Bittersweet Memory Rating: NC-17 Author: Limonize E-mail: spiral@spinfinder.com Summary: Nick cannot remember much. Beta Reader: Many thanks to Suzanne Moore, the "comma" expert, among many other editing talents! Many thanks also to Suzanne's inspiring fic "Crime Watch" - the amnesia and watch of which were the inspiration for this fic! --+-- Bittersweet Memory – Part 1 Nick opens his eyes and looks forward. He finds himself gazing at a weak, harsh lightbulb against a dingy, pale green flecked wall .. . He cannot determine why his back feels so uncomfortable. He looks down and sees his black-shoed feet. He lifts his head slightly for a more complete view, and discovers he is somehow clothed in one of his best suits. There is a cement floor beneath him. He realises he has been staring at a ceiling. He cannot recall what brought him to the floor, fully clothed. Neither can he remember how his shoulder and back have come to hurt him. He struggles to remember, but there is a sensation of being swallowed into a gray void when he tries to do so. An unnatural-feeling gray void. Feeling thirsty and cold, he wonders < Where can I find water?> Seeing he is alone, he raises himself and looks around the bare room. There is only a small wooden pallet with three small fruit crates stacked on it, to his left. The rest of the room is utterly empty, with industrial-painted concrete walls. And it is hurtfully cold and damp. He removes his jacket and rubs himself along his arms and shoulders, restoring some circulation to them, and he feels slightly better. There is only silence. "Hello!!!????" he yells, hoping, but unsure if anyone is in the vicinity. Eyeing the closed door, he decides to open and venture through it, having no idea what he might find beyond it. But the handle is rigid and will not turn as he tries to twist it. he questions, alarmed. A measure of panic is building up in him. There is no chance now of sating his thirst. He begins to yell repeatedly until he has made himself almost hoarse, only managing to aggravate his dry throat. he finally reflects, realizing his shouting is attracting no attention whatsoever. He also has to relieve himself! He looks to the crate as a possible vessel for his urine...there is some straw... Directing his urgent discharge at the topmost straw-filled crate, he relieves himself, zips himself up, and sits down on the floor farthest away from the crates to contemplate his situation. With no one around to explain anything, he has little to consider however. He keeps encountering one overriding, persistent problem everytime he tries to think things through - aside from images of water and food - he cannot summon any image to mind prior to being in the room, nor anything outside of it. Everytime he tries to bring a mental image into view, it gets swept away by a gray void, until any glimpse of its shape and color is gone. He has a vague memory of voices, but he cannot recollect their message, or to whom they belonged. Taste, smell and feel – he knows the taste of oranges, the cool, satisfyingness of water, the mustiness of the room. He knows he is of the world, that there are people in it. He knows he is unnaturally in a room not of his choosing. But why – and more importantly – what should he do about it? he concludes. Suddenly he hears footsteps and realizes he must seize the opportunity… "Hey!!! Hey!! I'm locked in here!" he shouts shrilly, deeply upset. "Hey-y-y!!!! The door handle rattles and begins to move, as someone releases a bolt from the outside. "Careful – he might be waiting to clobber you!" a low, menacing voice warns. "You've got the pipe. Be ready to use it…" growls his partner, the man who holds the set of keys and opens the door. "So...Goldilocks has woken up, eh?" says the man wielding the pipe, gripping it tightly, glaring at Nick, baring his teeth slightly. Nick sees the pipe immediately and recoils, suspecting the man might be thinking of striking him with it. He remains silent, waiting for either of them to move toward him, frightened and wary. "Don't try anything," growls the keys-man, placing his chained keys back into his coveralls pocket. "I need some water…" stammers Nick. Pipe-man laughs disparagingly at this. "Likely you don't, judging by the smell in here…" His nose wrinkles in disdain from the smell of Nick's urine. "If you try anything, he'll use that pipe on your brains like he's squashing a clump of grapes, got it?" "Got it..." Nick knows what crushed grapes are. He knows he does want to become them. He waits for what seems to be an eternity, for some water. A used coffee cup of lukewarm water is extended to him finally, by the keys-man who had left and returned with it. Nick gulps it so quickly he almost chokes, croaking "I need more…", handing the cup back to him. "Spoilt little hussy, eh?" comments pipe-man. "It's all in who you're born to," comments keys-man wryly to his companion. "You get the right family, you get everything! - right, Sunshine?" Nick looks at him dumbly, confused by the moniker. Why is the man calling him "sunshine"? Sunshine is something else entirely - something from the sky. He is sure it is something from the sky. < Sunshine is not my name, is it?> "He looks a bit spaced out, you know?" says the taller, thinner key-man to the stockier pipe-man. "Could be an act!" answers pipe-man, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How do you know my name is "Sunshine"? Are you sure?" asks Nick guilelessly, eyebrows furrowed in worry. "He's a looney-tune!" speculates key-man. Pipe-man is not interested. "We don't know your name and frankly, we don't give a flying fuck, either! We're not here to get intimately acquainted. Pipe-man then grins lasciviously, looking Nick up and down. "Not that *kind* of intimately acquainted, anyway.." corrects keys-man sarcastically with a leering smile. "Can I find out my name?" Nick asks, almost pleading. He senses he will have little luck with this, but he feels he has to try. He knows he has a name. He doubts it is "Sunshine". "What name do you want?" asks keys-man, humoring him. Nick thinks about it. "Christmas," he replies. It seems appropriate to him, somehow. Both men laugh at this. "Christmas - or St. Nicholas," Nick re-states, after giving it more intense reflection. He feels fluttery at the very sound of "St. Nicholas" without understanding why. The keys-man chuckles at this. Whatever game this queer is playing – well - he is playing it well. Or maybe he really does have problems remembering his name. "If you wanna be a Nicholas, we'll call ya Nicholas – whatever turns you on - cause I AIN'T calling ya "Christmas", that's for HELL sure!" roars pipe-man at him, now moving swiftly to the door, closing it firmly. Nick senses that their visit is not coming to an end anytime soon, but does not like them. They look willing to hurt him yet, in spite of having brought him water, and laughing a little. "I'm supposed to be somewhere," announces Nick nervously. "Is that so?" condescends the pipe-man, looking at him appraisingly. "Why don't you just take a load off, 'NICH-OH-Luss!', because you're not going anywhere!" "Where do you figure you're *supposed *to be?" asks key-man, a little curious that Nick seems so anxious, yet so childlike and ingeneous. Perhaps Nicholas is retarded. But then, where did he acquire a such an expensive suit and haircut? Maybe kidnapping made more sense than taking their pleasure with him, which was their current plan - after ensuring they perform a clothes swap – having already relieved him of his wallet. Nick's suit, shirt and tie, are obviously expensive. Ransom might bring in a lot of cash that they could never earn as small-contract plasterers. "Not here," replies Nick, his forehead creasing anxiously. "Not here. I...I have to be somewhere. The judge will be angry..." "What judge?" asks key-man, very intrigued. Nick realizes he has remembered someone who will be angry if he does not arrive on time. But where? Who? Why? There is a judge somewhere… "The judge will be angry!" Nick repeats, his voice rising to a high pitch of distress. "A court judge? - We're the only judges here, Nicholas!" "You're not in black. Judges wear black," he contradicts without hesitation. He knows for certain judges wear black. More color flashes through past the grayness. "And they sit high up." "This kid is definitely retarded. I don't think he's going to cause trouble. And he won't even be able to tell anyone – he's too confused," concludes key-man. "So what are we waiting for? Time's wasting…" "Okay, hang tough – I gotta shuck these coveralls. And we need a chair or something, and something to lay down on the floor. Bare floors suck." "I'm cold," states Nick quietly, beginning to shiver. "Come here, 'St. Nicholas'…" says the beefy pipe-man, laying down his pipe. He puts his arms around Nick, and draws him into his body, giving him a hard embrace with his heavily muscled arm. Without knowing exactly why, Nick feels pleased that the man calls him "St. Nicholas". Pipe-man draws his face even closer to Nick's as he enjoyes the firml fleshy feel of his body. "You'll get warmer soon. I promise!" Sensing no real resistance from Nick, he draws him more frimly and completely to his own body, now embracing him frontally with both arms, in a large, barrelled-chested bear hug, which Nick mistakes for heat therapy. But neither the smell of the man, nor the smell of his plastery clothes, appeals to Nick. He begins to squirm uncomfortably in an effort to pull away. "Not so fast! It's gonna take more than a minute to get you warmed!" The pipe-man releases him, turns him away, and begins to rub his back vigorously. Nick moans from the pain of having his sore back rubbed so hard. "Too hard!" complains Nick. But the intended effect of warmth is taking effect: He is feeling less and less shivery. Pipe-man eases off a bit, begins to gradually lower his movements as well, rubbing Nick's lower back in sensuous wide circles. Nick feels both warmed and uneasy at the same time, from this change in contact. He definitely feels better for the warmth, but something is not right. As the man's hand moves ever lower, sweeping occasionally onto his buttocks, Nick feels deeply ambivalent about what is occurring. Should he allow it to continue? He hates feeling so confused. And now he is beginning to feel both uncomfortable and very helpless. What will happen if he curtails the somehow insistent stroking of the quite stocky, muscular pipe-man? "Don't," says Nick finally. "I need some more water. And I have to…go the bathroom." Pipe-man is not impressed. But retarded or not, people have to answer their call of nature, he concludes. A couple of more minutes more or less is not going to break his mood nor change the outcome of his plans for "St. Nick". "C'mon" he growls, leading Nick by the arm, out of the room. They walk across a sheltered concrete expanse where he guides Nick to a small room and closes the door behind him. Nick glances down at the toilet, and then up to a rather wide ledge with a window. He fiddles with the window handles, and an entire pane shakes loose and begins to tumble, firstly bumping and scraping Nick on the nose, then continuing its descent until it has landed partially into the toilet, startling him. He looks back up the window and then at the toilet again. He removes the sheet of glass from it carefully, and leanes it against the wall. He mounts himself carefully on the edge of the toilet to be able to peer out of the de-paned window. The fresh air is blowing in, and he finds it refreshing. He grabs the window frame and hoists himself higher. There is just enough room to contort his body and wriggle himself out. Suddenly he hears a voice call out. "Not too long in there!" "No, I'm busy!" Nick calls back. "I'm busy…" he repeats, as he climbs out of the window. Landing hard feet-first in the warehouse parking lot, Nick recovers quickly and sprints as fast as his legs will carry him. He does not know where he is running to, but he feels certain it is a good idea to continue running. He does not want to spend another night on a cold floor, nor with a smelly man… As he continues to run, he begins to tire. Looking behind him, he sees no one following. He slows his gait and finally holds himself tightly, gasping for air. His lungs hurt from the intense exertion of running so hard, for so long. He looks up and sees a laundromat sign. Feeling the heat from its dryers greeting him through the open door, he walks in. ~ ~ ~ "So do you come in here, often?" asks a straight, long-haired young woman in a halter top, looking at the dishevelled young suited man who sits quietly, not engaged in any washing activity. "Er, no," he replies. He looks her over closely. "What's your name?" he asks. "Beth," she answers, noting he has a pleasant voice. "That's easy," comments Nick. "What's yours?" she asks him. "St. Nicholas." "St. Nicholas? Is that like, a nickname?" "A nickname?" he considers this carefully. "Yes. Yes, it's a nickname. My name is nickname, nickname – I mean my name is Nick." "Oh! I see. Your name is Nicholas, so people call you 'St. Nicholas' for a joke!" Nick stares at her, slightly confused. "My...I can't remember well. It might be a joke; I'm not sure." "You don't remember your nickname?" "No. I don't remember much. I don't know where I'm supposed to be tonight." "Best pickup line I ever heard!" she quips, eyes blazing a little flirtatiously. "But I'm supposed to see a judge." he says, lowering his head unhappily. He reaches behind and strokes the back of his neck. "You're in trouble with the law?" There is a tone of demand to her voice which suggests that he will quickly lose his companionship with her, if he is a troublemaker. "The law?" Flashes of something kept flirting through his grayness. But they disappear like fireflies, teasing him. What is the law? He knows it is a clue somehow. "Yeah. You know – arrested? Jail?" "No jail – probation!" There it is: "Probation." Nick does not know what it is, but he knows it applies to him! "What for?" she asks, skeptical that such a square-looking young man is on probation. "I don't know. Can't remember." "Do you have a memory problem? Because that's something most people don't forget!" "I think I do. Yes." he replies, feeling a bit more confident. But then the realisation hits him again: "I don't know where I'm supposed to be!" A tear of frustration finally begins to roll down Nick's face. Beth eyes him curiously. "Where do you live?" "I don't know! That's what I'm trying to say!" Nick looks at her, feeling profoundly lost and miserable. "Everytime I try to know something, I start feeling upset and everything turns gray and I feel tired. I don't know where anything is. But I know I have to know! " Another tear rolls out, while he sits motionless staring into space. "Sounds like you have amnesia," she tells him matter-of-factly. " So you need a doctor." "Where do I go?" asks Nick, rubbing his moist eyes, turning to her hopefully, searching her face. "To a hospital." "Will you take me?" "Well, I don't know what my boyfriend would have to say about that, but once I've got my clothes home, I guess I could take you on the bus." Nick now feels content. Someone is going to help him! Perhaps feed him. Perhaps keep him warm. Someone better than pipe-man. He picks up Beth's clothes bags when she takes them from the dryer. She is about to protest. "Too heavy for you," he said. "I'll carry them." He swings them over his shoulder and follows her out and down the city blocks to her apartment. They say little. "C'mon in," she says cheerily. "It's not much, but it's mine!" Nick sets down her bags and looked around. He immediately espies her telephone. The sight of it immediately cheers him. "Hungry?" she asks, He nods, grateful to be asked. She goes and retrieves some macaroni salad from the fridge, spoons some out, and hands him a bowl with a fork. "Good!" he mumphs, as he gobbles it down. He cannot remember what he had last eaten, or when. "Gingerale?" "Gingerale?" he repeats. He has no idea what she was referring to. "Tea?" Something vaguely familiar. "Hot?" he inquires hopefully. "Yeah, I can make you hot tea." "Hot tea." He mulls the concept over in his mind. If it warms him, it is likely good. "Yes, please," he adds. While she moves toward the kitchen to put on the kettle, he watches her closely. He feels a deep warm itch inside him. He watches her backside. There is something appealing about her movements, and about the smoothness of her backside. Something makes him want to touch it. And something else tells him this might not be a good idea. Confusion again starts crowding his feelings and thoughts. "Beth?" "Yes." "I want to ask you something." "Yes?" "What do people do about itches?" "They scratch." Her answer tells him nothing. She isn't understanding. "Not insect bites, "touching" itches," he says cautiously. "What do you mean?" "Like if I get an itch and want to touch someone and want them to touch me." "You mean sexual urge." He waits for her answer. "You better not be playing with me, Mister." "Nick. My name is Nick." He sees he has not pleased her. "You better not be stringing me along, Nick!" "I just wanted to know. Sorry." "People sometimes act on their urges. But there's rules." "What's the rule?" he asks guardedly. He does not want her angry with him. "The other person has to be legal age - and they have to want it, too!" "Legal…" The word felt so close to something!!! "Over 16." "I'm 31," he counters, feeling relieved. "Them – the *other * person has be over 16." she says, a little bit of exasperation creeping into her voice. "Do you want to?" He watches her face intently. "Do I want to what?" "Let me touch you." "No." She turns away from his intense gaze. Nick reaches for his tea, lowers his head so she cannot seee his face, and becomes silent. "No offense, Nick, but you don't even know what day of the week it is!" "I'm trying," he replies defensively. "Really, I'm trying to know where I live and rules and… " When was it going to get easier to do things he believed normally came more easily to him? He knew his mind was not usually gray. Of this one thing, he was more certain than anything, because the gray felt too unnatural - like a mouth being held closed, or a nostril being plugged. The gray had to pushed away somehow! ~ ~ ~ "So you're 'St. Nicholas?' " asks Dr. Dennison in a friendly manner, as he leads Nick into the examining area. "Nickname! I'm Nick," he replies carefully. "Nick, I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you can't answer them, that's okay. Just do your best, okay?" "Yes." Nick dislikes the smell of the antiseptic around him. "Where were you born?" Nick hesitates. He has no idea. "Where are you now?" "A hospital." "Where were you earlier today?" Nick tries to sort through the day. "In a room with some men. It was cold." "In a house?" "Um…" Nick speculates mentally on whether he was in a house. "What were you doing?" asks Dennison, moving onto the next question, not wishing to raise Nick's anxiety level. "They were…warming me up." Nick confirms this, by rubbing his arm. "Who were they?" Nick had not discovered their names. He feels that this is what the doctor wants from him: "Don't know." "Did you take any drugs?" "Just water." Nick is momentarily startled by the word *drugs*. The gray pushes the word instantly away however. "Not *enough * water!" he adds to make his answer more thorough. "Did you hit your head?" "My back hurt." "Did you fall?" "I climbed out the window." "Were you attacked?" Nick's head now feels as if it is going to explode. His temples are taught, his stomach is churning. He begins to stutter forcefully. "Uh!" he cries sharply, very visibly shaken, "uh..uh..uh – MY WATCH!!!!" he screams tensely, deeply anguished over something. "You were wearing a watch?" asks Dennison, trying to get Nick to look at him. "My mother's watch!!!" Nick cries again. Nick sees the silver, the shine, the second hand so clearly - he knows the gray has failed to smother him completely this time. "You're not wearing a watch – did you lose it?" "My watch!!" More tears roll. Nick feels a profound sense of loss without knowing why. "Do you want to borrow my watch, Nick?" asks Dr. Dennison, feeling that this might have a calming effect. "Let me see!" asks Nick, intrigued. He examines Dr. Dennison's watch, but finds it encased in gold. "No," replied Nick. "Wrong size." "But you haven't tried it on…" He hands it to Nick, and Nick slips it over his wrist. "It's nine o'clock," says Nick, looking at the watch hands studiously. "Actually Nick, it's six o'clock." corrects Dennison. "Oh yeah. Six. Nine is halfway." Nick looks up at him and smiles a little. Dr. Dennison is impressed with how deep Nick's amnesia seems. He has only run across one case of amnesia as severe as Nick's in his medical career. "Do you have a last name, Nick?" "Yes." Nick replies, feeling pleased with himself. "And?" "Christmas." Nick is not as certain as he would like to be. "Don't guess if you're not sure," says Dr. Dennison, picking up on his self-doubt. "Nicholas…Allen. No – no! I know! - Nicholas Fallin!" "Fallin?" "My mother's name is Anne Fallin." This feels natural to Nick, to be able to report the name of Anne Fallin. But he cannot see her face. He simply remembers the name and that fact that she was his mother. "I'm going to try and find her and have her visit, Nicholas." "She's with angels," Nick announces matter-of-factly. "Dead?" "With angels." Nick is getting cold and tired now. "Hot tea, please?" "Just a couple more questions, Nicholas, and I will get you some hot tea, okay?" "Okay…". He pulls his jacket lapels up and looks around to see where Beth is. But she is gone. thinks Nick. He gets up and walks out of the examining area, turns, and heads out the main corridor, leaving the hospital as Beth has – he really has no interest in being in it anyway. ~ ~ ~ Bittersweet Memory - Part 2 Beth walks away from the hospital, deciding to walk home instead of taking the bus. She feels a twinge of guilt at leaving Nick to his own devices, with no one but a doctor to look out for him, but she has committed herself to spending the evening with her boyfried at his place. Costly for her boyfriend to arrange for a babysitter mid-week, Beth spends a lot of her evenings with him watching TV and helping him care for his 12-year-old son. Sometimes, however, Beth feels that his attraction to her is based chiefly on her willingness to babyit "Beth, wait!" she hears a voice call out. She twirls around in time to see Nick running after her, beginning to heave from the exertion. "Nick! You're supposed to be in hospital!" "The tea's no good. I like yours better," he answers, reporting this very earnestly. "You have to go back, Nick!" "I…I don't want to, Beth," he replies, looking very troubled. "I want to be with you!" "You can't be with me," she fusses, feeling frustrated and flustered. "I already have a boyfriend. I told you that." "Can't you make me some more tea?" he pleads, his eyes imploring her anxiously. "If I make you some, will you go back to the hospital?" "I…okay," he agrees, feeling defeated, sensing she will banish him if he does not cooperate. He reaches for her hand, holding the edges of her fingers gingerly, so as not to upset her. "No touching, Nick!" He quickly withdraws his hold, as if he has accidentally touched a hot stove. But he sees a trace of a small smile at the edge of mouth. He smiles back at her hopefully. Some calming of his troubled waters now shows itself in his easy pace as he walks alongside her, hands in pockets. She had tried to suppress the smile had Nick seen, trying her best not to encourage him further. To her chagrine, she had not completely successful at this. But she cannot help noticing his wholesome, good looks as he maintains a light-footed stride walking next to her, looking all around him as he tries to gather his bearings. What would she do if she were unspoken for? ~ ~ ~ "Uh, listen, Rick - something's come up - I'll explain later. Can't make it over until much later, okay?" Beth hangs up, surprised that her boyfriend, who usually takes any absence badly, does not seem overly disappointed at the change of plans this evening. He has not even pushed her for an explanation. She goes back to the kitchen where Nick sits quietly nursing his cup of tea. He has not drunk so much as a sip from it. "What are you doing tomorrow?" Nick asks her quietly, his gray-green eyes beginning to take on a glistening glow. "Why?" asks Beth. "I wondered if you were going to do laundry," Nick replies. "Are you expecting someone to clean your clothes?" she teases, a little caught off balance. "No." He peered into his cup as if waiting for something. "The men said I was a spoilt hussy. Do you think so, too?" Nick asks her challengingly, looking back up very directly into her eyes. "What men?" she thinks. His small smile fades. "The men I ran away from." "Did they rob or beat you?" she wonders aloud. "One had a pipe," explains Nick, thinking back on when they had first entered the room. He grips his cup more tightly and continues, "He said he'd make squashed grapes out of me if I did anything.." "Where were you, Nick??" He hesitates and then answers. "I don't know - I ran from the bathroom to the laundromat." "Maybe that's why you have amnesia." Beth guesses. "What?" Interrupting his thoughts, she puts her face closer to his: "Maybe they hit you so hard you can't remember!" She pauses to watch his reaction. Nick cannot stop himself from staring at her. She seems so sure of everything. "You're not going to hit me," affirms Nick softly, as much to himself as to her. It makes him feel secure to do so. "Why would I hit you?" she says, drawing back from him and studying him again curiously "Because I have to touch you." he replies, standing up. He scans her for any form of surfacing protest, and then walks to her, stopping just short of her face. He grazes his fingertips very tentatively, tenderly across her the lower part of her cheek. "Just a little…" he whispers quietly, not taking his eyes off her watchful eyes. He moves forward until his face is about two inches from her, drinking in her heat. He continues to stand there motionless, saying nothing. Doing nothing. Surprised that he persists in standing immobile in front of her, neither retreating nor moving closer, she moves irresistably forward, unconsciously tilting her head and lifting her chin toward him. Perceiving her invitational tilt, Nick wonders: . He decides to take his chances, shifting his head slowly forward until his lower lip finally grazes hers. By slow, wave-like degrees, his insides begin to feel progressively hotter and itchier. Even his lips feel itchy and they burn, as they connect with hers. he wonders, taking in a deep breath. He marvels at how lightheaded and touch-hungry his body feels. Nick looks down in time to see Beth reach out to grasp his hand, but he has other ideas! He catches it and detours it under his shirt, quickly pulling it up with his other hand. He brushes it lightly and pleasantly against his stomach. After a few moments, her hand begins to stray across it of its own accord! Her hand moves lower gently, causing an even larger wave of itchy heat to surge through him. He feels deliriously happy to discover that she seems to know just exactly what to do next. Grinning his approval, he finally flashes her a wide, broad smile. To his utter delight, she returns it. ~ ~ ~ "Nick - we have to stop now!" Beth says tensely, stiffening suddenly. She pulls his arm away from her neck, trying to extricate herself. "No!" he protests, clinging to her, hungrily trying to swallow her deliciously wet tongue, trying at the same time to prevent her from repeating her unthinkable word. All of him is ablaze His stomach and groin ache unspeakably from persecuting desire. Having felt his gentle, alluring warmth like a soft, eager puppy wanting to lick its way to approval for many more minutes that she cares to admit to herself, Beth is now becoming very deeply aroused by his tonguing explorations. But guilt surfaces, overtaking her pleasure – her fear of being disloyal to her boyfriend intrudes like an ugly boar - even as Nick's lips and tongue slide everywhere inducing her nerve endings to betray her into crying surrender to him, without resistance.. "Yes, Nick! We have to stop! We've done some touching - but now we have to *stop*!" she reluctantly insists. "N-n-o-o! - PLEASE, Beth! - Just a little more…" He supplicatingly rakes her arms with his fingernails, almost begging, stirring her passions all the more. Nick's belly-fire and thirst consume him: He cannot picture not continuing! His groin is driving him so wild he feels choked in his throat from constant surges of white heat - he has to meld with her somehow, take her, drive her, merge - there has to be a way !!– he feel an uproarious need unlike anything his body has ever endured, ready to scream his need to push himself into her. "No" has to be a terrible mistake! "Nick, Nick! Nick, no!" She feels hot, urgent turmoil throughout her entire body as well. Her need for him to take her is becoming more acute with his every new wet tonguing of her flesh. Instinctively, he pulls up the white material constricting her breast, rubs his cheek against its softness and begins to suckle it starvingly. His tongue eventually draws her taunting nipple to a stiffness that pleases him, at the same making her body hot shiver violently. He nibbles and nuzzles and bites it with his teeth like no lover has ever managed before, torturing her into unbelievable madness. Quickly developing her own situational amnesia, she falls into the moment with him, her breathing shallowing. She arches forcefully to follow his cruelly retreating mouth, while he watches with amusement as her nipples redden and her breasts quiver. Seeing her seek him out so recklessly from the depth of her need, reminds him of himself and only heightens and deepens his excitement.. "You want this, don't you!!?" asks a flushed, red-faced Nick, pausing painfully but patiently, waiting for her answer and watching her labored breathing hopefully. He desperately wants her assurance that her desire is one with his. "Yes," she answers weakly, overcome with a lust-driven passion she has never known -- until this moment. His face and body seem godlike, leaving Beth unable to make any sense of what is happening to her: This unknown man does not even know who he is, yet is somehow able to make her feel things she has never felt before, never felt she has earned the right to feel! He has brought her to the new-found knowledge that it *is* possible to feel so hungry, so starved, for completion. "Okay," Nick replies, satisfied that he has performed his duty of seeking permission. He is now grimly determined to continue his journey with her until there is some resolution to his urgent - what was it called? - sexual urge. She looks up at him and says, "Nick, it would be better if we took some clothes off." He looks at her with some uncertainty. He think it sounds like a potentially cold thing to do. "I'll keep you warm," he offers, pulling down her skirt and moving his hips toward her, with no intention of removing his clothes. "No, let's go over to the bed and get under the covers…" Nick grins at this idea. No clothes, but warm in bed! Yes, the idea had some merit after all! He pulls his jacket off quickly, as she helps him remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. It felt so freeing to Nick, to be finally liberated from his shirt. "Oh! She exlaims from shock, as the deep purple bruises and a dark welt on his back come into her purview. "What's the problem?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. "Your back –" "It's a little sore." he remarks. She begins to pepper soft, tiny kisses across his shoulder, taking care to avoid the bruised area, as he continues to undress. She then ghosts her hands over his back lightly, causing delightful waves of shivers in him. She parts the bedcovers for them, and goes to remove her clothes, but he stops her gently with his hand, saying "No." She looks at him questioningly. "I'll take them off, okay?" he whispers, reaching out to touch her.. "No protest from this quarter!" she quips, smiling. He reaches for her bra straps and lightly slides them off, caressing shoulder as he does this. "So smooth," he comments. Tugging her bra down, he looks for some way to dismantle it. At her back, he sees the problem. "Too many hooks!" he comments, complaining, but he unhitches each one carefully, causing her no discomfort in the process. The material seems to fall away from her like a nylon stocking piling onto the floor. "You feel good too, Nick." she says in genuine appreciation. "Where?" he asks. She grazes his chest and stomach sensually. He smiles at this. They now seem to be involved in the perfect game. "I like it there," he announces, rubbing her backside slowly, to indicate his preference. He then moves his hand to her inner thigh and begins to strokes it softly. "So hot!" he exclaims. "Like me?" Beth laughs at how intrigued he seems to be by their "hot spots". "Kiss now?" he suggests. "Let's get under the blankets first," she alternately suggests, slipping off the last of her underwear. He looks at her groin area for the first time, feeling a little stunned. "Lulu!" he murmurs in mild shock. He does not know where the word comes from or why he has said it, but there is a new element to the aching in his groin. "What?" Something disturbs him, but he cannot pinpoint what it is. It is not an unpleasant disturbance - it is as if he cannot retrieve something elementally important into his mind. But now is not the time to dwell on thoughts…Beth is touching him on his stomach again, re-awakening his fire. Before he knows what is happening, the fire in him begins to consume him more thoroughly than ever before. A firestorm overtakes his body until nothing except Beth's and his breathing seem real. He pushes himself deeply between her legs, seeking out anything which allows himself to rub himself into a deeper fire. She reaches down to guide him into her, and once inside, he becomes momentarily quiet at the wonderment of her soft, vaginal, fiery-ice embrace of him. As he slides forward, he feels as if he is a place he feels he truly belongs. A place that makes sense and leaves him feeling in control of everything, including her. thinks Beth. Nick does not move now that he has entered her deeply. She finds this a little disconcerting, and contracts her vaginal walls to stimulate a reaction from him. He looks down at her, quizzically. "Did YOU just do that?!' he asks. "Yes." "How?" he asks, spellbound by the idea that she has the power to massage his fire at her leisure. He is not sure anymore, who has control of anything. "How does your penis become so hard?" she asks. Nick does not know how to answer this. "It just does," he shrugs. "When I want to squeeze, I squeeze, " she tells him. "How nice," he says, trying not to begrudge her, this unfair power over him... "Do you like the way it feels?" "Yes!" "Then push forward." He pushes himself in more deeply and she moans deeply. He feels her walls squeeze him back responsively. He realizes that he has authored her excitement as surely as she has authored his. He pulls back and rocks his pelvis forward again, and is greeted by a sharp whimper. A sliver of urgency moves up his spine. On this third thrust, she lifts her entire pelvis to greet him. He groans, and grips her arms gently . "So incredible," he utters appreciatively, closing his eyes and continuing to thrust his need into her. ~ ~ ~ A phone rings. Beth crawls out of bed to answer it, noting Nick huddled into a ball away turned away from her, his back bared to her, still sleeping "Beth! Where the hell have you been??" "I…fell asleep, Rick! Sorry…" "I thought maybe you'd come and I hadn't heard the door." Beth thinks she hears a small, muffled female giggle on the other end of the phone. "Who's that?" asks Beth. "Who? What do you mean *who*?" challenges Rick. There is something about Rick's tone of voice that makes Beth feel uncomfortable. "That woman's voice." "You're imagining things, Beth." "I don't think so." she answers, puzzled. "Maybe you heard the TV or something." "Yeah, I guess. I'll call you back later when I'm more awake. I gotta take someone to the hospital. Bye." She hangs up quickly. Her life has changed since the night before. Two hours of sex with a stranger named Nick has changed her in ways she can scarcely understand. "Who are you, Nick?" she whispers, hanging up the phone, not loud enough for Nick to hear her. But he does hear. He turns and stares at the ceiling. "I'm…I'm a legal aid lawyer," he answers distantly, seeing very clearly in his mind the facial image of the young black-haired man who had once saved him from a bullet. "I'm a legal guardian…" ~ ~ ~ Bittersweet Memory – Part 3 Sitting in Burton's office, alone, Lulu is staring directly out his window. Her eyes see nothing of Pittsburgh's skyline beyond the plate glass however, so deeply lost is she in her thoughts about Nick. Nervously recrossing her knees, arms folded, she thinks only of Nick's sudden disappearance from her life, his home, his work, and Burton. She feels the wrenching void again along with the hope of the now very-real possibility of his return into her life - what it might mean for them – if, and when she finally re-unites with him. With Nick's whereabouts and reason for disappearance unknown and only his brief appearance at a hospital, she is fearful of the injury and pain possibilities and even of whether he might be incapable of recognising her ever again or be capable of thinking in a normal way. She has felt knotted up for days. Since her last meeting with Burton two days ago in fact, she has even found it difficult to breathe at times, since learning that Nick had surfaced, but then just as suddenly disappeared again. Called by Burton at her office that morning on the promise that Detective Larson would have briefed him with new information concerning Nick and that he would share this with her, she had decided to come, even though she did not want to be a burden to add to Burton's own worries and heavy schedule. Burton had updated her the day before. The police informed him that both the area patrol officers and the hospital admissions doctors felt it was "only a matter of time" before Nick resurfaced after his straying from the hospital admissions. No doubt he would soon be taken into custody and then given over to Burton's care. So Lulu had decided to come in person, wanting to be of any assistance she possibly could. "What I don't understand – " Burton thunders aloud for the possibly the third time since Lulu's arrival as he re-enters his office behind Lulu, heading for his chair, "is how the hell they could have been so foolish as to leave him unattended to wander off in the first place! " He tensely adjusts his tie as he sits down, "I just don't GET that!!"he barks in frustration. Lulu feels his frustration as he averts her gaze, seeing the fear and hurt behind it as well. She notices dark circles under his eyes. She tries to assuage Burton's anger by leaning forward, placing her hand on his closed fist. "It's infuriating, isn't it?" Lulu replies with pseudo, "Caroline-type" calmness. She releases his hand and leans back into her chair again, curling her hands back onto her arms. "I guess it can get a little crazy down there in emerg…" she offers regretfully. She thinks back to Brian's stories about how patients would be brought in to him for surgery in various conditions from the emergency unit, at all hours. "I guess that must be it…" Burton says, trying to calm himself for her sake. Aware of her accident and of the closeness between the two, he had noted how tearfully and sadly she had taken the news. He had basically been at a loss for what to say to her, realising that she, too, was taking it very hard. Calling her had not been a difficult decision however. Feeling vulnerable, Burton had needed to talk to someone who he knew genuinely cared about Nick. She looks at him with deep sympathy, realising that much of Burton's entire existence is wrapped in his son, even though he perversely chooses to spend little "quality" time with him. "Well, Lulu…" He draws his chair closer to the desk and rests his arms in front of him, trying make himself, if not emotionally comfortable, at least physically comfortable. "Detective Larson just gave me some good news and some bad news just now. I was just talking to that Dennison guy's nurse at the hospital – you know – the doctor that examined him?" Burton starts to nervously torpedo his pen up and down on the desk, in tight, short thrusts. His own stomach is curdling over the news of Nick's almost non-existent memory. He looks at Lulu closely to see if she remembers who he is referring to. Lulu nods wordlessly, an unspoken question on her lips. "The good news is that Nick's returned to that hospital with a young woman, an hour ago! - she convinced him to stay there even though he wanted to leave with her as soon as they got there - the bad news is that he's either still got very little memory, or he's been doing some very dangerous drugs, or both. No one's quite sure which, and they're holding him for observation. He's also had some back injury – said it didn't look too serious at a first examination – said it looked like muscular con – " He stops mid-sentence and looks at Lulu as if his mind has suddenly emptied itself of all of its contents. Burton Fallin is unable to focus. "Muscular contusions?" she fills in for him, anxious he not forget the details. "Yes. They said `probably nothing too serious'. And they're looking into possible head or …" He continues to play nervously with his pen, very distressed, and lowers his gaze to the desktop. "Brain injury?" Lulu interjects. Her own experiences following her car accident had been akin to taking a crash course in head injury. She wonders why Nick had been reluctant to stay at the hospital once arriving, and why a young woman has brought him in, instead of having been escorted in by the police - but is afraid to speculate on so little information. Maybe Nick will not remember her at all anymore. The thought leaves her feeling desolate. With little success, she tries to stop her fears from pressing in on her again, "Well, they say he can speak clearly, and seems coordinated enough," Burton continues, with less hesitation. "Apparently he can carry on a bit of a normal conversation, but doesn't seem to know too much…just his name, basically… and he remembers Anne's name…." Burton pauses and chuckles, mostly for Lulu's benefit, seeing her still very downcast expression. "…and apparently he told someone at first, that his name was `St. Nicholas'!" Forcing a smile, he tries to dwell on the upside of Nick's very confused state. "That's something," Lulu sullenly replies, trying not to sound too depressed and hopeless, although she is far too afraid of getting her hopes up to take this as any real indication of memory. She desperately tries to share the small victory it gives them. , Lulu tells herself. Four days ago, both Lulu and Burton had commisserated and agonized over whether they could have done anything to have prevented the likelihood of Nick's disappearance. They had finally convinced each other to accept that no one could entirely prevent the quirks of fate. Fate was a concept that Lulu had learned all too well in the preceding year. Deep down, Burton keeps guiltily wondering if Nick had taken drugs in an effort to cope with the pressure of his work…while Lulu draws her own conclusions about the possible role she played in Nick's wandering off someplace by himself, possibly a dangerous one. ~ ~ ~ "Please have a seat - Dr. Dennison is tied up right now -" explains the student nurse as they introduce themselves. "It's okay, Janine! Send them in to the social work office – I'll be there in a couple of minutes!" Dr. Dennison gives them a little wave and holds up two fingers to indicate he will be with them in two minutes. "Even hospitals have social workers, eh?" asks Burton, trying to quell his growing nervousness out of what he might be shortly hearing and seeing. He cannot imagine his son not saying to him, "Hi, Dad!" after an agonizing four-day separation that has caused so much fear. Burton tries to brace himself for exactly that – a young man who may not know him – who may never know him – who may have lost all their years together as a boy, and as a budding young lawyer. A tear of self-pity rolls out from Burton's eye, which he quickly wipes away But he reminds himself that the worst has not happened. At least he still has a son Lulu tries to wipe all thoughts from her mind - thereby cancelling all emotion – holding only onto the thought that Nick is there, and that she will be seeing him within the hour. Her attachment to Nick is so umbilical that her standing, talking and walking depend on her being able to perform this mind-over-matter gymnastic. ~ ~ ~ Burton glances around himself as he enters the small hospital office with Lulu, momentarily grateful to note his own office has more significantly more working space than the one they are entering. Lulu watches him take in the surroundings, realising that being in a hospital is much less familiar for him, than for her. She anxiously refocuses herself to retain the information the doctor will share with them. "This is a difficult situation," says the tall, lean individual known as Dr. Dennison, beginning to brief them even as he seats himself, "and I'm going to tell you right off the bat, I'm not going to have the answers you will be wishing I did!" He pauses briefly to allow this to sink in, casually noting some facial similarity between Nick and his father. He talks in a rather monotone voice, as if dictating a medical report into a machine. "Nicholas is a basically a very healthy, young man, who we suspect has sustained a severe blow to the head. We have not to this point been able to determine the extent of any injury to his brain - his memory is very poor – and he will probably not recognise you." The doctor searches their faces for comprehension They seem to understand. Burton nods for him to continue. "According to the young lady who accompanied him both the first and second time here, Nick had apparently struck up a conversation with her in laundromat after escaping some building where he reports having been being locked in somewhere. This morning, he seems to recall a few salient facts about his identity – at least we think he has – he is a legal aid lawyer. Is that correct, Mr. Fallin?" "Yes. Yes, he is!" answers Burton excitedly, hanging onto Dennison's every word. Lulu, on the other hand, denies herself the luxury of taking any positive implication whatsoever from this news. "This hospital does not receive a lot of patients with severe memory loss due to injury. The staff here are most familiar with the types of memory loss related to ageing, stroke and long-term substance abuse. We are not the most qualified people to make judgments about Nick's potential for recovery of his memory. For that reason, we will be referring him to a neurologist who will triage with a psychiatrist and some other specialist physicians who have some background in working with amnesia patients. For myself, I can only say that of the ten or so memory loss patients I've had, Nick is probably the most severe case I've seen. The upside is that he seems to be in relatively good spirits, and intelligent and motivated enough to try to reclaim his memories as best he is able despite his current inability…" Dr. Dennison then looks up at them to gauge their reaction to his bad news, hesitant to introduce them to Nick right away if they appear too taken aback. But they seem to have prepared themselves mentally in some measure for the worst. "Er.." Burton tries to interrupt, wanting to know how to proceed next with coordinating Nick's care, but Dr. Dennison does not give him an opportunity to interject. Burton allows him to continue uninterrupted. They continue to listen to him very attentively. "I suggest you allow for the fact that he may experience wild mood swings, frustrated behavior, and a significant amount of dependence and disinhibition," he cautions forebodingly. He pauses and finally asks, "Do you have any questions you'd like to ask?" "Yes!' Burton blurts out in frustration. "I want Nicholas to receive the best care possible while he is being treated, and after he is discharged - is there someone we can speak to –" Dennison smiles slightly, carefully choosing his words: "My nurse will be arranging for you to see the hospital social worker. The social work department will be assist you with various facets of Nick's care according to your wishes. You may also need some community supports, such as a mental health team should Nick's behavior become problematic." "What kind of problematic?" Lulu asks aloud, concerned. It is the second time Dr. Dennison has alluded to Nick's behavior in a negative way. She suspects that community resources such as mental health teams are not normally assigned those with mild behavioral problems. At times she hates the knowledge her profession gives her, leaving her more informed and less optimistic than those around her. "Did he do drugs?" she asks skeptically. Dr. Dennison does not address her question directly, continuing: "I also suggest you keep some daily notes for the first few weeks, keeping track of Nick's behaviors and issues that come up in order to be able to provide some information to the physicians who will be working with him. Nick will be undergoing a lot of formal testing." There is emphasis on the word "lot" which both Burton and Lulu find unnerving. Lulu takes in this information more calmly than she even believed she was capable, given how worried she had felt earlier. Now she is feeling somewhat relieved to have her burden of knowing so little about Nick's condition shared by Burton. It is less frightening than facing the situation alone or with her own mother. She feels ready to face the future with an altered Nick and to support him in his recovery -- regardless of the obstacles. "Come on down then. You can see him now. He was looking through a magazine when I last looked in on him," Dennison reports, guardedly optimistic that their initial visit will be a boon to all of them. Edgily, not daring to presuppose what to expect, they both walk down the long corridors quietly until they came to the room that Nick had been assigned. They spot him instantly. Burton quickly sheds his cool and strides quickly inward. Lulu approaches more cautiously, behind him. "Whatcha reading there?" asks Burton interestedly, as he sees Nick sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in yellow hospital pyjamas, poring over a magazine. Burton feels he is once again looking upon his young son, who just happens to occupy a grown man's body. Nick is reading something very intently, pausing before looking up at Burton. "Oh," Nick looks up and sees his visitors, "Hello." Nick stares at Burton curiously. Burton's face means nothing to him, but the sound of his male voice has caused his heart to beat faster. "I was reading an article on how to cook a Mediterranean roast," Nick replies, continuing to give Burton the once over, unable tp quite make the vital connection. He then glances at Lulu, pleased at the sight of her warm eyes and lively look. His heart begins to beat even faster than before as he looks her over. Instinctively, he feels there is something indefinably special about her. "You're a nurse?" he asks her, feeling confused. Nurses and medical aides have been walking past his door or visiting him steadily for the past three hours, taking vital signs, blood samples and asking him frequently what his name is, what time of day it is and then shining a light into his pupils. Lulu is too surprised to answer at first, but then softly replies, "No." "Oh, my girlfriend then! Dr. Dennison told me you might be coming..." He does not recognise her, but peers steadily at the woman who is apparently his girlfriend until Burton speaks again. "Mediterranean roast? Really? I bet it has lamb in it – am I right?" Burton asks, anxious to develop any kind of rapport or connection with his son. Lulu raptly watches Nick smiling shyly at Burton. She awaits Nick's responses, even at this small exchange, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the sight of him seemingly healthy and normal, yet so very different in his manner: more docile more tranquil - less calculating somehow – but more distant. Her reaction is one of a mixture of relief and anxiety all at the same time. "Yes. It does, as a matter of fact. Do you cook lamb yourself?" Nick inquires politely. "Not lately." says Burton, stroking his chin, trying to decide how to broach the more delicate topic of their real-world relationship which Nick seems to have no inkling of. Nick twitches at this gesture, and Lulu notices that Nick has reacted strongly to it on some level, sensing that Nick's subconscious is playing with him. Burton glances quickly at Lulu, and back at his son, "Nicholas, the doctor tells me you're having a bit of problem remembering things…" "Yes," answers Nick, tensing a little. He is now a little fearful of the big-voiced man standing in front of him, but unsure why: It is not fear of being hurt, but of somehow learning something he may not wish to. Nick now imagines this man may pierce to the heart of his problems and he cannot say whether this is a good thing. His memories are often unsettling. He looks in Lulu's direction for reassurance, and sees kindness in her eyes, and is able to breathe more easily. "I don't want to scare you, Nicholas, but I'm your father…" Burton states calmly, his racing heart belying any real calmness. "Hmm...." says Nick.. "Father `Christmas', by chance?" he questions solemnly. "Well…that's pretty close, but not quite," Burton replies quietly, holding himself back from his usual chuckling or smiling, intent on assessing Nick's reaction and what Nick will say or do next. Seeing him wait, Nick responds: "My name is Nicholas Fallin. My mother's name is Anne Fallin…" He pauses a minute, reorganizing his thoughts. "I guess you must be Father Fallin?" Nick deduces hesitantly. "Yes," Burton answers sadly, trying to suppress the hurt caused by his son's unintended level of formality. "And my first name is Burton. I am `Burton Fallin'". "Fallin & Fallin!" shouts Nick, suddenly shocked. He can see the image of a glass sign that says Fallin & Fallin in his mind that does not evaporate quickly. "I work with the Fallins – I work for Fallin & Fallin!" stammers Nick incredulously. Just as suddenly, his shoulders slump dejectedly. Lulu finally sits down in a visitor's chair near the foot of the bed, realizing that Nick is neither afraid of them, nor tired enough to want them to leave, feeling so very grateful that Nick seems to have some access to his memory. Perhaps his Fallin & Fallin comments signal a pattern of returning images? Knowing how disoriented and emotionally unstable she was from her own accident, she disallows disappointment to creep in on her. He has not recognised her, and Lulu tries hard to approach his perception of her from his perspective. She reflects on the fact that the timing of her entry has suggested a nurse to him: this would seem to indicate at least some short-term retention, or deduction by association, despite her not wearing a uniform. "What's the matter?" says Burton, trying to control his excitement. "I don't remember anybody there," Nick answers forlornly, looking depressed and sounding whiny, like a young child. Lulu tries to reassure him: "Don't worry. Soon, you will…" afraid to speculate on the truth of this reassurance. Instantly, she chastises herself for the dishonesty of leading Nick to believe things that just may not come to pass, and resolves never to do this in the future. "Son, the doctor tells me you're going to be here a few days, and then you'll be coming home to our house…." Burton wonders how much care Nick will require with so little recall, and suspects it is a lot. He begins to speculate about how willing Lulu might be to assist him, since she seems to know her way around the medical system better than he. Nick looks up at him, a bit overwhelmed and confused. "Our house? What does it look like? Who's there? Do I have a bed?" Burton struggles to try and see himself through Nick's eyes and cannot. Sensing Burton's confusion and dismay, Lulu speaks up for the first time. "Hi, Nick! I'm Lulu." speaking in a bright voice and at the same time smiling broadly at him. "Lulubeth," Nick mumbles. He notes that Lulu is a lot shorter than Beth and has pretty eyes, and that there is something about her that taps at his gray void and also makes his heart race. He finds himself staring hard at her neck, and glancing fascinately at her earrings. "I'm sorry, Nick. What did you say?!" She believes he has said "Lulu-something-or-other", but cannot be sure. It has not made sense to her. "Do you know Beth?" Nick asks interestedly. "Is that the woman you came here with?" asks Lulu. "Yes," Nick answers, pleased to share this with Lulu. He basks in her attention. "Is she your friend?" Lulu questions hesitantly, worried at what Beth's role in his disappearance may have played or that they may have been more than just friends. "Beth makes good tea," Nick informs her, "and she's a good touch-er." Lulu then finds herself staring at Nick, which has the effect of making him feel very self-conscious. He begins to blush profusely. "I asked her first! I followed the rule," he adds by way of explanation, nodding and wondering if she will think he has done something wrong. "If you want, Burton or I will make you some tea when you come back to your house!" Lulu offers. Her heart races that much faster as she thinks of the possible intimate role Beth may have played in Nick's life. "Good," replies Nick, feeling relieved that she does not try to admonish him. His trace of uneasiness vanishes as she changes the subject. He has found her staring very unsettling in spite of having obtained Beth's consent, without knowing why. "The tea's no good here." He looks at Burton questioningly "Hot tea?" "Yes, Nick. We've got hot tea - but I think you like coffee more than tea." Burton suggests patiently, although admittedly, he does not feel entirely acquainted with his son's likes and dislikes. Nick looks back at Lulu, ignoring Burton's coffee comment. There is something very special about her body and an alluring softness in her gaze. He wonders about her touch. "Are you over 16?" he asks cautiously, wanting to be sure. Lulu sees a sudden gleam flash in his eye, as he glances brazenly at her bustline and continues to stare, undressing her with his eyes. Stunned by his audacity, Lulu waits until he looks up again again at her face: "Are you trying to pick me up?" she asks, partly joking and partly serious – wondering just how much he does truly remember about her, if anything. "No. I just thought I'd ask. I'm 33, in case you're interested," he smiles proudly, his eyes still roving over her. Lulu begins to laugh for the first time in a week, her pent up nervousness finally finding release. Almost missing this exchange, Burton now watches them both closely. "I know, Nick, I know!" Lulu laughs. Recovering herself, she realizes she would do better to relate to Nick as if he were a young child without the advantage of life experience. She replies to his comment more carefully, drawing her face more closely to him and making him feel more at ease from her willingness to eliminate the distance between them. "I will be interested in that much, much later. But not today, because you're in hospital, okay?" she says encouragingly, although she can feel her body already responding to his proximity and sexual interest in her. Appreciating her body heat, Nick smiles wanly to please her… and himself. Wanting to confirm the specific terms, he inquires, "I have to get better first, right?" "That's right," Lulu replies warmly, her body already protesting the compromise, "We have to wait until then…" Realizing there is something about her dark features and scent that makes him restless and familiarly "itchy", he looks up at her questioningly again: "Lulu?" "Yes?" she responds with a smile, secretly steeling herself for any outrageous requests he might make of her. Intuitively, he lowers his voice a little: "Did we ever?" "I think I know what you mean, but maybe you better tell me, just to be sure…" Lulu responds nervously, still completely disarmed by his childlike candor. Nick's cheeks began to quickly redden as his body continues to react to her closeness, "Did we ever touch a lot?" Burton watches Nick and Lulu very closely as this exchange occurs, as Lulu uprights herself and glances back at Burton only to find him staring fixedly at the two of them. As she turns to Nick again, Lulu feels Burton's eyes burning a hole in her back. She is almost sure he is judging her exchange with Nick, unsure of how best to continue. Burton begins to appreciate the depth of their connection - how fascinated Nick seems with her - even with Nick's memory mostly missing. He realizes if he is to reach Nick at all, it will have to be through Lulu. Watching her lean toward Nick, Burton sees some essence of Anne about her, and he feels ambivalent about this mysterious, powerful, yet small woman standing in front of him whom like Nick, he has taken very little time to get to know. "Yes, Nick," she answers in a quiet, somewhat faltering voice, which only tends to pique Nick's interest in her. He reaches out and touches the ends of her hair with his fingertips and looks into her eyes again, searchingly. Lulu feels electrified by the sensations caused by his simple, small gesture. Rooted to the floor, she cannot move or speak. She hopes against hope that this gesture is not entirely unknowing of their past mutual affection and passionate history together. But she knows responsibly, that she cannot allow him to continue even a little bit, for both their sakes. She begins to force the words that ignore her true sentiments from her lips. But before she is even able, sensing her Beth-like censure and ambivalence, Nick draws his hand back. "Sorry. I know I should have asked," he replies softly, looking at her guiltily, his desire however, unchanged. "Just that bit was okay," Lulu replies carefully, disappointed at having to refuse him more. Nick hangs his head and now feels too self-conscious to look back up at her. Gripping the bed's edge with his hands, he begins to swing his feet wildly "Well, Nicholas, are we tiring you out?" Burton asks, trying to take some of the pressure off Lulu. He realises that she, too, is struggling with Nick's altered memory. He himself is starting to tire from the strain of trying to assimilate Nick's condition and how he might best manage it. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and it exhausts him. How much easier the situation would have been, if this had happened while Anne was alive! "No, not yet!" replies Nick frankly. He finds the magazine he had set aside, picks it up, and idly flips the edges of its pages just to watch them snap past his thumb. He lifts his eyes up to glance at them, trying to anticipate what moving into the house and living with Burton might mean for him. Would he have a warm room with big blankets like Beth's, for instance? What would he have to do to prove his worth to his strange-yet-familiar and arousing girlfriend? "Do you want us to bring you anything to read, or stuff, the next time we come?" Burton asks, remembering that Nick was interestedly poring through a magazine when he had arrived. "Some recipes, maybe?" "You're going?" Nick lifts his head up with concern, his face looking like that of a child who is about to lose his favorite playmates. "We'll have to leave in about ten minutes," Burton replies, not brusquely, but in a voice which brooks no negotiation: "I have to get back to the office." Truth be told, Burton feels that if he does not find a chair to collapse into,where he can avoid having to react to anyone or anything, his legs and mind will give out on him at the same time. Mentally and emotionally fatigued, he almost wishes he could trade places with Nick for a few hours, living a non-complex life involving making fantasy mediterranean roasts. He appreciates abstractly that Nick struggles with his inner world, but it seems much less daunting to Burton than his own, at the moment. "Everybody always leaves!" Nick answers petulantly. "EVERYBODY always leaves!!" he repeats for emphasis. He is, in fact, angry at himself. He cannot keep people in his view in his mind, so he feels lonely. Blaming Burton and Lulu seems to be an easier solution than directing blame at himself, however. Without the ability to make informed comparisons and confident moral judgments, Nick is prone to choosing the moral low ground in absence of ready emotional self-censure to do otherwise. "Burton loves you, Nick, and he'll come back…" Lulu assures him. "And so will I, when you start to get better." "Promise?" he challenges Burton. "I promise," answers Burton, realising that with Nick so young in his current mental state, that he may have to play father to a young child twice over. He takes solace from the fact that Lulu seems to care enough about Nick to help a bit if he were to ask. He pats Nick on the shoulder to reassure him and repeats, "I promise." Something about Burton's touch reaches under Nick's gray void and awakens deep-seated feelings of adoration and love. "I love you, Dad." says Nick, temporarily ignoring his "mistake" of not calling Burton "Father Fallin." "I love you, too, son!" Tears suddently start streaming down Burton's face. It had been years since Nicholas had declared his love for him. He now feels he has to leave before Nick appreciates his level of distress and remorse for so little time spent together. He glances at Lulu to see if she is ready to go as well. Seeing Burton's mixed tears, tears begin to spill from Lulu too. She is overwrought with the bittersweet irony of being wanted and needed by Nick, but barely – if at all – recognized by him. "Don't cry, Lulu. I won't let anybody hurt you while you're here," Nick says. He sees Lulu's tears of sadness and relief start to stream out, not understanding, but hating to see her so sad. He wants to help remove her pain. She is actually nicer than any of the nurses and she is also his girlfriend. While not understanding fully the concept of having a girlfriend, he senses that their relationship commissions him to a special duty of care – that he must be as kind as possible, and look after her as best as he is able. "Thanks, Nick. I appreciate that…" she answers sadly, smiling again for his benefit as she reaches for a Kleenex from the box on his nightable. "Take more!" he urges her, pulling some out for her, wanting to fix things by helping remove the very evidence of her pain. "Your face is really wet." "Thank you, Nick." She takes them from him, and Nick is pleased with himself to have been able to be of good service. She considers briefly kissing him on the cheek as a gesture of appreciation, but quickly censors the thought, remembering their respective relationships have now changed dramatically. She would have to be the strong one from hereon in. Seeing her cloud of indecision followed by a barely perceptible emotional distancing, Nick reflexively reaches his face in towards hers, whispering encouragingly: "You're my girlfriend!" He reaffirms this to both of them as he looks at her with kindness in his eyes, placing his arm protectively around her. His words are charged with a "Nick promise" of continued caring. Unthinkingly, Lulu does what any girl who has been asked to "go steady" by her date does: She kisses her new "steady boyfriend" gently on the cheek. ~ ~ ~ end of Part 3 Bittersweet Memories – Part 4 ~ ~ ~ (Three weeks later) "Er Lulu, Burton, here. I was planning on taking Nick over to the clinic today, but they rescheduled and this thing has come up – I wonder how your schedule – " "I'm okay after two o'clock today, Burton. Be glad to." "Thanks so much – and just put in on my tab...I owe ya!" Lulu smiles at the thought of going over to babysit Nick for the rest of the afternoon. Having been discharged into Burton's care, Nick has now settled into living in Burton's house, which for simplicity's sake and for Nick's sense of security, Burton refers to as "their" house. Her acquiescence only amounts to a couple of extra hours for the afternoon, since she was scheduled to go over at four-thirty anyway, but the tensions which her LSP cases have wrapped her in have been growing inside her all morning. She welcomes the change in pace. ~ ~ ~ Caring for Nick has been to date, not a smooth ride for either one of them, forcing them to adjust to his new, dependent state: His moods are inconsistent, his abilities more so. But his recall improves daily, and he appears content mostly following their lead and following a simple domestic routine. Without prompting he grooms himself, picks up the morning newspaper, and makes morning tea, in fact voicing great displeasure in any changes he is not thoroughly consulted on. "Where's the small tea bags with the strings" he asks annoyed. "The store was out of them, so we have the big double tea bags" explains Lulu patiently. "We have to tell the store owner this is no good. They're supposed to have *our * kind," decides Nick. "He should always ask first before he changes things,." And both Lulu and Burton discover that Nick's cooperativeness rests heavily on their willingness to maintain on ongoing dialogue with him at almost all times, and to barter with him. "I hid the remote so you can't turn the TV off." "But it's midnight, Nick," protests Burton, wearily. Nick greets his comment with silence, determined that the television not yet be shut off. "I'll make you your favorite breakfast in the morning if you put it back - but I won't if you don't," barters Burton, tiredness in his voice. Grudgingly, Nick relents: "O-oh-h-kay-y." He pulls it out from the couch cushions and reluctantly clicks it off. Burton eventually capitulates and hires a private mental health nurse to monitor and assist Nick until Nick's afternoon scheduled appointments. Burton preferred to accompany him to these personally. Lulu would often then come to the house in the late afternoon, giving Burton some added quiet time to apply to his business affairs. Out of a sense of growing frustration, much like any overworked parent, both Lulu in the late afternoon, and Burton in the evening, demur finally to Nick's wish to watch a lot of TV, which places less demand for verbal input from either of them. It is also a supplementary learning tool for his vocabulary and for much of the information he has lost concerning the world around him. ~ ~ ~ "Lulu, I'm bored!" Nick complains, picking lint from his pullover as he lays on the couch, propped up on one arm. Lulu works with Nick through lists of verbal comparisons and object recognitions. Provided by the neuropsychologists, she reads the lists aloud, trying to determine what Nick knows. She gently steers and encourages him to an understanding of what he does not recall or comprehend. "Doctors are smart, and they know you'll be smart enough to do a lot of things you want *if* we keep doing these lists, Nick!" she chides, trying to keep him on task. "I know," he grumbles. "Maybe I don't want to be so smart!" His childlike attitude is now more or less taken as a given. Burton and Lulu try their individual best to work within those constraints. "You want to know how to buy things, right?" Lulu asks him, realizing that a little bit of logical persuasion now and then often brings Nick past his point of wanting to maintain concentration. She tries to look at his reluctances as advance training for future motherhood. The question of whether Nick would be ever be able to participate in the raising of a child however, is something that she does not allow herself to ponder. "Yeah…" He says, wondering why she is more patient than Burton in such matters. He is torn between wanting to learn things of strong future interest to him and simply having Lulu pay him more direct attention, such as receiving small hug or perhaps a favorite treat. "Then we have to do some of this," she explains patiently, unwilling to give up. "When are going to start touching each other…again?" Nick grumbles, lying back on the couch skeptically, as he reaches down for a TV guide, signalling his disinterest with the lesson. While he is able to read, Nick's attention-span is limited Riveted to the television for many hours, he scarcely remembers anything he watches unless it is simple, juvenile, and fun. He often gets up a quarter of the way through a show to do something else. It is that way with many of his activities. As he reaches too many unknown areas of knowledge, he tires and devolves to a simpler, more familiar activity. He also tests Burton and Lulu's tolerance, discovering Lulu to be more entertaining of his wishes and desire for attention than Burton. "I'm tired of waiting!" he blurts out suddenly. "How long have you been waiting?" Lulu asks, curious to see what his answer will be. "Ten minutes," he pouts, without lifting his head. He does not really understand why he is still being made to wait, if in fact he ever understood. "That's a long time, isn't it?" Lulu comments sympathetically. She tries to think of something to distract him, but he is crankier than usual today. She finds the "touching" issue is becoming harder and harder to put off and sidetracking him is no longer successful. Her own need for him has been at times very difficult to suppress. she muses. The doctors had warned Lulu that because of Nick's disinhibited state, his behavior might become unpredictable and demanding – even to the point where he might become acutely possessive of her and "not restrain himself in the slightest if strongly aroused". Lulu had realised clearly that this was their polite term for rape. She remembered the first week all too clearly when she had given him a quick parting hug on leaving. Not only had he been unwilling to relinquish his powerful grip on her, but had gently but uncompromisingly rubbed his swelling erection against the side of her hip, hanging onto her for dear life, pleading plaintively in her ear: "Lulu! Lulu!! Don't go!" If Burton, in horror, had not intervened, bellowing "Nicholas!!" - startling Nick into releasing her - would she have been able to stop him or fend him off? She was also still very curious to know what had transpired between him and Beth – whether he had tried to force himself on her, or they had done something mutually agreed upon. He had never mentioned her since the hospital, yet he had seemed about her. She had the feeling that they had been sexually intimate. "Do you still remember Beth?" Lulu asks curiously, finally broaching the subject, almost afraid of how he might respond. "Yeah," he answers somewhat sourly, further provoking Lulu's interest. "Did she ask you to touch her?" Lulu feels intensely curious to understand their relationship which apparently developed over only a short period of time. "No." answers Nick a little guardedly, wondering if Lulu is judging him, seeing her stare so intently. "You just touched her?" Lulu suddenly regrets her question, not so sure she really wants to hear. "She said the other person has to want to; I made sure she wanted to, " he explains further. "Hmmm… I believe that, Nick," Lulu's eyes scan over him, "Sometimes you make me want to…" "Yeah?" Nick's boredom suddenly vanishes. "Then why won't you let me?' "Because it's not time yet. You have to remember more, first." Lulu feels for the first time that she is providing him with the flimsiest of reasons. "Why?" he whines, once again taking on the tone of a spoilt child. "So that we can do it right," Lulu answers with some sadness, pained by the memories of all that they had once shared, along with the distant hope they can retrieve what they had someday. "I KNOW what's between your legs! I know what to do!" Nick protests, annoyed and accusatory, as if Lulu is telling him he is stupid. Lulu has no idea what to say; and now feels stupid herself. Nick's gaze shows her no remorse in his angered tone. "Doing it right means following more rules," she adds somewhat cautiously. "Beth only had TWO rules - and I obeyed them!" He tries to manipulate her as she tried to manipulate his cooperation by mentioning doctors and shopping. He is showing her that someone else had been kinder and better, attempting to change her mind, and refusing to consider that he may likely be hurting Lulu's feelings in the process. "You think I'm mean…" Lulu concludes as she turns away from him, now feeling more hurt than guilty for possibly provoking his desires so strongly. "If you want to touch, why don't you touch?" Nick cannot really understand her rationale behind waiting, if they are both willing…and wanting. "I want you to be happy," she tries again, "But sometimes we have to give up some happiness to get other happiness." Lulu is far less sure about why it is so important to hold herself back or to keep Nick waiting more than ever before. "I want THIS happiness!" Nick retorts, rolling onto his back, exasperated. He knows he has been defeated. He feels that they both want it, feels sure that it is right for them both, but finds himself unable to explain exactly why. "How badly?" asks Lulu. Her desire for him is weakening her resolve and she wonders if she can negotiate his best instincts from him. "Very badly," Nick answers indifferently, turning his back to her, as he coils up on the couch, not even sure anymore, how interested he is having them touch. But since Lulu is always trying to make deals to secure his cooperation, he is curious enough to continue to play her game. "Well, tell me what you would do if I said `stop', once you REALLY wanted it, Nick?" Lulu asks him, unsure what type of reply such a loaded question might illicit. Nick releases a big sigh., "But I wouldn't want you to stop things." Her question seems utterly pointless to him. "But IF I said it, what would you do?" persisted Lulu, interrupting his inner dialogue which is fuelling his frustration. Nick becomes silent and continues to avoid looking in her direction, unnerved by her interrogation. "Nick?" Suddenly, he rolls around to face her and looks at her challengingly: "What would YOU do if I said "Don't stop!?" Before she can contain herself, Lulu grins widely to his verbal parry. That Nick is recovering his old debating skills is obvious - she cannot help but admire how quickly he has turned his defensive position into one in which she is virtually forced to defend hers! Nick is annoyed by the distraction, still eagerly awaiting her response to his question "That's very clever, Nick!" she says finally, "You're getting better all the time with your memory!" "Not so fast!" Nick reaches over and tugs at her sleeve, beginning to recognize what looks to him to be an artful stroke of evasion on her part. "You're changing the subject and haven't answered the question!" His confrontation of her emboldens him in his confrontation of her, his blue-green eyes rove over her intently. Sometimes he wishes she would pay more attention to the other parts of him, instead of focusing so much on his memory. "But I asked you first!" counters Lulu quickly. "*You're* the one who has changed the subject!" she argues, pressing his intellectual skill to the maximum – both pleased and put off-balance. There are definite semblances of pre-amnesia, wily Nick are emerging through this matching of wits. She feels a mixture of pride, fear, and guardedness, realising that he is becoming ever more difficult to persuade, and will be even more difficult in the future when something does not suit his agenda Nick looks at her in surprise, unsure whether to concede to her point or not. He knows from experience that she will not like it if he tries to whine his point past her. She keeps him on his toes, which in his own way he grudgingly respects in spite of the fact that he feels himself to be a natural disadvantage with her. Suddenly his mind tires and gives out on him. He cannot focus. "I'm going to watch TV!" he reports crankily, rolling over, facing away from her again, briefly wondering if she had always been this much of a challenge for his touch-itch. "Do you want me to go, Nick?" She knows from experience that when he is tired he is very disinclined to being reasonable and often falls asleep quickly and deeply, like a child. "No," he muffles into the couch, still not wanting to relinquish her company which is always a comfort to him, even through his frustration or disappointments with her. "You sound tired." She moves in closer and puts her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him with the small, innocent gesture of affection. He begins to sniffle. "I'm sorry, Lulu! It's all my fault!" he sobs quietly, burying his head in pillows like an ostrich, symbolically blotting out the mess he has made of his life somehow. "Don't be sorry, Nick! It's no one's fault when you get tired," she responds, stroking his shoulder. "It's my fault I got hit and lost my memory!" He does not remember anything of being hit and losing his memory, but assumes guilt, based on the fact that Beth had suggested that he was hit by the men. "Why is it your fault, Nick?" she asks, again surprised by his assumptions. "I don't know. But why else would I lose my memory?" Nick implores. "It's not your fault, Nick - it could have happened to anyone!" Lulu feels devastated that Nick is utterly blameless yet blames himself. "You and Dad are too smart for that!" he moans, still avoiding looking at anything but the inner crevices his pillows are making, feeling no small amount of self-pity for his lack of intelligence in getting hit and losing his memory. "No, we're not! It could have happened to us. You had bad luck, that's all!" She feels deeply helpless in trying to comfort in him in the depth of his frustration with his life, with himself, his thought processes - and now even his self-esteem. She has not realised until now how deeply Nick has identified with his inability to know certain things. She has so often wanted to reassure him that his situation is only temporary, but unsure of this herself, she has resisted the urge. She begins to question this act of withholding as being brutal in its consequence, beginning to realize finally, how important hope is, for fuelling motivation. "Maybe you had bad luck with men, Lulu!" Nick pierces into her thoughts suddenly, desperate to change the subject. "Why do you say that??" Her heart skips a beat. She does not believe that Nick has a real grasp of her problem, but unconsciously would like to believe that he does, and can somehow overcome her fears. She does not believe in luck, but she wants to believe in Nick's healing powers. "Because you act like I might hurt you," he replies matter-of-factly, a scientifically deduced observation on his part, based on her fearful behavior and her previous interrogation of him. He looks at her questioningly. Surprised at this, and off-balanced by his staring, Lulu feigns shock, replying, "But YOU wouldn't, would you?!" It occurs to her that this might be the best way to have Nick commit to a course of exercising restraint with her sexually when very disinclined to. "I promise I wouldn't!" he says with sincerity, his eyes pleading as he stares deeply into her face, watching for her reaction. He desperately does not want her to reject him this time! Perhaps now, he has finally broken through to her with his heartfelt declaration that he will not her. Suddenly, he feels her hand slide warmly along a small exposed area of his lower backside as her shadow falls over him. A feeling of warmth and relief floods through his entire body. She is touching him in an "itchy" place, and he is not even touching her! Isn't this the way things are supposed to be? For awhile at any rate? "Keep it up!" he urges. He rolls away from her, and tucks his hands under his cheek, coiling up more tightly, enjoying her warm motions across his skin. He is suddenly overtaken by a heavy wave of sleep which presses in on him, and promptly falls asleep. ~ ~ ~ (six weeks later) "Try and maintain a consistent routine and environment for him, so that he is able to turn his attention to other things more easily," one doctor advises Burton. Burton and Lulu dedicate their care and attention to doing just that. Discipline is another matter entirely. Some days Nick exercises an admirable amount of self-restraint in the name of pleasing everyone around him; some days he tires and grumbles, even becoming perversely uncooperative – for instance, finding devious ways to avoid his sessions and appointments. Burton: "I was sure that nurse had said 1:00 pm!" as they are re-emerge from the clinic, their appointment now re-scheduled. They had been dismissed from the clinic for lateness due to Burton's confusion over the appointment time Nick: "No, Dad, I remember it clearly - it was definitely scheduled for 2:30!" Nick has no compunctions about misleading Burton, whose short term memory often does not keep pace with his son's. Gradually Nick's powers of deduction became sharper, his recognition of things in his environment became a more commonplace event, and current events sometimes trigger memories of past events, bestowing on him yet more problem-solving skills. They often occur in unique ways: a sound, a taste, smell or visual image might introduce a series of mental events that are unique to Nick's thought processes. Reality sometimes fuses with fantasy and vice-versa. "See that woman on TV? She's drinking too much Vodka." is how one such session starts innocuously while he and Lulu are watching television one night. Nick points to a woman onscreen who holds a drink glass in her hand. "Why's that?" Lulu turns to him questioningly. "Because her accent is too thick. She needs to cut back." he explains matter-of-factly. "Why does drinking give her an accent?" She is curious as to where Nick has managed to link these two ideas. "Accents belong to drinkers. Look at the French – they all drink wine and they all have accents!" Lulu is too surprised at this answer to respond immediately. "So…what happens to beer drinkers?" Lulu asks, trusting this would stump him--beer drinkers were ubiquitous in all parts of the world. She is trying to find a soft way to implode his underlying assumptions. "Canadian accents! – it even says "Canadian" on the beer label," he answers, gaining emotional momentum from his mounting evidence. wondered Lulu, unpersuaded of course by his flimsy logic, but unsure how to respond. "And if Americans drank a beer called `American', then what?" she asks. Nick hesitates, struggling to put his ideas into words. "But there's no beer called `America' - because Americans don't have accents!" he answers, pleased to have discovered some circular reasoning which appears to supports his view. "Wouldn't be too sure about that…" Lulu hints in low-key way, much as one would warn a child playing chess, that they are about to embark on an ill-thought out move. She knows how much Nick hates to lose a debate. "What accent?" he asks cautiously, braced for an unconsidered fact that might turn his argument into burnt toast. "Well, what about Texan accents?" she asks tentatively, not knowing how he might respond to this news. Nick has no ready answer for this. He knows Texans are Americans, and that they sound different from the people around him, including a lot of TV characters. "Well that's not really an accent, Lulu!" Nick counters, after some deliberation. He has stumbled across a semantic difference which will rescue him and prove his correctness beyond a doubt. "Oh?" puzzled, Lulu wonders how Nick presumes to contradict her and explain himself with any logic. "No, they have a *drawl *" he asserts with pride. Lulu smiles and says nothing to this. Sometimes it is better to let Nick have a win. It is the simple victories that mean the most to him these days. Grinning and greatly pleased with himself, Nick knows he has won this round. He looks at her triumphantly, greeted by her wide smile. He slaps a couch cushion celebratively, ordering her to sit next to him, intending to casually rub his hand along her soft thigh possessively. She allows him to do this without chiding him this time, for which he is grateful. He knows from this, that he is getting better. His physicians are impressed and only too eager to take credit for his apparently speedy progress, but Nick himself thinks of them as very peripheral to his recovery: "You talk like it's you who helped bring back my memory," comments Nick in one of his sessions with Dr. James Rothman, a renowned psychiatrist, who has treated a number of amnesia patients.. "But it's Lulu and Dad helping me when I'm scared to remember some things! All you guys do is run tests and tell me I'm "improving"! I already know that. It doesn't take someone with a great memory to figure that much out!" he states, folding his fingers into a tent-like formation and staring at his hands. "You think we're pretty useless?" asks the doctor. "Basically, yeah!" answers Nick bluntly, his former more circuitous personality not having fully re-asserted itself, although his penchant for brevity gradually begins to re-emerge. "Well, if it's any consolation, a lot of others in your profession feel the same way about psychiatrists and psychiatry. Why do you suppose that is?" Dr. Rothman asks him with a half smile. Nick is caught off guard by this. He really has no idea. "Well, my father obviously doesn't share that opinion, so I don't know what to say that." answers Nick candidly. "Ever better! - Well that's good, Nicholas. We'll see you in here next week – that is, if you can tolerate another fool gladly for a bit," he quips, "and once we've conferenced with your family and we're satisfied that there are no residual relapses, we'll see about making these visits very infrequent. How's that?". "Better," replies Nick measuredly, "Getting better." wonders Rothman. ~ ~ ~ (three months later) The sun shines through the curtains of Burton's living room windows. Colorful fall leaves swirl across the lawn. Lulu and Nick sit at a dining table, having finished a meal which Nick has prepared. As he clears away the dirty dishes from the table, Lulu begins to pulls out her case folders from her briefcase in readiness for reviewing some of her LSP client files. Although Nick had discussed one of Lulu's cases with her a few days before in an abstract context, seeming very eager to explore various arguments in favor of a particular child being awarded state custody, Lulu had had to quickly remind him that it was the other legal point of view that they were obligated to argue for this particular client. It had dramatically dampened his interest in discussing it with her. "Do you want to help me review this case, Nick?" "What's it about?" Nick asks, curious to know the facts so that he can decide whether he wants to participate. "We don't get to pick our cases, Nick! Yes, or no?" She wants him to accept the role of his profession mentally before offering him the details, to ensure he will pursue the best professional conduct that he is capable of for the future. Namely - arguing any legal point of view to the best of his ability as the need presents itself. "Okay…" Nick has made significant strides over a three-month period. Lulu had read somewhere that Ginko Biloba delivered more oxygen to the brain, and both she and Burton had boned up on every vitamin known to man to promote brain function. Nick was gulping down at least six to eight tablets each morning in their quest for his increased mental capacity, uncomplainingly, appreciating that these were intended to aid his condition Burton watches each morning to ensure that Nick does not "forget" the things he already knows - like taking his vitamins. (Twelve months later) Burton could not be prouder. The doctors have given Nicholas a "thumbs up" to resuming his former work. He will be back in court that very morning, trying his first case since his awful mugging of the year previous - of which Nick has only been able to recall scant details – the painful incident wherein his mother's watch was stolen, and he was robbed of much of his memory. "Your Honor, this motion is brought before the court on behalf of Deborah Simmons. She wishes to be placed in the care of her aunt until her mother is out of hospital." says Nick, facing a new judge – Judge Martinez - who has nonetheless heard of his situation via the judicial grapevine. "What's the condition of the mother at this time? Does she have legal capacity?" he asks Nicholas Fallin, intrigued. "No, Your Honor, she has drug-induced amnesia, and it is expected that an intensive course of therapy over a period of six months will be required." Nick thinks it ironic that he is pleading the case of a child whose mother had courted amnesia through drug consumption. He knows the child deserves much, much better. "The father?" "Dead, Your Honor." Nick realises in a flash, how much he has missed the stature and smell of the courtroom, the opportunity to make a difference in the welfare of children, and how much he craves ongoing participation in the activities of real legal work. He feels so grateful that Burton and Lulu have fought so tirelessly to bring him to this point. "May it please the court -" Mr. Braxton of opposing counsel stands up. "Yes Mr. Braxton?" "Deborah's aunt is 73 and does not have the resources or health to adequately care for Deborah, who is currently age 15," he contests. "Mr. Fallin?" the judge summons. Nick quickly rises from his chair, "Ad litem submits a medical report outlining the aunt's relatively minor medical condition. There is nothing there that would proclude her from caring for Deborah adequately." The judge motions for him to forward the medical report, looks through it, looks back at him, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. "Very well, Mr. Fallin, I hereby remand Deborah into the care of her aunt for a period of 180 days. At that time, the court will then revisit this arrangement." Glancing at his small client briefly, Nick stacks his papers and slides them carefully back into his briefcase. His mind is already darting ahead to what will occur next. As he allows the child to be led away by her aunt, he begins to make his way out, feeling satisfied. ~ ~ ~ Lulu waits for him just outside of the courtroom, nervously seated on a hard bench. She wishes she could have been an insider, to share in the proud moment of his "complete recovery". Although she and Nick have been highly intimate, to date they have not had intercourse. She has promised him however that this will change, once he is successfully back at work. "How'd your first day back in court go?" Lulu asks as he emerges from the courtroom, the expression on his face suggesting an easy win. "Not bad." Nick smiled at Lulu's question, secretly pleased that she had been there waiting for him. "Did you think it would be a problem?" "Only for the `opposing'," Lulu beams proudly, grinning from ear to ear. She knows it is only a matter of time before Nick will be working "full throttle", and so busy that she will scarcely get to see him. "Wanna get naked?" Nick looks at her suggestively, remembering back to the very first time they had made love, right in a courtroom. "Not around here! We've got a heavy court schedule ahead of us today!" She blushes at his teasing, looking away embarrasedly while remembering the first time they had made love – in a courtroom. She had hoped they had graduated past public places by now. "I remember a time -" he says smirking at her, but she interrupts him. "You know Nick, as important as it is to remember things, you don't really need to go remembering every single little event" Lulu jokes, clearly trying to cover her embarrassment. "Oh, but I do. I remember you said I was "selfish, ARROGANT…" Nick moves more closely to her as he says this, the humor evident in his face and voice. "And you said I was `prissy' and `perfect!' - like it was some kind of dirty word!" grumbles Lulu, not genuinely resentful, but wanting to remind him that the insults were not one-sided as an unwanted but familiar flush starts to creep across her face. "Well that's because you are. You are `dirtily perfect'," teases Nick, "So, what's the problem with that?" He wags his finger at her challengingly. It seems to demand her full attention. She reflexively grabs it to curtail its wagging and for the first time notices there is a gold band on it. Their eyes meet. She continues to look at him questioningly. "See what I mean?" he smirks proudly, removing her fingers, the ring and placing it around her fourth finger without saying anything, continuing to look into her eyes all the while. Lost for words, Lulu gulps and alternates glancing between the ring and his eyes. He draws her chin in to kiss her gently, saying nothing. A sudden firestorm of heat surges through Lulu. She pulls away in shock from him. Gathering herself momentarily, she yells at him "Yes!!!", throwing her arms around neck with abandon, her mind more or less completely dissolving along with every nerve in her body. She presses her lips on him, deep-kissing him without reservation as she embraces him tightly. Nick gently eases himself away from her warm embrace to allow himself an inch or so. "Er…Lulu -?" he shifts nervously, noting the various frowns, grins and stares of others milling about in the hallway, or headed variously for the courtrooms. "Em…perhaps not in the *main* hallway?" ~ ~ ~ The End