The Truth

Author: JDillon

Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG

Summary: Nick asks his father for the truth about his mother. 

Author's Notes: This story takes place about a week after the events depicted in 
the episode "Family". Special thanks to Meghan for her helpful suggestions.
Authors 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 such actual 
organization is purely coincidental.
 
 
--+--
 
 
Burton and Nick Fallin were just finishing up supper. Earlier that day, on 
impulse, Burton had asked Nick home to dinner. He had been pleasantly surprised 
when Nick had agreed. The meal had been an excellent one - one of Rosita's fine 
pork roasts, with potatoes and asparagus. Burton was also pleased that 
conversation had flowed smoothly throughout dinner. True, most of the talk had 
centered on work, but Burton was still gratified that there hadn't been any of 
those awkward pauses that sometimes cropped up when he was alone with Nick. It 
was nice to enjoy a good meal, a stress-free meal, with his son. 
 
"More coffee, Nick?" Burton asked. 
 
"Yeah, thanks," Nick replied. 
 
Burton picked up the steel carafe from the table, and filled both their cups. He 
lit a cigarette, and took a long drag, relaxing back in his chair. Nick sipped 
slowly at his coffee. Suddenly Nick looked over at his father, and broke the 
silence. 
 
"Was it true?" he said. "What Jeremy said about my mother taking pills. Was that 
true?" His voice was carefully neutral, his expression blank, but the importance 
of the question could not be hidden from his father. 
 
Burton stared silently at his son, a look of consternation descending on his 
face. He was not prepared to have this conversation. 
 
Nick asked again, more insistently, "Was that true?" 
 
Burton reached up and fingered his moustache before answering. Finally, with a 
long sigh, he said, "Yes. Yes, it was true." 
 
"What kind of pills?" Nick asked. 
 
"Uhm, tranquilizers mostly, I think... I was never entirely sure of everything 
she was taking." 
 
Nick bowed his head, a look of dismay marring his features. Compressing his lips 
together briefly, he raised his gaze to his father, and said, "Is that why you 
left her?" 
 
Burton looked distressed. "Nicholas, that's, that's all ancient history now." 
 
"I want to know," Nick persisted. When his father still didn't answer, he added 
with more feeling, "I, I have the right to know." His voice broke slightly on 
the last statement. 
 
Burton let out an exasperated breath. "The pills were part of it, yes... You 
have to understand, Nicholas, I was working very long hours then, still growing 
the business, building up my clientele. Your mother... your mother was lonely." 
He paused. "She, uhm, turned to other sources of comfort." 
 
"The pills?" 
 
"The pills, yes." 
 
Nick bent his head, and frowned as he considered that. Then directing an intense 
look at his father, he continued, "You said that was part of it. What was the 
other part?" 
 
Burton was silent for another minute. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, 
and said, "Your mother... Nicholas... I didn't want to ever tell you this, son, 
but your mother... started seeing other men." 
 
"That's not true!" The words exploded out of Nick's mouth. 
 
Burton gazed at his son sadly, sighed again, and decided to give Nick the 
unvarnished truth. "I'm sorry, son. It is true. I left your mother because she 
took drugs and she was unfaithful. That's the God's truth." 
 
Nick, whose eyes now brimmed with angry tears, rose suddenly from the table, and 
shot his father a venomous look. He then turned, and left the room abruptly. 
 
"Nicholas!" Burton called after him loudly. But Nick did not stop. Burton rose, 
napkin still in hand. He didn't know whether he should go after Nick, or not. 
Before he could make up his mind, he heard the front door slam. Followed soon 
after by the sound of his son's car accelerating rapidly away from the house. He 
frowned, ran his hand over the top of his head, and threw the napkin down on the 
table in helpless frustration. 
 
Nick had only driven a few blocks when he pulled the car over to the curb. He 
was breathing rapidly and his heart was racing. Unbidden, a tear or two had slid 
down his left cheek. He rested his head against the steering wheel for a few 
seconds. Then raising his head, he banged his fist against the wheel twice, 
before slowly allowing his head to come to rest there again. 
 
His mind was abuzz. His mother had used pills, and, and... given herself to 
other men? No. No. He didn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. It was NOT 
true! 
 
He breathed heavily for a few minutes. 
 
But then, the lawyer in him insisted, why would his father tell him those things 
if they weren't true? He'd kept silent all these years. If Dad had wanted to 
place the blame for the break up of the marriage on Mom, why hadn't he done it 
long ago? He never had. He couldn't recall his father ever saying ANYTHING 
negative about his mother. Not until now. Not until Nick had asked him for the 
truth... had demanded the truth. 
 
His breathing slowed a little, and his heartbeat decreased, as he gradually 
calmed down. The cover of the steering wheel felt cold against his forehead. He 
rolled his head back and forth across the cool leather, and then sat back up. 
 
He gazed into the darkness, and thought back on all those evenings with his 
mother, tried to look at them with an adult's eye. Had his mother seemed like 
she was on something? Was she too uninhibited? Too 'happy'? He couldn't say. He 
was a child. He hadn't been looking for oddities in his mother's behavior. He 
had just been thrilled to be in her company. Thrilled to be her "special little 
guy"... He felt his face color at the memory. 
 
After a moment, he reluctantly turned his thoughts back to his father's charge 
of adultery. He tried to approach it objectively, to set aside his emotions, and 
examine his own memories for evidence to support the claim. His mother had 
always been friendly with men. That was true. And now that he thought about it, 
there had seemed to be a lot of visits from men at one point in his young life. 
He would walk into the living room unannounced, and find his mother entertaining 
one man or another. "A friend of your father's," she would always say. He 
especially recalled that one of his mother's doctors (he no longer remembered 
his name) had made a lot of house calls over a period of several months. He 
remembered this vividly because he had been concerned at the time that his 
mother was really ill (this was long before the cancer). His mother had always 
assured him that she was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. But he had 
been glad when the doctor visits had ceased, nonetheless. 
 
It must be true, he realized. His father must have been telling him the truth. 
His mother had given her self, given her love, to others. It left him numb. It 
was as if his brain, for just a moment, had ceased to function. 
 
Coming back to himself, he realized suddenly that he was clutching the steering 
wheel with a death grip. He consciously relaxed his hold, and drew in a deep 
breath. He felt... he felt like a piece of himself had been taken away. That 
calm, comforting place where he could retreat, and remember the miracle that had 
been his mother. That was gone now. Shattered... shattered into a million 
pieces. It felt like a piece of his heart had been cut out. Like, like he should 
be bleeding right now. It was a grievous loss. God! His fist hit the steering 
wheel in frustration once more. 
 
The white-hot anger of a few minutes before returned, and he sat up straighter. 
Why hadn't his father told him the truth long ago? Why had he let him go on 
believing that his mother was something she was not? That she was this, this 
paragon of virtue when she was a... He couldn't finish the thought. It was too 
painful. Had his father... had his father been laughing at him behind his back 
this whole time? No. He dismissed the thought rapidly. No, he knew that wasn't 
fair. His father must have thought he was protecting him. Protecting his 
`emotionally fragile` son from the truth. Nick wanted to punch his fist through 
something. Relieve these feelings somehow. 
 
Instead, he sat there for several moments, letting the anger gradually wash out 
of him. He felt exhausted, like he'd just run a race. He couldn't think about 
this anymore, not now. He didn't want to think about how his father by 
`protecting` him all these years, had caused his son to live with a lie, a 
beautiful lie, but still a lie. The pain was too fresh. Finally, not knowing 
what else to do, he put the car in gear, and headed for home. 
 

--+--

At the shrill buzz of the alarm clock, Nick Fallin woke abruptly from an
unpleasant dream. He had been a little boy again, searching frantically
for his mother. He hadn't been able to tell where he was in the dream. He
only knew that he had gotten separated from his mom, and had been
desperately trying to find her.

As he came fully awake, he shook off the effects of the dream. Then the
memories of the night before came pouring in (dinner at his father's... his
asking for the truth about his mother and the pills... Dad telling him
about that, and so much more). He threw one arm across his eyes. His
mother... his mother had abused drugs and, and... been unfaithful. God!
The knowledge cut through him like a knife.

As he lay there, he thought about the day ahead. He really didn't feel up
to seeing his father yet. Didn't want to see him or speak to him, but he
knew he had no choice in the matter. They had a session scheduled this
morning to prepare for the meeting with Bill Carlson. Bill was coming in
this afternoon to discuss plans for taking his company public.

There was nothing for it. He would just have to face the day, and his
father. Removing his arm from over his face, he reluctantly pulled himself
out of bed.

----+----

Burton, Nick, and Jake Straka sat around the conference table in Burton's
office. They had been discussing "Carlson Plastics'" bid to go public,
and were just about to wrap it up. Jake had noticed throughout the session
that Nick had seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. He had also observed
that Nick seemed to be avoiding eye contact with Burton this morning. "Oh
no," he thought to himself, "here we go again." He wondered if Nick was
about to take them all for another ride on the 'Fallin Family Roller
Coaster of Thrills and Chills'. God, he hoped not. "Well, maybe not," he
thought. He knew father and son had their little dust-ups from time to
time. Maybe this was one of those. He hoped so.

Jake brought his mind back to the business at hand just as Burton was
saying, "Well, boys, I think that's about it. You, uhm, get those couple
things taken care of, and I'd say we're ready." Jake noticed how Nick had
risen from his seat even before Burton had finished speaking. But before
Nick could leave, Burton held him back with a quick, "Nick, could you stay
a minute?"

Burton rose from his own seat, and turned his attention to Jake. "Thank
you, Jake," he said. "Sure," Jake replied. He gathered up his papers,
and headed for the door. As he did so, he noticed how stiffly Nick was
standing, his gaze averted from his father, a touch of stubbornness visible
on his face. As Jake pulled the door shut behind him, he wondered if the
fireworks were about to fly.

As the door closed, Burton said, "Son, about last night-"

"I, I don't want to talk about it," Nick said abruptly, without looking at
his father. "Not here."

Burton looked speculatively at his son, "Okay... Okay. Well, do you want
to go out to lunch? Or, do you want to come back over to the house?"

Nick didn't say anything, and Burton waited patiently for his son to reply.
Finally Nick said, "I'll come to the house... after dinner." Burton
could not miss the implied rejection of any forthcoming offer to supper.

"All right... about 8:00 then?" Burton asked. Nick just gave a curt nod,
and left the office. Burton watched him go with a mixed feeling of relief
and foreboding. He was glad that he'd get an opportunity to complete the
discussion that Nick had initiated last night. There was no question, that
with the revelations he'd made to his son, he'd opened a wound. And it was
better that it be dealt with now, despite the discomfort, than to allow
that wound to fester.

----+----

It was a little after 8:00. Burton had been watching the clock, anxiously
anticipating Nick's arrival. He was nervous, he had to admit to himself.
Nervous about what the fallout of this meeting with his son might be.
He'd had a Scotch and a couple cigarettes to take the edge off, but was
still feeling apprehensive.

The door bell rang. Burton stubbed out his cigarette, and went to answer
it. Nick stood there, hands in the pockets of his overcoat, a wary look on
his face.

"Come on in, son," Burton said, as he waved Nick in the door. "Let me take
your coat."

Nick shook his head, as he said, "No, I'll keep it on."

Burton couldn't help but think that was a bad sign for the upcoming
encounter, but just said pleasantly, "Well, okay... Come on, come on into
the living room then."

Nick followed his father into the other room, but showed no sign of taking
a seat. Taking his cue from his son, Burton remained standing, as well.
He observed that Nick looked like he wanted to say something, so he waited
patiently for his son to begin the conversation. At last, not looking at
his father, Nick said with difficulty, "I, I believe you... what you said
last night about Mom, about the pills, and... the other."

Burton was taken aback. He hadn't looked for Nick to accept the truth this
soon. He wondered what it was that had made him change his mind. Had he
recalled something that gave validity to the charges, or had he just
decided to take his father at his word? He would really like to know, but
realized this wasn't the time to try to extract that information from his
son. So he just said simply, "I'm glad to hear you say that, son."

Nick nodded. He dug his fists further into the pockets of his coat, and
stared off at the corner of the room for a moment. When he turned back,
Burton saw his eyes were glistening with emotion. He knew what must be
coming next. Nick, with stark anger vivid on his face, said accusingly,
"Why didn't you tell me?... Why?"

Burton shrugged, and spread his hands helplessly. "Nicholas, you were ten
years old. I wasn't going to tell a ten year old child that his mother
abused drugs and slept around." At the last words, a stricken look came
over Nick's face, and he swiftly averted his gaze. Burton cursed himself
silently. "I'm sorry, son." He paused, and then went on. "By the time
you were older, you'd built up this, this perfect image of your mother in
your mind. I could tell how much it meant to you. I didn't want to be the
one to take that away."

"So you let me believe a lie," Nick shot back, his face twisted in rage.
"All these years you let me believe that my mother was this special person,
this wonderful wife and mother, when really she..." His voice trailed off.
He couldn't force himself to complete the sentence.

Burton sighed. "Nicholas..." he said with feeling. "Son, your mother was
a good person. But she was human. She had her flaws just like everyone
else. She made mistakes. This... what I told you last night doesn't mean
that everything you remember about your mother is a lie. Your memories are
still real, still valid."

Nick made no response, and Burton continued. "Think about it, Nicholas...
about the things you remember... your mother reading you stories... tucking
you in at night... " As his father started this recital, Nick could feel
a flush rising in his cheeks. He looked away embarrassed, but returned his
attention to his father's words. "Making you those, those pancakes shaped
like Mickey Mouse. You loved those, right? Those memories are all real,
son. Nothing changes that." He smiled encouraging at Nick. Even though
Nick had looked away, Burton had seen a fleeting smile touch his son's lips
at the mention of the pancakes.

"You were very special to your mother, son," Burton continued. "You meant
the world to her." He touched his moustache as he gazed off into space
for a minute. "You know we couldn't have any more children after you."
Nick looked up. He'd known this, of course, but the words still grabbed
his attention. "The doctor said it would be dangerous for your mother...
Your mom, well, she'd always wanted a whole houseful of kids, ever since
she was a little girl." Burton smiled at the recollection. "Sometimes
she'd get... sad... about the fact that there weren't going to be any more
children... after, after you. When she'd get blue like that, I'd take her
in my arms, and I'd say, I'd say to her, "We've got our boy, and he's all
we need." Burton felt himself tearing up at the memory, and paused a
second to regain control of his emotions. "Your mother would smile at me
and say, "Yes, we've got our Nick. He's all we'll ever need." Burton
cleared his throat. "So, you see son, your mother is still the person you
remember. She just wasn't... She couldn't... have lived up to the image
you created of her. No woman could."

Nick had been silent through his father's recital. His face had, at
various times, reflected grief or brief joy. He didn't know what to think
of all the things his father had told him, what he should feel now. The
pain of discovering his mother's betrayal was still intense. There were
still things he wanted to know, however. Things he needed to know.

Nick was unable to look at his father, as he asked in a ragged voice, "Did,
did my mother... How long did she..." He stopped, and drew in a breath,
"How long was my mother having affairs?"

Burton ran his hand across the top of his head, and let out a sigh, "For
the last couple years of the marriage, son. I, I guess at some level I
knew what was going on, but I, uhm, didn't confront your mother about it
for a long time. Suppose I just didn't really want to know."

Nick shook his head in mild disgust at his father's confession. Although,
he admitted, if he was honest with himself he would have to acknowledge
that that was a failing they both shared - not wanting to deal with
personal issues head-on.

Coming out of his reverie, Nick forced himself to ask the next question,
"What about the pills?"

"Uhm, well, maybe for a little longer than that. Your mother was lonely
and depressed at times. Her doctor prescribed tranquilizers. I don't know
exactly when it got out of control... I'm ashamed to say I wasn't paying
much attention to your mother's state of mind back then, Nicholas, I, ah, I
was totally wrapped up in things at the firm."

Nick stared at his father while he considered all this. He knew none of
his mother's actions excused his father's part in the disintegration of the
marriage. After all, his mother never would have turned to pills and...
other men... if his father had been around more, if he had put his
marriage... his family... ahead of his career. But he knew his father had
always been driven to succeed. He knew that. He found himself thinking
ironically that that was another trait he and his father shared.

Suddenly Nick heard the bitter words his mother had said to him all those
years ago echoing through his head - how he would "grow up and treat women
better than his father did". After all this time, the memory still stung.
There was no doubt that his father still had things to answer for. This
realization led him to another vitally important question. One he'd long
wanted an answer to. Fixing his father with an accusatory stare, he asked,
"Did you ever cheat on her?"

Burton looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. His expression
was grave as he shook his head, and replied, "No, no I didn't, son. I
won't say there weren't times I was tempted, but no. I was never
unfaithful to your mother."

Nick held his father's gaze as he weighed the veracity of this statement.
At last he dropped his eyes; he thought his father was telling him the
truth. That was something at least, he'd been faithful to his vows.

Neither father or son said anything for a few moments, then Burton broke
the silence.

"Your mother and I did love each other, Nicholas... We had problems, we
grew apart, and I left her... But those last couple months, when I moved
back into the house with you and your mother, I think, I think we
rediscovered that love. It just, uhm, came too late." Burton lapsed
into silence, as a sad, introspective look came over his face.

Nick raised his head, and studied his father. For the first time in a long
while he felt that maybe he understood him a little better, understood some
of the things that had been a mystery to him through the years. He
couldn't quite admit it to himself yet, but he thought once he had time to
assimilate this new view of his family history that he'd have to
acknowledge, at least to himself, that he had been unfairly putting all the
blame for the disruption of his family on his father's shoulders all these
years. He was glad to know the truth at last, however painful it was. He
found himself wanting to say something to his father, but he just couldn't
put his feelings into words. It was all still too jumbled. Finally he
just said, "Yeah, well..." His father looked up at that. "Well. I, I
have to go." Nick finished, meeting his father's eyes for a moment, and
then turning to walk to the door.

Burton followed his son silently through the house. He thought that Nick
had taken in all he had said, thought he had accepted most, if not all, of
it. He was glad of that. He knew that his son's wounds wouldn't heal
overnight, but maybe this would be a fresh start for the two of them.
Maybe Nick would stop looking on his father's failings as the source of all
his own problems. He genuinely hoped so.

As Nick walked out the front door, he turned and gave his father another
brief, contemplative look, but didn't say anything. "See you tomorrow,
son," Burton said. Nick nodded, and left. Burton waited till Nick's car
was out of sight, then closed the door. "Whew!" he found himself thinking,
as he smoothed the hair on top his head with one hand, "I think after that
I deserve another Scotch."

The End