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

Summary: Nick is hit by a drunk driver.

Author's Notes: Thanks go to Meghan for supplying me with an ending for
this one. =)

Please note that I relied on my layman's knowledge of hospital practices,
and medicine, in general, in writing this story. I apologize for any
glaring mistakes.

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 between an organization depicted in
this story and any actual organization is purely coincidental.


 
 
 

Burton Fallin was jarred from a deep sleep by the shrill sound of the
telephone. Turning over, he fumbled for the receiver.

"He-Hello," he said muzzily.

"Is this Burton Fallin?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

"Who's this?" Burton rasped out.

"Mr. Fallin, this is Jean Nash at Mercy Medical Hospital. I'm afraid I
have some bad news for you."

"Wha-what is it?" Burton asked urgently, fully-awake now.

"It's your son, Nicholas. He's been in a car accident, and is seriously hurt."

" 'Seriously'... is he going to be all right?"

"The doctors are with him now. You need to get down here as soon as possible."

"Okay, okay. What hospital was that again?"

"Mercy Medical. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do. Uh, thank you."

"You're welcome. Goodbye." And she hung up.

Burton stared at the phone in his hand for a few seconds - Nicholas was
hurt, seriously hurt. "Oh God!" he said aloud. That exclamation seemed
to break the paralysis that had been holding him motionless. Moving
quickly, he got out of bed, and threw on some clothes. In less than five
minutes time, he was in the car, and on his way to the hospital.

On the drive, Burton found himself smoking one cigarette after another.
The window was down, the night air cold, but bracing. He was very keyed
up, and, in his anxious state, was exceeding the speed limit by a
considerable amount. He was determined to reach the hospital as soon as
possible.

As he drove, one thought after another raced through his head. Nick had
been in an accident. He was badly hurt, but the woman on the phone
wouldn't tell him anything more than that. What was Nicholas doing out
this late on a Wednesday night anyway? It was after 1:00AM now. And how
had the accident happened? Was it Nick's fault, or the other driver's?
He realized then that he didn't even know if there was another driver, but
thought it seemed likely. What if the accident had been Nick's fault?
What if he'd been drinking, or, or, God! -- high on something? Burton's
blood ran cold at that thought. He prayed it wasn't the case. He thought
Nick had all that under control. Sweet Jesus, he hoped he was right!
But, he told himself, the important thing was that Nick be okay. If they
had to deal with the other, they'd deal with it. The main thing right now
was that Nick should recover.

As he drove through the night he sent up a fervent prayer to ask God to
look after his boy.

---+---

Flinging away his last cigarette butt, Burton hurried through the double
doors of the E.R., and up to the admitting desk. He had to pause to catch
his breath before asking after Nick. The clerk on duty told him that Nick
had gone up to surgery, but that she would see that his doctor was told
Burton was here. "He should be able to fully inform you of your son's
condition," she finished helpfully.

"Thank you," said Burton. As he turned away from the desk, he found
himself thinking, "Surgery. Christ!". He ran a hand over the top of his
head, then paused, before walking a few feet away from the desk. He
figured it was a good idea to remain in the clerk's view, to remind her of
her promise to find the doctor. As he waited, he fiddled with his
moustache nervously, mentally reviewing a long list of reasons why Nick
might have been taken to surgery.

After a few minutes, he saw a man in a white coat emerge from behind a set
of double doors, and come toward the admitting desk. The desk clerk
looked up, and said, "Oh, Dr. Parker, the MVA patient you just sent up to
surgery? This is his father."

Dr. Parker walked up to Burton, and said, "Mr. Fallin?"

"Yes, that's right," said Burton.

"I treated your son. Why don't we sit down over here." He gestured to a
group of chairs.

"How is Nick?" Burton asked before they reached the chairs.

The doctor waited until they were seated before he began. "Your son is in
critical condition, Mr. Fallin. He has a minor concussion, along with some
other superficial injuries, but what makes his condition critical is the
internal injuries he sustained in the crash. We don't know the extent of
those yet, won't know until the surgeons have gotten inside and taken a
look, but we know there was fairly extensive internal bleeding."

Burton had listened intently to the doctor's words. Now he said, as if
willing it to be true, "But, he'll be okay, right? They'll, uh, they'll
take care of it -- whatever's wrong?"

"I'm very hopeful, yes. But, I'm afraid I can't say more than that, at
this point. I'm sorry."

Burton looked shaken at this announcement.

Dr. Parker paused, and then said sympathetically, "I am sorry, Mr. Fallin.
I wish I had better news for you." As he rose from his chair, he added,
"Now, if you'll wait a moment, I'll have someone show you to the O.R.
waiting room."

Burton just nodded, head bent, still absorbing this latest blow.

At that moment, a uniformed police officer appeared in front of them.
"Dr. Parker?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"I understand you were taking care of one of the victims of that MVA," --
he paused to consult his notebook -- "Nicholas Fallin?"

Burton raised his head, as the doctor replied, "Yes.".

"Well, I hear he was pretty badly injured. Is he gonna make it?"

The doctor looked chagrined, and indicated Burton with a nod of his head.
"Officer, this is Mr. Fallin's father."

"Oh, I'm, I'm sorry," the policeman replied, looking down at Burton.
"Guess I put my foot in it there. Sorry." Turning his attention back to
the doctor, he said, "Should we talk somewhere else?"

"No, that's not necessary. I can tell you the same thing I've just told
Mr. Fallin. His son is in surgery now. We won't know more until the
surgeons have done their jobs."

"Okay. Thanks, doc."

The patrolman walked away, and the doctor turned back to Burton. "I'll
have someone take you up to the O.R. waiting room now, Mr. Fallin," he said.

"Thank you, doctor, but I'd like to talk to the officer first. What floor
is the waiting room on?"

"It's on 'four'. There should be signs to direct you. You shouldn't have
any trouble finding it."

Burton stood up, and looked the doctor in the eye. "Thank you," he said.
"For what you did... for my son. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Fallin," Dr. Parker replied with sincerity, and left.

While finishing the exchange with the doctor, Burton had been keeping a
check on the whereabouts of the police officer who had come up to ask about
Nick. Now he followed after the man. "Excuse me. Officer Williams?" he
called out (he had noticed the name tag while the patrolman was questioning
Dr. Parker).

The officer turned around, and looked inquiringly at Burton.

"I was wondering if you could fill me in about my son's accident. All they
told me when I got the call to come here was that he'd been injured. What
happened, exactly?"

Officer Williams consulted his notes once more. "Well, your son's vehicle
was struck by another car, broadside, as it was passing through the
intersection at Blake and 53rd St.. This was at approximately 12:15AM."

Burton nodded, listening attentively.

The policeman continued, "The investigation is still preliminary you
understand, but the driver of the other car had a blood alcohol level of
0.13 percent. It appears at this point that he ran a red light, and hit
your son."

"This other man, what's his name?"

Officer Williams looked down at his notebook again, "Daniel Morrison."

"Was he hurt?"

The officer snorted, "You know these drunks. They always seem to come out
of it better than their victims." He glanced at Burton, as if suddenly
realizing that that was not the most tactful thing to say to the victim's
father. "Anyway, he was lucky; his air bag deployed. He just ended up
with a couple banged-up legs."

"I see." Burton hesitated before asking the next question, but he had to
know, "And my son. Was there" -- he stopped to clear his throat, and
looked away -- "Did, uh, anything show up in his blood stream?"

The officer gave Burton a searching, yet sympathetic, look. "No, Mr.
Fallin. We checked, of course. That's standard in these cases. And since
the computer showed your son was on probation for drug possession...
Well... we'd naturally make sure that wasn't a contributing factor, you
understand. But, he was clean."

Burton nodded is head slowly, very relieved to have that fear laid to rest.
"Can you tell me the name of the detective assigned to the investigation?"

"No, sorry, I'm afraid I don't have that information yet."

"Okay, well, thank you, Officer Williams." Burton stopped, and pulled out
his wallet. "Here, let me give you my card." He patted his pockets, but
realized he didn't have anything to write with. "Could I borrow your pen?"
The officer nodded, and handed Burton a pen from his breast pocket.
Burton scribbled his home phone number on the back of the card. "My
daytime number is listed on the front, and I put my home number on the
back. I'd appreciate it if you could contact me if you get any new
information."

The policeman took the card, and nodded, as he said, "All right."

"Thank you," Burton said, reaching out to shake the officer's hand before
he walked away. Burton drew in a deep breath, and then looked around, as
if trying to decide what to do next. He thought about calling Nick's Aunt
Liz, but decided there was no reason to wake her in the middle of the
night. There was nothing she could do really, and she needed her rest,
what with fighting the cancer, and all. He'd call her in the morning -
how... however things turned out. Unbidden tears threatened to blur his
vision then, and he drew in another deep breath to steady himself. Well,
he supposed there was nothing else to do now, but go up to the O.R., and
wait for news of Nick's condition.

---+---

Burton paced the floor of the waiting room nervously. The nurse at the
desk had said Nick would probably be in surgery for at least another two
hours. Burton had only been here for 20 minutes, but already it felt like
much more than that. He didn't know how he was going to get through the
remaining time. The wait was maddening. His mind kept returning over and
over to two inescapable facts: Nick was very badly injured, and there was
no assurance that he would recover. "Jesus!" Burton thought to himself.
"All because of a goddamned drunken driver!"

As he continued pacing, it occurred to him that the last time he'd walked a
hospital floor like this was the night Nicholas was born. That seemed like
a life-time ago now. But the memory was still vivid. He knew that
several prospective fathers had come and gone in the hours that he had
waited, but he remembered two in particular: Frank, an 'old pro', who was
awaiting the birth of his fourth child, and Roger, a first-time father like
himself. Frank had been sitting in a chair casually reading a magazine,
while he and Roger had paced the floor like a couple of 'nervous-nellies'.

He didn't know how many cigarettes he had gone through that night. "I
could really use a smoke right now," he found himself thinking, but of
course that wasn't allowed in hospitals these days. He'd have to go all
the way outside to have a cigarette, and he wasn't leaving this room.

He turned his thoughts back to that night more than 32 years ago. It had
been a long, difficult labor for Anne. The nurse had come in periodically
to give him updates, and few of them had been encouraging. He had never
known another night as long as that one.

He realized suddenly that he had been only a little older then, than Nick
was now. He wondered if Nick would ever find a girl, and settle down...
have a family. He'd like a grandchild or two to bounce on his knee before
he got too old to do the bouncing. That would be something, wouldn't it?
Nick with a child. A smile creased his lips. He could picture his son
with a newborn baby in his arms. Nick would hold him like all new fathers
- gingerly, as if the baby was a cross between high-powered explosives and
a china doll. He could just see the expression on Nick's face as he bent
his head to his child - awe, tinged slightly with apprehension. Burton
smiled at the image. Yes. He would really like to see that some day.

As he continued his musings the picture changed. Now he saw Nick with a
boisterous two-year old in his arms. A little boy, a little tow-head,
like Nick had been. Burton could see the child struggle in Nick's arms as
he, Burton, approached, the little boy eager to get down, and run to his
grandpa. "Paw-paw, Paw-paw," Burton could hear the child say, and he saw
himself lifting the little guy up into his arms, and tossing him into the
air. The boy would laugh with glee. "Daadd," Nick would say sternly.
"You know Monica doesn't like it when you do that."

Yes, it was a nice to imagine such a future, but he didn't know if he would
ever see it come to pass. Nick showed no signs of settling down. Burton
didn't think in the five years Nick had been back in Pittsburgh that he'd
even had a serious relationship. He couldn't be sure, of course. Nick,
like himself, could be pretty close-mouthed about those things. He was
sure there had been women in his life though. He was a good-looking boy,
and could turn on the charm when he wanted to. He'd never had a problem
getting the girls. In fact, he imagined that his son had probably charmed
the pants off no few women in his time. But, Nick had 'issues', he
supposed the psychologists would call it. Maybe he wasn't really ready to
get married yet. Maybe there were still too many demons dogging his
footsteps.

He cast his mind back to the night of Nick's birth once more. Yes, there
had been a lot of pacing that night. A lot of pacing... as he had
impatiently waited for news. Finally after some nineteen hours, the nurse
had come in to announce that he had a healthy baby boy, and his wife was
doing fine. Burton could remember the feeling of relief that had flooded
through him, followed quickly by overwhelming happiness. He had a son. A
son! The nurse had told him that in just a few minutes they would bring
the baby up to the plate-glass window, and he could see his new child.

He remembered how the other prospective fathers had shook his hand, and
patted him on the back heartily. It had probably been no more than ten
minutes, but had seemed like twice that, before the nurse brought the baby
up to the window. Nicholas was wrapped tightly in a blanket, and no part
of him was visible, at first. But as the nurse approached the window, she
pulled the blanket back from the tiny, little head. Burton got as close to
the glass as he could, eager for a view of his firstborn son. He couldn't
get over how small he was. It was startling. As was the fact that this
was his child, his and Anne's child, the child they had made together. It
was a miracle. He felt overwhelmed. "My son", he thought to himself. "My
son". They were amazing words. He felt himself swell with pride and joy,
as tears welled in his eyes. He hadn't been this affected by...
anything... in a long time. It was a wonderful feeling, and he wanted to
savor it. As he gazed at his son he found himself thinking that his boy
would always have everything he needed, the best of everything. Nice
clothes, good schools. His son was never going to have to scrape his way
through life, struggle for all that he got, as he had. That was a promise
he had made in that instant, a pledge to the tiny baby and himself.

With a sigh, Burton returned back to the present. Unfortunately for
Nicholas, he had not been able to protect him from the worst hurt that life
had dealt him - the loss of his mother. He knew his son had never truly
gotten over this, that it was a wound that had never completely healed. He
ached for his son at times, but had never seemed able to touch that spot in
his heart, to ease his suffering. Burton let out another sigh, and ran a
hand across the top of his head. And now... now his son lay unconscious
on an operating table while a team of doctors worked to save his life.

Burton sat down, and put his head in his hands. Nicholas had to be all
right. He had to! He didn't want to face the prospect of life without
his son. Parents should never outlive their children. He'd heard others
say it before, and knew it was true. But now the full impact of those
words was hitting him, hitting him hard. No, a parent, a father, should
not have to outlive his son.

The time dragged by, as one thought after another chased through Burton's
mind. He found himself relieving many moments from Nick's childhood, the
happy as well as the sad. At last, he saw a doctor in green O.R. scrubs
walk through the door, and up to the nurse's station. The nurse pointed in
Burton's direction, and the doctor walked toward him. Burton searched the
man's face for a sign of what the report was going to be, but the doctor
was giving nothing away. Burton could feel his heart begin to race as the
man got closer.

"Mr. Fallin?" the doctor said as he approached.

"Yes, that's right." said Burton, standing up.

"Mr. Fallin, I'm Dr. Keating. I operated on your son. I'm pleased to tell
you that he's going to be all right. We were able to stop the bleeding,
and repair the damage. All his major organs are intact. Barring
complications your son should make a full recovery.

Burton was overcome with relief, but then the doctor's last words caught
his attention. "Complications?" he asked with concern.

"Well," the doctor replied, "after major surgery there is always the
potential for complications, post-op infections, that sort of thing, but
those occur in a very small number of cases. Your son is a healthy young
man, Mr. Fallin. He should be fine."

Burton grabbed the doctor's hand, and shook it vigorously. "Thank you,
doctor. Thank you!"

The doctor allowed Burton to pump his hand a few times before gently
disengaging himself. "Yes, well, they're moving your son to post-op now,
and you'll be able to see him in about an hour. All right?"

"Right," Burton said with a nod of his head. "Thank you." He realized as
the doctor turned away that a few tears had spilled down his cheeks. He
wiped them away with one hand. Nicholas was going to be all right! Thank
God! Despite the late hour he felt like grabbing the nurse, and whirling
her around the floor! He could barely contain his joy. Nick was going to
be okay. The doctor had said he was going to make a full recovery. It
was... it was marvelous news. And in another hour, or so, he'd get to
see Nick. Get to reassure himself that he was really going to be all
right.

After a few more minutes of mentally reveling in the good news, Burton
glanced around the empty waiting room, and let out a long sigh. He guessed
it was time for that cigarette now.

---+---

The nurse led Burton into post-op. As they walked, she explained that Nick
was still somewhat groggy from the anesthesia, and that, combined with the
pain medication, would make him sleepy. Burton nodded, and asked, "Does he
know what happened? Does he remember the, the accident?"

The woman stopped, and said, "Well, in a lot of these cases the victim
doesn't recall the last seconds before the crash. You see it takes a
certain amount of time for the brain to convert a short-term memory into a
long-term one. If someone loses consciousness before that time has
elapsed, then, 'poof', the memory is just gone. However, we did tell your
son as he was coming out of the anesthesia that he had been in a car
accident. Whether he remembers that now, or not, I can't say."

The nurse led Burton up to Nick's bed. The upper half of the bed was
slightly elevated. Burton could see a few small cuts on his son's face, as
if from flying glass, and what looked like a bruise forming on his left
temple. He could see no sign of other injury. Any evidence of the recent
surgery was concealed by the blanket that was drawn up to Nick's chest.
His eyes were closed.

"Nicholas?" Burton said softly. Nick's eyes flicked open, and he gazed at
Burton as if trying to bring him into focus.

"Dad?" he said faintly.

"Hi, son," Burton said with a smile. "How ya doing?"

"Wha-what happened?" Nick stuttered, staring up at his father in confusion.

"You were in a car accident. Do you remember anything about that?"

"Accident? An accident... No... no, I-I-I don't remember."

Burton nodded. "That's okay. Don't worry about it." He reached a hand up
to stroke his moustache. "That's, uh, that's not unusual, from what they
tell me. The important thing, is that you're going to be all right. And
you are, son. You're going to be fine, just, just fine. I promise you
that."

The corners of Nick's mouth turned up just the slightest bit at his
father's words. Then his eyes closed.

Burton ran a hand over the top of his head, and sat down heavily in the
chair next to the bed. God, he was tired! He felt physically and mentally
exhausted. He glanced at his watch, and saw it was almost 4:30AM. He was
too old for this. He let out a long breath, and slumped a little in the
chair. He thought about all the things at the office that were on his
plate for tomorrow -- no, make that today. There was the meeting with
Ranco Corp. He hated to put that off, but it couldn't be helped. It would
have to be rescheduled. Then there was lunch with Paul Bessing of Bessing
Manufacturing. He'd have to push that back too. He rubbed at his neck,
and sighed, as he thought of all there was to do. But at the same time, in
the back of his mind, he felt a quiet contentment knowing that Nick was
going to be all right.

Burton was just about to doze off when Nick said, with apprehension,
"Dad?". Burton sat up, and said, "I'm here, son. It's, it's okay. I'm
right here." Nick closed his eyes again, and Burton settled back into his
chair, warmed by the knowledge that Nick found his presence reassuring.

Burton did doze off then, and was awakened sometime later by a hand being
placed gently on his shoulder. "Mr. Fallin?" the nurse said.

"Hmmm? What, what is it?" Burton asked, drowsily.

"Mr. Fallin, we're getting ready to move your son into the Critical Care Unit."

"Oh, oh, okay," Burton replied, straightening up, and drawing in a deep
breath. He watched as the two nurses made the preparations for the
transfer. He rubbed at his face in an attempt to come more fully awake,
and then glanced at his watch. It was 5:25AM. Seeing the time he
couldn't suppress a yawn.

In just a couple minutes, everything was made ready, and the nurses began
to push the bed slowly out of the room. Nick had awakened while the two
women were working at his bedside, and seemed to be more aware of what was
going on around him than he had been an hour before. As the nurses moved
the bed, Burton kept one hand on the bed rail. He had to let go
momentarily as they maneuvered the bed through the doors. Once on the
other side, he took firm hold of the rail again, his signet ring clinking
against the metal. During the transfer, Burton kept glancing at Nick to
see how he was doing. Nick was subdued, but did seem aware of his
surroundings.

Once inside the Critical Care Unit, they moved Nick's bed into place, and
the first nurse turned to Burton to say quietly that visiting was
restricted here, that immediate family could visit around the clock, but
only on the hour, and then for just ten minutes. She explained that this
was necessary to allow the patients, all the patients, to get their proper
rest. Burton nodded, glanced at his watch (it was almost 5:35AM by this
time), and then looked at Nick.

"Well, Nicholas," Burton said, with false cheer, "They're shooing me outta
here, but I'll be back in a little while. You, uhm, you get some rest now,
son, okay?"

Nick, still drowsy, returned his father's smile faintly, and said, "Yeah...
Thanks."

Burton said, "Well... okay then." And with a final look at Nick, turned,
and left.

Once outside the CCU, Burton drew in a deep breath, and looked around. He
had twenty-five minutes until he could go back inside with Nick. Plenty of
time to grab a smoke. He hit the restroom, and then made his way
downstairs, and out the main exit. He walked a little distance from the
building, and stopped to light his cigarette. It was just before sunrise.
As he smoked, he watched the sky take on a reddish hue. The hospital was
located on a hill with the city spread before it. In just a few minutes,
the buildings below grew visible against the backdrop of the dawn sky, the
windows and metal skins of many reflecting that same rosy glow. It was a
beautiful sight.

Burton took another puff on his cigarette, and thought about the night that
had just passed. He felt he'd aged ten years in this one night alone. He
hoped to God he never had to face another one like it. As he watched the
creeping light of day, he found himself contrasting this night with the one
more than 32 years ago, the night of Nicholas' birth. That night, as this,
had ended in a glorious dawn. He'd experienced the same sense of anxiety
during that long-ago vigil (although thankfully to a much lesser degree).
And there had been a feeling of exhilaration both times too. That first
night over the birth of his son, the introduction of a new life into the
world. Tonight over the news that his son was going to live. That night
he was a new father. His son a completely unknown quantity to him. Yet
looking on the face of his newborn child had been a life-altering
experience. Tonight looking on that same face, the face of his grown son,
had been a life-affirming one. Still, after all these years, in many ways,
Nicholas remained a mystery to him. A puzzle he'd yet to solve. But he
knew he loved his son now in ways he could never have imagined that first
night,staring in wonder at the tightly wrapped bundle in the nurse's arms.
Loved him, was frustrated by him, yearned to shake sense into him at times,
but above all - loved him. Loved the boy his son had been, and the man he
now was. All the rest was secondary.

Glancing at his watch, Burton saw it was five till six. Taking one last
long drag, he turned, and walked back toward the building, stopping briefly
to stub out his cigarette, before heading back inside to sit with his son.

The End