Crisis 
 
Author: JanetD

Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG (language)

Summary: Burton is taken ill.

Author's Notes: I relied on my layman’s knowledge of medicine in writing this 
story. My apologies in advance to anyone in the medical field who may read this 
and take note of any glaring omissions/mistakes/implausibilities. 

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.
 
--+--

Burton and Nick Fallin were sitting in Burton’s office at Fallin & Associates 
discussing the upcoming meeting with Melvin Fischer of Fischer’s Frozen Foods. 
Mr. Fischer was interested in selling his company to a multi-national food 
processor, and they were expecting him in for a meeting at 10:00AM. It was 
9:54AM now.

Burton was seated behind his broad desk. His son, Nick, had taken his customary 
seat in front. They had been tossing around various options for the sale of the 
company for about the last fifteen minutes. Burton had been speaking, when 
suddenly he trailed off in the middle of a sentence. Nick was just about to 
prompt his father to complete his thought when he realized that Burton had grown 
quite pale. Looking more closely he also saw a sheen of sweat on his father’s 
face. Nick hesitated, but then asked, “Are you all right? You look...you look 
kind of pale.”

Burton didn’t respond right away. Nick leaned forward, and was just about to ask 
again, when his father said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Think I might be coming down 
with a touch of flu, that’s all.” Just as Burton finished speaking, there was a 
brief knock at the door. His assistant, Sheila, peeked her head inside. “Mr. 
Fischer and his associates are here,” she said pleasantly. “I’ve just shown them 
into the conference room.”

“Uh, thanks, Sheila,” Burton replied absently. Sheila nodded, and closed the 
door. Nick got up from his chair, and waited for his father to rise as well. But 
Burton was not moving. “Well?” Nick asked. Burton didn’t answer. He seemed to be 
staring off at nothing. “Dad?” Nick tried again. “What?” said Burton, coming out 
of his daze to look directly at his son. Nick cocked his thumb over his shoulder 
in the direction of the conference room, and raised one eyebrow. “The meeting 
with Fischer,” he said. “Oh, right,” Burton replied. He picked up his portfolio, 
and stood up slowly. Nick watched his father for a moment, then turned and 
headed for the door. His hand was just about to reach for the doorknob when he 
heard a loud thud. 

Nick turned back to see his father lying on the floor, halfway between his desk 
and the conference table. He cried out, “Dad!” and hurried over to his father. 
Burton was lying on his back, with his legs curled to one side. He was not 
moving, and his eyes were closed. “Dad!” Nick said again urgently, as he knelt 
beside him. Burton made no response. Nick placed his hand on his father’s 
throat, and felt for a pulse. He was immeasurably relieved when he found the 
reassuring beat beneath his fingers. He realized then that he had been holding 
his breath, and let the air out of his lungs in a loud sigh.

Nick was reaching to loosen his father’s collar and tie when he heard the door 
open again. Glancing behind him, he saw it was Sheila. “I heard a noise,” she 
began, then saw Burton. “Oh my God, what happened?” she asked, hurrying forward. 


“I don’t know,” Nick replied distraughtly, “he, he just collapsed.” He finished 
loosening the clothing around his father’s neck, and then pulled his cell phone 
from his own pocket. He pushed the button to dial “911”, and waited impatiently 
for the operator to answer. 

“Hello,” Nick said. “My father has just collapsed in his office. He’s 
unconscious.... Yes, yes, I checked his pulse.... Yes.... No, I don’t know. 
Please, we need an ambulance right away.... 437 Grant St., suite 1900, Fallin & 
Associates. All right, thank you.”

Nick looked up at Sheila, and said, “They’re sending help.” He rested an index 
finger atop his upper lip as he thought for a second. Then he added. “Sheila, 
would you go tell the receptionist to send the paramedics back here when they 
arrive?” As Sheila started to leave, Nick spoke again, “No, wait. First go in 
and tell Mr. Fischer that my father’s been detained. That he’s not going to be 
able to meet with him today. If he seems really upset tell him it’s a family 
emergency, or something. Just get them all out of here as quickly as you can, 
okay?” 

Sheila nodded, and Nick continued, “Then you go up front and wait for the 
paramedics.” 

Sheila said, “Yes, okay.” 

“And Sheila,” Nick added, verbally underlining the weight of his words, “Don’t 
mention this to anyone else yet. All right?” 

Sheila nodded again, and left.

Wiping a hand down his face, Nick turned his attention back to his father. He 
examined him for any signs of returning consciousness, but found none. Burton’s 
face was still lax. He appeared to just be sleeping peacefully. Nick put a hand 
to his father’s wrist, and checked his pulse again. It seemed strong, though 
rapid. “Just like mine about now,” he found himself thinking. Getting up, he 
walked over to the credenza, and wet his handkerchief with water from the 
carafe. Returning to kneel next to Burton, he stroked the damp cloth gently over 
his father’s face, and said urgently, “Dad, it’s Nick. Can you hear me? Dad?” 

Burton showed no sign of response. Nick sat back on his heels, and tried to 
think what else he could do, but he couldn’t think of a thing. At least, he told 
himself, his father’s pulse was strong, and he was breathing. That was the 
important thing. Help would be here any minute. He would just have to wait until 
it arrived. 

Nick cast his mind back to the conversation with his father of only a few 
minutes before. Now that he thought about it, Dad had seemed a little out-of-it 
the whole time. And he had definitely looked unwell there at the end. The color 
had seemed to drain completely from his face. “I should have paid more 
attention,” Nick berated himself silently. “I could see he wasn’t well. Why 
didn’t I do something?” He frowned at himself angrily. But, nothing like this 
had ever happened before. In Nick’s experience, his dad had rarely been sick. 
When he was, Burton tended to ignore it, just going full bore -- “business as 
usual”. The original iron man, that was Burton Fallin. Nick frowned again.

Stroking his hand through the hair on the back of his head, Nick glanced around 
the room. No, there was nothing there to help him now. He’d just have to wait 
for the paramedics. His mind turned again to possible explanations for his 
father’s collapse. What if it was something really serious, a heart attack or a 
stroke? What if his father...what if his father...died? It was like an abyss 
opening before his feet, all yawning blackness. His father...gone. No (he took a 
mental step back from the precipice), no, he couldn’t think about that. His 
father was going to be all right. He had to believe that. He had to. 

Yet...Dad was so still. He looked so...helpless. Nick had never seen him like 
this. On impulse, he reached down, and gently clasped his father’s hand. Without 
conscious thought, he began stroking the back of it lightly with one thumb. 
Suddenly, he was assaulted by the all too vivid memory of his mother’s hand in 
his, that last morning before she died. The parallels were too real. Like a 
child burned by a flame, he abruptly drew his hand back, unwelcome tears filling 
his eyes. “No,” he thought to himself forcefully, “I am not going there.” He 
struggled to find something to distract himself. He began to think about the 
appointments his father might have scheduled for this afternoon. “I’ll have to 
ask Sheila,” he thought. “They’ll have to be canceled, as well. And the staff 
will have to be told something.” He tried to think what his father would want 
him to do in a situation like this. He thought he knew -- keep it all as quiet 
as possible, for now at least. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound 
of an approaching siren. “Thank God!” he said aloud, with a profound feeling of 
relief.

In just a couple minutes, Sheila opened the door, and two paramedics walked 
through, large boxes of medical equipment in their hands and atop the gurney 
they brought into the office. It was a man and woman, both around Nick’s own 
age. The woman’s badge said “Hernandez”, the man’s “Burke”. Sheila had followed 
them into the room, and now closed the door behind her. Moving a little to one 
side to be out of the way, she watched the proceedings silently. 

The woman, Hernandez, said, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Getting to his feet to make room for the paramedics, Nick replied, the distress 
evident in his voice, “He just...collapsed. We, we’d been talking. Then we both 
got up to leave the room, and he just, just fell to the floor.” His voice came 
close to cracking more than once as he said this.

Nick moved back from his father’s side, as both paramedics knelt next to Burton. 
They began to examine him. Nick watched intently, anxiously rubbing a finger 
across the top of his lip. Hernandez looked up, and continued her questions.

What’s his name?”

“What?” Nick asked, disturbed from his reverie, but then immediately answered 
the question, “Burton Fallin. He’s, he’s my father.”

“Was he complaining of anything before this happened?”

“No, not really,” Nick said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I-I-I noticed he 
looked pale, and I asked him if he felt all right. He just said he thought he 
might be coming down with the flu.”

“Uh-huh. How old is your father?”

“He, uhm, he turned sixty-eight in September.” 

“Does he have a history of heart problems?”

“No, no he doesn’t,” Nick answered quickly, abruptly straightening his posture, 
and crossing his arms in front of himself protectively.

Hernandez had been feeling the back of Burton’s head, and said in an aside to 
her partner, “He’s got quite a bump back here. Must have banged his head pretty 
good when he hit the floor.”

“Yeah, either that, or on the desk,” Burke added.

Returning her attention to Nick, Hernandez asked, “What about high blood 
pressure?”

“Yeah, at least, I think he still has that, but they control it with 
medication.” 

“Any other health problems we should know about?”

“No, no.” He hesitated. “Not that I know of,” he finished lamely. Was it 
possible there was something his father hadn’t told him? Nick shifted on his 
feet at the disquieting thought, and recrossed his arms.

Burke had finished taking the vital signs, and was calling into the hospital. He 
described the patient’s condition to the doctor, and read off the vitals he had 
scribbled on his notepad. He listened to the doctor’s reply, and then said to 
his partner. “He wants us to hook him up to the EKG, and run a strip.”

Nick watched apprehensively, as the paramedics opened up Burton’s shirt, pulled 
up his tee-shirt, and applied the patches for the EKG. They turned on the scope, 
and ran a strip, the same information they were seeing simultaneously being 
transmitted back to the hospital. “Looks like normal sinus rhythm,” Burke said 
reassuringly to Nick. Nick nodded, knowing this was good news, but the tension 
did not ease from his face. 

In just a moment, the doctor’s voice came back over the radio. Burke listened, 
and then said, “Roger that. IV with ringers D5W. Will transport as soon as 
possible.”

“What did he say?” Nick asked.

Burke replied, “He said the EKG looked fine, and we should bring your father on 
into the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“Mercy Medical.”

Nick nodded distractedly, and watched as the paramedics started the IV, and then 
lifted Burton onto the gurney.

“Ready to go?” Burke asked Hernandez. She nodded, and they began their slow 
procession from the room. Sheila, who had been silent this whole time, opened 
the door for them, and then watched as they rolled Burton out the door. Her eyes 
were wet, and the paths of freshly shed tears were visible on her cheeks.

Nick and Sheila followed the paramedics out of the room. As they walked along 
behind the gurney, Nick bent his head toward Sheila, and spoke urgently, though 
keeping his voice low. 

“Cancel the rest of my father’s appointments for today. If he gets any calls, 
just take a message and tell the caller that he’ll get back to them when he can. 
Tell them he’s got a very full day...whatever. You know what to do.” 

Sheila nodded. 

“If there seems to be anything really urgent call me on my cell.” 

Nick stopped walking abruptly, and Sheila had to stop swiftly to prevent herself 
from walking past him. Nick continued, “Let the other partners know what’s 
happened. Tell them I’ll let them know what my father’s condition is as soon as 
I have more information. Tell them...tell them that my father would want this 
kept quiet as long as possible. All right? Ask them to see that the staff 
doesn’t let this get spread outside the firm.” 

Sheila nodded again, and Nick said, “Thank you, Sheila. My dad is counting on 
you. I know you know that.” 

Sheila nodded, and her tears started flowing afresh. “I, I hope he’s going to be 
all right, Nick. Your father...your father’s a wonderful man. I’ll be praying 
for him.” As she spoke, they reached the glass entry doors. 

“Thank you,” Nick replied automatically, and then added, “I’ll call you as soon 
as I know anything.” Then he walked out behind the paramedics.

Sheila turned from the door, and was confronted by the curious looks of many of 
her co-workers. The news of the paramedics’ visit had spread like wild-fire, and 
several people had gathered to see what was going on. Giving them all a quick, 
reassuring smile, she headed back to deliver Nick’s message to as many of the 
partners as she could find. She could only hope that they’d demonstrate the same 
quick grasp of the situation that Nick had. 

----+----

Nick was stopped at a traffic light. He had made good time so far, and was about 
halfway to the hospital. But this particular light seemed to be taking an 
interminable amount of time to change to green. He compressed his lips, and 
pounded on the steering wheel impatiently. “Come on, come on!” he urged the 
light. He was anxious to reach the ER, and find out what the doctors had to say 
about his father’s condition. His mind poured over the unsettling possibilities 
once more. Even though the EKG strip looked good, his dad could still have had a 
heart attack. Nick was no medical expert, but he didn’t think that one strip was 
really enough to rule that out. Or, his dad might have had a stroke. Christ! He 
could hardly bear to consider that possibility -- his highly-capable father, 
incapacitated by a stroke. “Please,” he found himself offering a silent plea. 
“Please let him be all right.”

At last the light turned green, and the traffic moved forward again. Nick was 
lucky after that. Most of the lights were in his favor. Within minutes he was 
turning into the hospital parking lot. He found a space, and hurried quickly 
toward the doors to the ER. An ambulance was parked at the entrance, but he had 
no idea if it was the one that had carried his father here, or not. He went 
through the doors at a half-run, then paused a moment to orient himself, and 
locate the Information desk. Finding it, he took a few seconds to regain his 
composure, then strode up to the counter. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman 
behind the desk. “They just brought my father in. Burton Fallin, can you tell me 
where he is?” 

The desk attendant looked up, and said, “What was the name again?” 

“Fallin, Burton Fallin,” Nick answered impatiently. He saw her glance at a 
nearby whiteboard, and then she said, “He’s in with the doctor right now. All I 
can do is let them know you’re here. The doctor will be out to speak with when 
she can.” 

“Thanks,” Nick said, with a nod. 

“You can have a seat over there,” the attendant added, pointing to a row of 
chairs in a side alcove. 

Nick nodded again. He walked over to the waiting area, but did not immediately 
take a seat. He was too keyed up to sit down yet. The adrenalin had started to 
flow once more when he reached the hospital parking lot. So he paced a little, 
trying to keep a lid on his growing anxiety.

----+----

Twenty minutes had passed, and the doctor had not yet emerged from the 
examination room. Nick had taken a seat a good fifteen minutes before, but he 
was finding it hard to hold one position for long. He kept shifting in his seat, 
first sitting forward, elbows on knees, hands resting on his folded hands, then 
sitting back, legs stretched out in front of him. Periodically, he would run his 
right hand through his hair, and then check his watch. He was just about ready 
to get up and pace again, when he noticed a woman in a white doctor’s coat 
walking toward him. She was in her early to mid-thirties, with blonde hair 
pulled back and away from her face. The waiting room was almost deserted, so he 
thought it was likely that this was his father’s doctor. 

“Mr. Fallin?” she said, as she approached. 

“Yes, I’m Nick Fallin,” he replied, standing up, and meeting the doctor’s eyes 
with a serious, steady gaze.

“I’m Dr. Luttrel, I’ve been taking care of your father.”

“How is he?” Nick asked quickly, unable to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Well, I think he’s going to be fine. We’ve ruled out any cardiac episodes. We 
also see no evidence of stroke. It appears that your father has a case of the 
flu. That caused him to faint, and he hit his head when he fell. That’s the 
reason for the loss of consciousness.”

Nick felt a wave of relief sweep through him. He felt almost weightless. His 
father was going to be all right! He felt a smile breaking out on his face. “Is 
he awake now?” he asked eagerly.

“Not yet. But, I expect him to be waking up any time. The X-rays show no sign of 
serious injury. It appears to just be a mild concussion.”

Nick nodded his acceptance of this information.

“However,” Dr Luttrel continued, “I have to tell you that I suspect this is a 
case of the Malaysian Flu. That in itself can be serious for a man your father’s 
age. We won’t know until the lab results come back, but there have been several 
cases in the metro area, and your father’s symptoms are consistent with that 
strain. We’re going to need to get him admitted to the hospital right away.”

“I see,” Nick said, nodding again, hand now resting on his chin. “Can I see him 
now?”

“Yes, but only for a couple moments. We’ll need to get him moved up to the 
Isolation Ward as soon as possible. If this is the Malaysian Flu we don’t want 
to risk exposing other patients.”

“I understand.” Nick bent his head in thought for a second, one hand on his hip, 
then looked back at the doctor. “Do they allow visitors in the Isolation Ward?”

“Yesss, but immediate-family only. Visitors are required to observe certain 
safety precautions, of course. In your father’s case, that would be wearing a 
face mask, and following some other simple guidelines.” Nick nodded, and Dr. 
Luttrel asked, “Would you like to see him now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Nick replied, and followed the doctor back to the exam room. 
As they walked in the door, she picked up a cloth face mask from off the shelf. 
“This flu is contracted by breathing in the micro-particles expelled in an 
infected person's breath, coughs, etc.. So we're only requiring that you wear a 
face mask when you see your father. It's not necessary to wear gloves or any 
other type of protective clothing. Casual physical contact is not a problem in 
this case." 

She handed Nick the mask. "Since this is going to be a brief visit you don't 
have to tie it on. Just hold it over your mouth and nose like this.” She 
pantomimed what she wanted him to do. Nick nodded, took the mask, and held it in 
front of his face. The doctor nodded approvingly, and pulled up her own mask. 
She then led Nick over to the exam table. 

His father lay there, clothed now in a hospital gown, a light blanket spread 
over him for warmth. Nick allowed a small smile of relief to show on his face, 
and reached out for his father’s hand. But then he paused just short of his 
destination. He held his own hand motionless for a several seconds, and then 
realized that the doctor was watching him curiously. Nick forced his hand to 
complete the journey, and it came to rest atop the back of Burton’s broad hand. 
Nick felt it’s reassuring warmth, and his smile widened. Dad was going to be 
okay. He was going to be okay.

----+----

Nick sat at his father’s bedside in the Isolation Ward. It had been two hours 
since Dr. Luttrel had made her announcement about his father’s condition. She 
had said she expected him to wake anytime, but Burton was still unconscious. 
Nick stirred restlessly. He was growing concerned. His hand returned again to 
the unfamiliar square of white cloth covering his face. He supposed he looked 
pretty ridiculous in this mask, but at least it wasn’t really uncomfortable. He 
sat back in his chair. He had made all the necessary phone calls shortly after 
leaving his father’s side in the ER. Sheila, and by now, the partners, had been 
informed that Burton had not been stricken with a heart attack or stroke, it was 
just a case of the flu. Sheila’s relief had been immediately evident in her 
voice, and Nick had been pleased by this reaffirmation of her concern for his 
father. He had not mentioned, however, the possible seriousness of the flu 
itself, deciding to withhold that information until it became necessary, if it 
became necessary (he corrected himself), to make it known. He didn’t want to 
raise any alarm until he knew that his father’s condition was really serious. 
The tests results had come back about half an hour ago now, though, and 
confirmed that his father did indeed have the Malaysian Flu, so he realized he 
might have to rethink that decision.

Nick glanced at his watch, it was almost 1:30PM. He was going stir-crazy sitting 
here with nothing to do, but he was reluctant to leave his father’s side until 
he was awake, until he had satisfied himself that all his father’s faculties 
were intact, that it had really been the lightheadedness caused by the flu that 
had brought on his collapse. He was debating going outside to at least make a 
few phone calls when his father’s eyelids fluttered. “Dad?” he said, leaning in 
toward the bed. Burton’s eyelids fluttered again, and then stayed open. He 
seemed to gaze at the ceiling for a moment, then became aware of the presence 
beside him. He stared at Nick in confusion. Nick suddenly remembered the 
obscuring face mask, and said, “Dad, it’s me. It’s Nick.” Burton raised his head 
slightly, and said, “Nicholas?” in a wondering tone. Nick nodded, and smiled 
behind the mask. Burton put his hand to his head as he said, “Wha-what happened? 
Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. You...you fainted at the office, and hit your head.”

“Fainted?”

“Yes,” Nick replied, nodding. “You’ve got the flu. The doctor said it made you 
light-headed, and you fainted.”

“And I hit my head....” Burton said, still trying to make sense of the 
information.

“Yes.” 

“That’s why I’ve got this god-awful headache then.... Ow!” he added, while 
feeling around the back of his head gingerly. Burton pulled his hand away, and 
gazed at Nick for a moment. “Why, why are you wearing that get-up?”

Nick bent his head in disconcertment, but looked back at his father as he 
answered, “What you’ve got...it’s contagious. Everyone coming in here has to 
wear a mask.” 

“What have I got?” Burton asked quickly, concern evident in his voice.

“The Malaysian Flu.”

“The Malaysian Flu?” Burton repeated, stunned. He laid his head back on the 
pillow, and gazed at the ceiling for a moment. Then turning his head back to 
Nick, he added, “Where in the hell did I get the Malaysian Flu? I’m a lawyer, 
not a goddamn merchant marine.”

“I, I don’t know, but the doctor said there’d been several other cases.”

“Huh.” After a moment Burton looked around, and asked, “What, uh, what time is 
it?”

Nick glanced at his watch, and said, “It’s a little after 1:30.”

“1:30,” Burton mused. Then as the realization of what that meant struck him, he 
asked with concern, “The Fischer meeting...we were getting ready to go into the 
Fischer meeting. What happened with that?”

“I had Sheila cancel, had her tell them we’d have to reschedule.”

“She didn’t tell them about this, did she?” Burton asked quickly.

“No, no,” Nick reassured his father. “I, I had her make something up.”

Burton nodded, “Good. Good. Quick thinking, son. Thanks.”

Nick nodded in return, subtly pleased with his father’s compliment.

After a moment, Burton added, “What about folks at the office? What do they 
know?”

Nick rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, with mild consternation, 
“people saw you being wheeled out on the gurney. There wasn’t anything I could 
do about that, and the paramedics couldn’t tell me what was wrong with you.” He 
sighed. “There, there wasn’t a lot of time for damage control. All I could do 
was ask Sheila to see that the partners instructed the staff to keep it to 
themselves, to, to try to keep rumors from flying outside the firm.” 

Burton smiled at Nick in admiration, “I’m proud of you, son. Keeping your head 
in a crisis like that. I couldn’t have handled it better myself.”

Nick glowed internally at the praise.

“Well....” Burton asked with a smile creasing his lips, “So when do I get out of 
this joint?”

Nick returned his father’s smile, but unfortunately for Burton, it was mostly 
concealed by the mask. With a sigh, he said, “I don’t know. The doctor said it 
might be a few days.” He rose, suddenly realizing that he should let someone 
know that his father was awake. “I should tell the nurse that you’re up,” he 
said, as he started to leave.

“Nicholas,” Burton said, reaching out and grabbing his son’s hand. The emotion 
was clear in his voice as he added, “Thank you, son.”

Nick nodded, his features largely unreadable beneath the cloth mask, but his 
eyes reflecting, in part, some of the emotion he himself was feeling. Burton 
held his son’s gaze for a few seconds, before letting go of his hand. Nick 
walked to the door, and paused to take off his mask. Then glancing back briefly 
at his father, he walked out to find a nurse.

The End