head in sad
disbelief, then said to himself silently, "Drugs again? Oh, God." After
a moment he recovered enough to ask, "Is Nick there? I want to talk to
him."

"He's here." Rob covered the receiver with his palm. "Nick, your dad
wants to talk to you."

Nick opened his eyes, and just shook his head.

"Mr. Fallin? Nick, uh, Nick's not really in any shape to talk right now.
Like I said, it's been a rough night." He laughed nervously.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Burton said,
"Okay. Tell Nicholas that I'm coming up there. I'll catch the first
flight. Tell him that."

Rob nodded. "All right, I'll let him know. Uh, bye."

"Goodbye."

Rob exhaled a large breath, returned the phone to its cradle, and turned to
Nick. "Well, now you've done it. Your dad's coming up here, said he's
going to get the first flight out." He shook his head in bemusement. "I
don't get you, man. If I'd just come close to buying it from shoving too
much of the white stuff up my nose, the last thing I'd want to do is make
sure my old man knew about it."

Nick stared at Rob with no expression, then closed his eyes and let his
head fall back. In a moment, he was asleep. Rob shook his head again,
then resumed his place on the other end of the couch. He stretched his
legs out in front of him, and relaxed back into the cushions. At last, he
could finally get some sleep himself.

---+---

It was about 10:20AM when Burton Fallin's cab pulled up in front of his
son's Manhattan apartment. In the more than a year since Nick had
graduated from Yale Law and been working at Swann & Cranston, Burton had
seen Nick only once. They'd had dinner when Burton had been in New York
City on business, but Burton hadn't seen his son's apartment then.

Burton stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then reached for his
wallet to pay the cabbie. As he did so, he wondered for the umpteenth time
that morning why his son had to be mixed up with drugs. Why? What was the
attraction? If he needed to unwind couldn't he do it with a few glasses of
Scotch or Bourbon? Why run all the risks that drugs entailed? Burton just
couldn't understand it. His son had so much going for him. He was smart
as a whip, handsome, with a promising career. Why the hell take a chance
on throwing all that away on drugs?

Burton rang the door of apartment 612, and waited. He told himself again
that he was going to keep his temper in check, not rail at Nick about what
a stupid-ass thing he had done last night. From what this Rob had said,
Nicholas had had a very close call. That scared the hell out of Burton,
and a large part of him just wanted to grab his son and shake some sense
into him. But Nick was nearly twenty-seven-years-old, not a child any
more. Burton couldn't just lay down the law, and expect his son to comply.
Just then the door was swung open by a young man Burton didn't recognize.
He was of medium height with brown hair that was currently in need of a
good combing. He had on gray sweats. Burton knew this must be Nick's
roommate Rob. Rob put up a hand to suppress a yawn, then said, "You must
be Mr. Fallin. Come on in." Burton stepped inside, and quickly took in
the surroundings. The apartment was not large, but looked comfortable.
There was a overstuffed couch and love seat in the living room with a
coffee table and matching end tables. There was an entertainment center
with a stereo and television. As Burton looked around, Rob walked over to
the far side of the living room, and opened the drapes. The double-set of
windows faced East, and bright sunshine came streaming in. Yes, it looked
very comfortable for two young men just starting their careers.

"Well," said Rob, "Can I get you something? Coffee? I don't think Nick's
up yet. But I can go wake him, and let him know you're here."

"Coffee would be fine. And I would appreciate it if you told Nicholas I
was here."

"Sure. I'll just go put on some coffee, and then wake him up. Uhm,
please, take off your coat, and have a seat."

Burton took off his jacket, and laid it across the arm of the love seat,
then reluctantly sat down. What he really wanted to do was go into Nick's
bedroom, and check on him himself. But instead he'd wait for his son to
come to him.

In a moment, Rob was passing through the living room on his way to the back
of the apartment and the bedrooms. It was several minutes before he
reemerged. Burton noticed that his hair was now presentable, and he held a
gym bag in his hand.

"Nick's up. He's going to hit the shower. I'll get you that coffee."

When he reached the kitchen, he called back, "Do you take cream or sugar?"

"No," Burton replied, "Just black."

Rob returned shortly with the coffee, and handed it to Burton. He looked
around then, as if not quite sure what to do, and finally took a seat on
the couch. Neither man said anything for a moment, and then Burton broke
the silence. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Uh, no. Here, let me get you an ashtray." Rob opened a drawer in one
of the end tables, and pulled out a cheap glass ashtray. He set it on the
coffee table within easy reach of Burton. Burton lit his cigarette, and
drew the soothing smoke into his lungs.

"You've been Nick's roommate since he moved here, right?"

"Uh, pretty much. I met him through work. I'm with Wilton-Langley--the
brokerage house--and they're a client of Swann & Cranston. It just
happened that Nick and I met right after my last roommate decided to move
back to Atlanta. Nick was looking for a place, and I was looking for
somebody to share the rent, so here we are." He smiled winningly.

"I see."

There was another silence. Finally, Rob said, "Well, Mr. Fallin. You'll
have to excuse me. I promised a buddy I'd meet him at the gym at 11:00,
and if I don't leave now, I'll be late. It was nice meeting you."

Rob stood up, and Burton followed suit. The two men shook hands. Rob
retrieved his gym bag from where he'd dropped it on his way to the kitchen
earlier, and then headed for the door. He opened it, and then looked back
and said, "Nick should be out pretty soon. If I don't see you again, Mr.
Fallin, have a good trip back to Pittsburgh."

"Thank you. And thank you for phoning me, Rob."

Rob nodded, and then walked out the door. Burton heard him turn the key in
the lock, and then he was gone. Burton sighed, and ran a hand across the
top of his head. He wondered how long Nick was going to be. Too charged
with anticipation to sit down again, Burton walked over to the window, and
stared out at the city.

It was probably fifteen minutes before Burton heard the sounds of
approaching footsteps. He turned around and saw Nick coming slowly into
the room. The sight of his son gladdened Burton's heart. He looked the
worse for wear--large circles under his eyes and lines of strain on his
forehead like he was fighting a hangover, but he was all in one piece,
thank God! He was wearing faded jeans and a Yale sweatshirt, but had no
shoes on his feet, just white sweat socks. His hair was still wet from the
shower. Burton drank in the sight of his son, unable to dismiss the
thought that this might have been a very different meeting. He could have
been looking down at an unconscious Nick in a hospital bed, not seeing him
here, standing upright in the middle of his apartment. Burton sought for
Nick's eyes, but not surprisingly (based on past experience) Nick refused
to look fully at his father.

"Son," Burton said, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice.

"Dad," Nick replied.

"I, uhm--you want some coffee? Rob made a pot."

Nick ran a hand through his hair, "Uh, yeah, I'll get it."

"No," Burton said quickly. "You sit down. I'll get it." He waited to
see that Nick wasn't going to object, and then picked up his own coffee
cup, and walked into the kitchen. Nick sat down on the couch, and rested
his head in his hands. Now five hours after he'd had Rob make that phone
call he was regretting it. What had he been thinking? His father was just
going to lay tons of grief on him. That was a given. Why in the world had
he insisted that Rob make that call?

In a moment, Burton was back with two cups of coffee in his hands. He
handed one to Nick, and then sat down catty-cornered from his son on the
love seat. There was silence as the two men sipped at their coffee.

Finally, Burton said, "Nicholas, we need to talk about what happened to you
last night. From what Rob tells me you had a close call. You want to tell
me about it?"

Nick didn't say anything.

Burton exhaled. "Look, son, using drugs...it's not only wrong, it's
dangerous. You have to know that. You got into trouble last night, that's
what Rob said. What if you'd used just a little more of that stuff? You
might be dead now, Nicholas. I might be viewing your body in the morgue."

"Dad--"

"No. It's true, son. And I, I couldn't take that."

Nick stared down at the floor.

"Look, I know we had this conversation before, when you were in college,
but do you need help to stop? Should I get you help? A treatment center?"

"No, Dad. I'm fine. I don't need that."

"Are you sure? If you're hooked on this stuff maybe that's what we need to
do."

"I'm not hooked. I just...I just got a little careless last night, that's
all. I'm fine. And it's not going to happen again, I swear it."

"Nicholas...son, leaving aside the fact that you're risking arrest every
time you use this...this coke, you're putting your health at risk, your
whole future. If your, uh, your...drug use is starting to affect your
life, affect your work, you need help."

"I'm fine, Dad. I told you that."

Burton raised his voice for the first time. "You're not 'fine'. If you
were fine, I wouldn't be here!"

Nick's features took on a set look, and Burton sighed in angry frustration.
He stood up, and ran a hand through the thin hair atop his head. After a
moment, he pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. He took a couple quick
puffs, staring at his son as a feeling of helplessness settled on his
shoulders. What was he going to do? Nicholas was refusing to even
recognize that there was a problem. Damn!

As Burton stood and smoked his cigarette, Nick stole covert glances at his
father. God he hated this. He wished again that he'd never asked Rob to
make that call.

Burton stubbed out his cigarette, then sat back down. He looked at Nick,
who met his eyes briefly, before glancing away. "So, you're telling me
that there isn't a problem, that you could stop anytime you want."

"Yes," Nick said with a nod.

"Then stop, son. Stop now before something irrevocable happens, something
that can't be fixed. Will you do that?"

Nick didn't say anything for a moment, then he nodded, and said, "Yeah, okay."

Burton stared at his son. He didn't know if Nicholas meant what he said,
or not. Or if he meant it, that he would be able to stick to it.
"Christ," thought Burton, "I wish to God I knew whether or not he was
really hooked on this crap." But, he didn't see what else he could do
right now, but accept Nick's word...believe him when he said he'd quit.
For now, he'd have to put his faith in that, but he knew what plea he'd be
adding to his prayers for the foreseeable future--"please, God, keep my boy
away from drugs."

After a long moment, Burton nodded. "Well, uhm, you hungry? How 'bout we
go out for brunch, or lunch, or whatever the hell they serve this time of
day?"

Nick got up. He didn't see he had much choice in the matter. His father
had come all the way from Pittsburgh. He couldn't just send him back home
without even breaking bread with him. "Okay. I'll get my jacket."

Burton watched his son walk away. Then got up, retrieved his own jacket
from the arm of the love seat, and put it on. It's probably not too soon
to start that prayer, he thought to himself. As he waited for Nick to
return, he repeated to himself silently, "Please, God, keep my boy away
from drugs."

The End

Author's Notes Addendum: I was presented with a bit of a quandary in
writing this story. We were told in "Where You Are" that Nick requested
Rob to call his father, yet Burton did not know that it was Nick who
instigated the call. Now it would seem to be the most natural thing in the
world for Rob to have said to Burton while on the phone, "Nick asked me to
call you." Yet, Burton didn't know, so Rob must not have told him. So I
had to finesse that part a bit. Also, when I watched the episode, it
seemed to me that Nick would have been the one who requested Burton to come
to New York City. Yet, if Burton didn't know that Nick had asked Rob to
call him, obviously, Rob also did not say "Nick wants you to come up here".
So Nick must not have made that request. The way I wrote the character of
Rob, I couldn't see him asking Burton to come to NYC on his own. So, I
changed it around a little so that Burton was the one who decided he was
coming to NY. I justified this by deciding that after six or seven years,
Burton could easily remember the call as happening a little differently
than it actually did, or he could have felt that what Rob was telling him
was in essence a "summons". Anyway, I thought I'd try to explain my
reasoning here for the benefit of anyone who might wonder why I made the
choices I did in this story.