Causality Continued

Author: JanetD
 
Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG (mild language)

Summary: This story picks up where “Causality” left off. It’s my take on what 
happens after Nick and Burton leave the bar. 

Author's Notes: This story was written before “Privilege” aired, and we learned 
that Burton had taken Nick back to his house.

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 person real living or dead is 
purely coincidental. 

Prologue: from “Causality”
It was 2:00AM on a Friday night, and Nick had just gotten into a fight with two 
guys in the Incline. They had him down on the floor kicking him when Burton came 
in from outside, and stopped the fight by threatening them with a broken bottle. 
The following conversation took place as Burton helped Nick to his feet.

Burton: Nicholas, you okay? (as he bends down to Nick, and starts to roll him 
over onto his back)
Nick: “Ahh,Dad.... Dad, I just screwed up.”
Burton: “I know. I know.” 
Nick: “I’m a screw-up.”
Burton: “I can help you.” 
Nick: “I’m a screw-up!”
Burton: “Come on. Let me help you. Get up. We’d better get out of here before 
the police come. Come on. Come on. That’s it.” (as he helped Nick to his feet).

Burton bent down to grab Nick’s suit jacket, and then helped his son walk to the 
door. Nick was partially bend over in pain, and making small whining sounds as 
they exited the bar.

----+----

Nick and Burton emerged from the bar, one arm clasped around each other’s back. 
Nick was bent over, and clearly struggling to walk. Burton was supporting a 
majority of his son’s weight. 

“Hang on, Nicholas. It’s not far. My car is just over here.” 

They walked slowly toward the car, but hadn’t gotten very far when Nick said 
urgently, “Dad, I’m going to be sick.” Burton looked around, and with no good 
options in sight, could only steer his son to the side of the building. Nick 
bent forward, rested one hand on the wall for support, and vomited. Burton 
turned his head away, but as soon as the retching sounds ended he offered his 
handkerchief, and asked, “Okay now?” Nick nodded weakly, and straightened back 
up. 

They made their way slowly to the car. Once inside, Nick bent forward in the 
seat with his arms wrapped around his middle. He was still uttering small groans 
of pain. Burton slid into the driver’s seat, and asked, “Do you think you’re 
really hurt? Do you need to see a doctor, son?” Nick shook his head, and 
muttered, “No.” Burton gazed at his son for a moment, wondering if he should 
take Nick to the ER anyway, but finally decided against it. He didn’t think Nick 
was seriously hurt, and there might be questions asked he didn’t want to answer. 


As Burton was about to start the car, Nick began to speak. His voice was still 
ragged with tears and pain. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’ve messed everything up. I’ve 
messed it all up.” The words shot straight to Burton’s heart like a steel-tipped 
arrow. “It’s okay son. We’ll work it out. We’ll get through this, together.”

Burton started the car, and briefly debated taking Nick to his house, but Nick’s 
apartment was much closer, and he knew his son would be more comfortable there. 
They made the five minute drive without incident. When they arrived, Burton 
helped Nick out of the car, and they headed for the front door of the apartment 
building. Nick was still leaning heavily on his father, but was more steady on 
his feet than before. However, without his coat, he shivered in the cold, 
January night. 

As they reached the front door Burton said, “I need the keys, son”. Nick fumbled 
at his pants pocket for a moment, and then pulled out the keys. As he did, a 
small ziploc packet slipped to the ground. Nick did not see it fall, but Burton 
did. He reached down to pick it up, and grimaced when he realized what it must 
contain. He placed it in his pocket anyway. Nick who had been cradling his 
aching head was totally unaware of what had just transpired. Burton unlocked the 
front door, and helped Nick to the elevator, then into his apartment. He fumbled 
for the light switch, and light flooded the room. Nick was still bent over, and 
in considerable pain. Burton made a quick survey of the room (it had been a long 
time since he’d been there), and then walked Nick into the bedroom. 

Once inside, Burton quickly pulled down the bed clothes, sat Nick down on the 
bed, and started helping him undress. Nick continued to make small groans as his 
father removed his shoes, pants, tie, and shirt. Satisfied that his son would be 
comfortable now, Burton assisted him to lie down, pulled up the covers, and 
said, “Get some sleep, Nicholas. We’ll talk about all this in the morning”. Nick 
didn’t answer, but rolled over on his side, facing away from his father. Burton 
walked to the door, turned off the light, and stood there in the dark for a 
moment, looking at his son. Letting out a heavy sigh, he left the room. Nick was 
asleep almost before the door closed.

Returning to the main living area, Burton looked around for a moment before 
heading for the guest bathroom. He relieved himself, but as he reached for the 
toilet handle, he suddenly stopped, and dug the packet of coke out of his 
pocket. He stared at it for a few seconds with a look of extreme disgust and 
then poured the contents into the toilet, and flushed it away. He took the 
packet to the sink, washed out the remaining powder thoroughly, and then 
returned the empty packet to his pocket. As he washed his hands, he caught sight 
of his reflection in the mirror, and thought, “My God, how did we ever get to 
this point?” His mind wandered back to the night his son was arrested.... The 
phone call late at night.... The feeling of panic and helplessness.... How he’d 
instinctively picked up the phone to dial Nick’s long-deceased mother.... 
God.... He didn’t want to have to experience that ever again. 

Those thoughts stirred others, and it occurred to Burton for the first time what 
might have happened if he hadn’t been there tonight to stop the fight, and 
hustle Nick away. A shiver of fear ran up his back, and he felt a surge of 
adrenaline, “Jesus, those SOBs might have seriously hurt Nick!” They’d shown no 
sign of stopping their attack even though Nick was clearly laid out on the floor 
and helpless. The police might have shown up to break up the fight, and Nick 
could have been arrested. Almost certainly would have been arrested after they 
had discovered he was on probation. Burton reached into his pocket, almost 
unconsciously, and fingered the small plastic envelope. And of course, there was 
that -- that packet of the demon drug that had almost ruined his son’s life once 
before, and now threatened to do so again. If the cops had found that.... 
“Christ, what a mess that would have been!” Burton shuddered at the thought, and 
sent up a silent pray of thanks that he had been there to prevent Nick from 
running head-on into disaster.

Burton dried his hands, and decided to make one more quick check on Nick. After 
satisfying himself that his son was sleeping peacefully, he stepped back out 
into the hallway, opened the linen closet, and pulled a blanket off the shelf. 
Returning to the living room, he sat down heavily on the couch, and began to 
undress. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was after 2:40 in the morning. All of 
the sudden, he realized how very tired he was. He laid down with a grateful 
sigh, pulled the blanket up over him, and fell asleep.

Toward dawn Burton woke up. It took a second for him to realize where he was. 
Then feeling nature’s insistent call, he got up to use the bathroom. After he’d 
finished, he walked into the bedroom to check on Nick. He crossed to the far 
side of the bed where he could see Nick’s face softly outlined in the dim glow 
of sunrise. As he stared down at his son he found himself thinking, “My God, he 
looks so young with his face relaxed in sleep like that. He could almost be 
twelve years old again.” As he stood there, Burton was flooded with a wave of 
love for his troubled, wayward son. He reached out a hand, and gently stroked 
Nick’s hair. “Nicholas, what am I going to do with you?” he whispered to 
himself. Afterward, he headed back to the couch for another few hours of sleep.

When Burton next woke it was 9:10AM. He laid there quietly for a few seconds, as 
the events of the last evening came flooding back. Finally he pulled himself 
into a sitting position, and rested his head in his hands, trying to prepare 
himself for the showdown ahead. After a few minutes, he paid another visit to 
the bathroom, and then peeked his head in the bedroom door to check on Nick. His 
son had changed his position (was facing toward the door now), but was still 
sound asleep. Burton could clearly see the swollen, discolored blotches now 
marring his handsome face. He shook his head in a mixture of disgust and 
sympathy, and returned to the living room.

Burton dressed, and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. Discovering he 
was hungry, he looked around for something to eat, and found some bagels and 
cream cheese. He fixed himself a plate, walked to the table, and sat down. As he 
waited for the coffee to brew he found himself thinking, “My God, he’s back on 
the drugs! I don’t know if I can go through all this again.” He sighed heavily. 
“I’ve got to figure out how to approach him. Knowing Nicholas, if I do it the 
wrong way, he’ll just get defensive, and shut me out. I’ve got to let him know I 
want to help him, not assign blame.” 

When the coffee was ready, Burton sat down and drank a cup, while eating the 
bagel and cream cheese. Afterward, he placed the empty plate in the dishwasher, 
poured himself another cup of coffee, and walked back over to the couch. Seeing 
the television remote on the coffee table in front of him, he sat down, and 
flipped on the TV. As the set came on he quickly lowered the volume so as not to 
disturb Nick.

( A few hours later)

Nick woke up. As he started to return to consciousness he discovered that his 
head felt two sizes too large, and there was a dull thrum beating inside. His 
mouth tasted like something died in it. He started to roll over, and realized 
simultaneously that his gut really hurt and his jaw and face ached. Suddenly he 
remembered what had transpired the night before, and let out a low groan, hiding 
his face in the pillow (the bar...the fight...his father -- oh, God!). He laid 
like this for several seconds, not wanting to face the day, but soon his full 
bladder was telling him he had to get up. He sat up carefully, noting again how 
sore his abdomen was, and got out of bed. As he crossed the room, he noticed the 
bedroom door was closed -- he never closed the bedroom door. He stopped for a 
second to listen, and realized that he could hear the low sounds of the 
television. “Jesus,” he thought to himself, “that means Dad is still here. 
Christ.”

Nick walked into the bathroom, relieved himself, then reached for the medicine 
cabinet to get some aspirin. As his hand grasped the side of the door, he looked 
up, and saw himself in the mirror. His face was a mess! There was a large bruise 
on the left side of his chin, and another next to his right eye. His forehead 
was bruised, as well. His eyes were red and bloodshot. He stared at his 
reflection for a moment as a pained, shame-filled look came into his eyes. He 
lowered his head, and stood with his hands resting on either side of the sink, 
supporting his weight. All he could feel was shame. After a moment, Nick pulled 
himself upright, retrieved the aspirin from the cabinet, and swallowed three. 
Then grabbing a washcloth, he gingerly washed his aching face. Next he brushed 
his teeth. After all this, he felt a little more human. Stealing another glance 
in the mirror, he grimaced, and walked slowly into the bedroom. He pulled on a 
Pittsburgh Pirates sweat suit, then walked to the door. Nick paused for a 
second, mentally steeling himself for the meeting with his father. He opened the 
door, and walked slowly into the living room.

Burton looked up when he heard the door, and watched Nick walk into the room. 
Nick gave him a slightly abashed, slightly defensive look. Burton said 
pleasantly, “Morning, Nicholas. There’s coffee if you want some. It’s a couple 
hours old, but I can make a fresh pot.” Nick nodded, walked over and sat down at 
the kitchen table, but not without a groan of pain escaping his lips. He rested 
his aching head in one hand, and watched his father as Burton made the coffee. 
Then Nick said, “Was it my imagination, or did I see you threaten those two guys 
with a broken beer bottle last night?” Burton looked up, half grinned, and said, 
“No, that wasn’t your imagination.” Nick shook his head slowly. “That’s a sight 
I never expected to see.” 

“Old habits die hard, son. Let’s just call it a remnant of my misspent youth.” 
Burton smiled, and Nick half-smiled in return. “I used to spend a lot of time in 
steelworker bars. Those were rough places. I had to resort to a broken bottle on 
more than one occasion.”

“Did you ever cut anybody?”

“Nooo. The threat was usually enough to scare them off. I got cut once, though. 
Here, I think you can still see the scar.” He walked over to the table, rolled 
up his shirt-sleeve, and revealed a long, thin white scar. “Yeah, there it is.” 
Nick made a pretense of looking at his father’s “war wound”.

Burton walked back into the kitchen, and pulled a coffee cup from the cabinet 
for Nick. “You hungry? These bagels of yours are pretty tasty.” Nicks shook his 
head, and looked down. Burton returned to the table, set the cup in front of 
Nick, and said, “So, how you feeling this morning?” Nick looked up, and lied, 
“Fine.” Then averted his gaze again. They sat in uncomfortable silence until the 
coffee finished brewing. Burton poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself and 
Nick. He allowed Nick to take a few sips before beginning in on his prepared 
speech.

“Nicholas, we need to talk about last night.” As Burton uttered the words, Nick 
looked like he was about to say something. Burton quickly put up his hand to 
stop him. “Now, I don’t want to fight. Believe me, son, that’s the last thing I 
want to do. I just want to help. But I can’t do that unless I know what’s going 
on.” He paused. Nick was still studying the patterns of the table top unhappily. 
Burton pulled the empty cocaine packet out of his trousers, and laid it on the 
table. “This fell out of your pocket last night when you were getting out your 
keys.” Nick looked up, startled. “I disposed of the contents. Son, how long have 
you been back on this stuff?” Nick turned his face away, but continued his 
silence. Burton said, “Nicholas, talk to me.... Son?” 

Nick let out a long, pain-filled sigh, and decided to confess, “Since Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday”, Burton said calmly. He added silently to himself, “You started at 
Kirk & McGee on Monday, and you’re using on Tuesday. Jesus Christ!” He continued 
out loud, “Why son?” Nick didn’t answer. 

Burton tried again, “Is this about Kirk & McGee? Does it have something to do 
with your job there?” Nick still didn’t reply. “It’s not quite what you 
expected, is it, Nick?”

Nick didn’t raise his head, but finally spoke, “No.”

“You know you can always come back to the firm, son. I’d like you to come back. 
I, uh, probably should have tried harder to get you to stay in the first 
place.... You know, all you have to do is say the word, and your old job is 
yours. You know that. What do you say?”

Nick looked up, and met his father’s gaze, “Yeah.”

“Okay, then, that’s settled.... But, son, there must be something else. Just 
because you were unhappy at Kirk & McGee, that wouldn’t drive you back to this 
stuff, would it?”

Nick looked unhappy, but remained silent.

“Does it have something to do with the anniversary of your mother’s death? I 
know...I know that’s always hard on you, but this....” His voice trailed off, as 
he gestured to the empty plastic packet. “Nicholas?... I need you to talk to me, 
son.”

Nick drew a deep breath, and started in, “Everything...everything just sort of 
snowballed on me -- the memories of-of Mom’s death.... I hated it at Kirk & 
McGee.... The Sloane deal...” He looked up at his father guiltily as he said 
this last sentence. He returned his gaze back to the tabletop, and continued. “I 
think I could have handled it all, if, if....”

“If what, son?”

Nick didn’t answer right away, but finally said, “If I hadn’t seen my old dealer 
at Kirk & McGee.”

“What?!” The word exploded out of Burton’s mouth.

Nick shot his father a sidelong, apprehensive look, and said quickly, “He, he 
wasn’t there to see me. He was there to see somebody else, but he, uh, came into 
my office afterwards.” There was a long pause before Nick continued. “He did a 
line of coke right there, right there in front of me...in my office. Another 
pause. “When he left I saw there was some powder left on the credenza....” He 
bowed his head, and couldn’t continue.

Burton looked at his son with a mixture of frustration and compassion. “God, 
Nicholas.”

Nick’s eyes were wet, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet his father’s gaze. 
His head was killing him, and it was taking all he had just to keep the tears at 
bay. Burton considered the situation for a moment, and then said quietly, “So, 
are you hooked on this stuff again? Do we need to check you back into rehab?”

Nick straightened up, and this time looked his father in the eye. “No. No, I 
think I can do it on my own. I, uh, I just slipped, that’s all. It was just a 
slip.”

Burton stared at his son in silence, not knowing if he should push the issue, or 
leave it alone. Finally, he drew a deep breath, and said, “Okay.... Okay.... But 
son, I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that if that 
dealer gets in touch with you again, you’ll let me know. I need your word on 
that, son.”

Nick looked at his father. Finally shook his head, “yes”, and said, “Okay. Yeah, 
okay.”

The End