The Dark Side

Author: Linda Wilson AKA ranapipens4ever (rana pipens = bullfrog–love
frogs!)

E-mail: linda_31467@msn.com

Rated: PG-13–some strong language


Summary: This is my take on how the Burton-Nick-Shannon thing will
play out–probably to be proven wrong by the next three episodes.


I started writing this before "What it Means To You" aired, so in
this version, Nick learns about his father and Shannon differently.
I've left out any reference to "Sensitive Jackals" and skipped some
things we already know about, such as Burton kicking down that door.
I've also left out Lulu because I can't see any place for her in this
particular part of Nick's story at all. I would imagine, however,
that Nick is relieving his feelings with more amorous calisthenics,
so those of you who care to, intersperse such a scene wherever it
suits you, and don't stint.

Disclaimer: Nick and Burton Fallin, Shannon Gressler, Laurie Solt,
Alvin Masterson, Liz and Jeremy Hetherington, Probation Officer Fred
DeSica, Judge Rebecca Damsen, Judge T. Hundley, Burton's secretary,
Gretchen, and his late wife, Anne, are all taken directly from "The
Guardian." Marcie, the put-upon receptionist at Fallin & Fallin, is
my own invention, as is the behavior of Judge Hundley, whom we don't
know very well from the show. Resemblance to any person living or
dead is purely coincidental; similarity of events, dates, characters
or the portrayal of events is unintentional.
Thanks to Suzanne Moore and Shirley Goates, who kindly offered
suggestions, corrections and comments.


--+--

The Dark Side

Laurie Solt looked at Alvin Rosenberg. "I suppose someone has to tell
Nick," she said.

"It might as well be me,"Alvin said. "He already hates me. I might as
well give him one more reason."

Laurie sighed. "Oh, dear," she said.

Alvin squared his shoulders. "Well, I'm his 12-step sponsor. Perhaps
I can keep him from doing something foolish."

"Do you really believe that?"

It was Alvin's turn to sigh. "No, not really, but I have to try."

Alvin walked out of his office, went to the cleaning closet that Nick
Fallin occupied at LSP and tapped on the open door of the space that
was barely large enough for a desk, Nick's chair and one for a
visitor and a small bookcase.

Nick was deeply engrossed in a file. While he still resented the time
he had to spend at LSP, he was too good a lawyer not to do the best
job he could on every case handed to him as part of his community
service obligation. And although sometimes he wondered whether he
ever accomplished anything, especially when in spite of all his best
efforts a child was worse off after going through the family court
system, still, he had to admit that once in a while he actually
accomplished something positive. Every so often, he even found
himself having fun. But he didn't enjoy having his train of thought
derailed and so he responded to Alvin's entrance with a frown.

"Ah, Nick," Alvin said. "Got a minute?"

Nick sighed. "Sure. Do I get credit for it?" He smiled briefly. "I'm
kidding. I think I can get this Prescott kid placed if Laurie can
find some foster parents."

Alan decided to eschew Nick's visitor's chair–he might need to make a
fast getaway. "That's great, Nick. Speaking of foster parents, did
you hear about–ah–Mary–Mary Gressler?"

Nick's smile vanished. "No. Should I have?"

"Well–" Alvin looked briefly at the floor, then out the window, and
finally back at Nick. "She–well– two days ago your father found one
of his credit cards was frozen. He traced the bills, went to a motel
and found Shannon Gressler with some of her friends, stoned out of
their minds. He took Shannon back to Mary's house and found Mary on
the floor. They think it was natural causes, but she–she's dead."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry about Mary." And I guess I am, sort of, Nick
thought. I did owe her something for kindly deciding to testify that
those were Mandy's drugs and keep me from going to prison–and from
being indicted for Mandy's murder.

"The thing is," Alvin said, "there's still the girl–Shannon."

Nick was suddenly alert the way an animal that senses itself in
danger is alert. He went very still–so still that Alvin wasn't sure
his community service attorney was even breathing. Nick's "Yes?" was
almost inaudible.

"Laurie just got back from a session with Children's Protective
Services," Alvin said. "She said your father applied to become
Shannon's foster parent. Seems he thinks the credit card thing and
the pot party proves she needs an adult role model she can rely on,
and he thinks he's the one."

If anything, Nick was even quieter, more motionless. "And?" he said.

"And you know how it is–there are never enough foster homes for all
the kids in the system and here's one that dropped right in their
laps. They went for it. Didn't ask for an ad litem or anything else."

Nick picked up the file and opened it. "Thanks for telling me, Alvin."

"Well–ah–I'll see you," Alvin said. "There's a meeting tonight,
remember."

"Uh-huh."

Alvin, feeling himself dismissed, turned and left. Laurie was still
waiting in his office. "How did he take it?" she asked.

"Oh, he was fine," Alvin said. "He just thanked me for telling him, I
reminded him there's a meeting tonight and he went back to the file
he was reading. He didn't react at all."

"Didn't he? Somehow, Alvin, I doubt that."

"Aw, c'mon, Laurie. He's an adult. He understands what Burton's doing
and why."

"Well, if he does, I'm glad, because to tell you the truth, Alvin, I
certainly don't."

"Well, Burton's a good guy. And I really think this kid may be good
for him. Burton once told me he couldn't ever remember sharing a good
laugh with Nick –maybe she'll help them open up to each other a
little more."

"Oh?" Alvin, if you really believe that, there's a bridge in New York
I can sell you, Laurie thought.

"You don't sound so sure."

"Well, it all remains to be seen," Laurie said.

Nick had learned everything there was to know about poker faces years
before he came to LSP, so concealing his emotions from Alvin
Masterson was no great trick. Alone in his office after the LSP
director left, however, he was suddenly aware of a familiar sinking
feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt like this when Mom died
and he sent me to school, Nick thought. My father didn't want me
then. He doesn't want me now. He wants this little–whatever. My God,
her mother killed a man and damn near killed me. Then she attacked me
and almost died in my house. I almost got indicted for her murder.
Shannon and her grandmother almost got me sent to prison. And now my
father's not content with taking them in after the kid burns Mary
Gressler's house down, now he wants to–to–be the father to Shannon he
never wanted to be to me. It doesn't matter what she does. My father
doesn't love me. My father doesn't want me. He wants her.

Laurie poked her head in the door. "Nick?"

He looked up. "Laurie."

"Alvin told you about–about your father and–and Shannon Gressler."

"Yes."

"You know he wants to be her foster father."

"Yes."

"Well–I have to ask you, do you think he could be a good foster
parent to this child?"

"Based on my experience with him as a parent?"


"Yes."

No matter what I say, this is going to happen. There's nothing I can
do to stop it. There's nothing I can do to change it. It doesn't
matter. I don't matter. "He's a good parent."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"No. No, I don't think I can. He'd be a good foster parent–that's it."

"All right." Laurie stood up. "Thank you, Nick."

"Sure. Close the door, would you? I've got to make some calls and the
noise level is kinda high around here today."

"Yes. We seem to be busier than usual." Laurie left, closing the door
behind her.

Nick had taken a deposition out of the file on his desk and was
holding it while Alvin and then Laurie left his office. Now a reflex
beyond his control made him crumple the sheet of paper as his right
hand balled itself into a fist. He took a very deep breath and let
the paper fall to his desk. He spread the sheet out and began to
smooth out the creases carefully, then looked at his palm. His nails
had dug four crescent-shaped gouges into his flesh.

Growing and spreading and overcoming the all-gone, forsaken,
abandoned feeling, a hard, cold core of something he never recalled
feeling before began to form inside Nick Fallin. And now I've got to
go back to the damn Frick building and walk in the office and pretend
that everything's just terrific. That's what I get for being a loyal
and devoted son–screwed. All right, if that's the way he wants it,
that's the way he can have it. Fine. I don't need anyone, especially
him.

Nick was never really sure what went on at the negotiation session
between Conroy Distillers and Tindall Industries Importers in the
Fallin & Fallin conference room later that same afternoon, although
Jake Straka later told him the merger deal was one of his really
outstanding performances. ("You really nailed them to the wall, buddy–
fantastic!! was Jake's enthusiastic encomium.) What he remembered
most was his father's attempt at a conversation after everyone else
had left the room.

"Son, that was a great job," Burton said.

"Was it?" Nick said through stiff lips.

"Sure was. Couldn't have done better myself. Ah–you know Mary
Gressler died?"

"I heard."

"Well, ah, Shannon–well, she doesn't have anybody, and I thought,
well, since she knows us, I thought, well, she ought to be someplace
she feels comfortable, so I told your friend, that social worker,
what's her name, Laurie? that we, that is, that I–"

"Yes, I know." Nick started gathering papers together. He did not
look at his father.

"Well, I just thought I should, I mean–look, you want to help get her
settled in? I was going to take her out for a hamburger or something
and maybe the circus–it's in town, you know."

"I have a meeting." And even if I didn't, you never took me to the
circus. Mom did. How does Shannon Gressler rate this?

For the first time Burton looked at his son. "Are you all right with
this?"

"Sure. I always wanted a sister." And for sure that's the one I'd
pick–a thief, a liar and got my record beat for getting started on
drugs. I think I was a little older the first time I used. No, I'm
not all right with it, but whatever I think or feel or believe
doesn't matter. It never did. Shit on this whole scene.

"Well, look, I really want to do some things together–the three of
us." Burton turned to look out the window. "I really want to make her
feel part of a family, give her a little stability. She's never had
that, not really. And she's such a great kid. She–" He turned back,
only to find he had been talking to himself. Without making a sound,
Nick had left the conference room, closing the door noiselessly
behind him. Burton shrugged. Oh, well. Maybe we can get together, do
something sometime, he thought. Meanwhile, give everyone time to get
used to the idea. Just let it alone for now.

Nick went back to his office, closed the door, sat down at his desk
and picked up a pencil, unaware until he tried to sharpen it that he
had snapped it in half. He took a deep breath, threw the pencil in
his wastebasket and picked up another one. What's that dumb-ass
prayer they say in meetings? Grant me the power to change the things
I can, the serenity to accept the things I can't and the wisdom to
know the difference, something like that? Well, I know I can't change
this, but there's no way I'll ever accept it. No way.

Over the next several weeks Nick either spent as much time as he
could at LSP or found reasons to bury himself in work at Fallin &
Fallin. He spoke to his father only when he absolutely had to in the
course of working on a case. Avoiding Burton Fallin grew easier with
every passing day, especially since Burton seemed to want to spend
most of his free hours with Shannon. I wanted to spend more time with
him, Nick thought. Boy, was I stupid. Why did I bother to come back
here at all? What a waste.

**************

Shannon herself tapped timidly at his open door late one afternoon a
few weeks after Burton had become her foster father. Nick looked up.

"'Scuse me–is Burton here?" she asked.

Nick suppressed a surge of irritation, both at being interrupted and
at hearing Shannon casually use his father's given name. His anger
passed as quickly as it had come– it wasn't the kid's fault that his
father had gone gaga over her. "Isn't he in his office?" he asked.

"He wasn't there when I looked in," Shannon replied.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon. School over for today?"

Shannon nodded.

"Well–" Nick extended a foot and pulled his visitor's chair closer to
his desk. "You can wait here." The last thing he wanted to do was
babysit Shannon Gressler, but he realized if he turned her loose and
anything happened, he'd be the first–and only–person his father would
blame."Got any homework?"

Shannon made a face. "Yeah. Math."

Nick cleared enough of a corner of his desk to provide some writing
space. "Get started on it now and you won't have so much to do later."

"Okay. Thanks." Shannon spread out a pad of paper and opened a
textbook. Nick let himself get engrossed in the brief he was looking
at for a few minutes, but was interrupted by a sigh from his guest.

"I hate this," Shannon said.

It was Nick's turn to sigh, but he did so inwardly. "What've they got
you doing?" he asked. Shannon turned the book around to show him a
simple algebra problem.

"Okay," Nick said. "What you have to remember is, what happens on one
side of the equation happens on the other side, too." Shannon looked
blank. Nick put down the brief and moved his chair out from the
middle of his desk to position himself at the side so he could sit at
an angle to Shannon and show her what he was doing. "Look–" he said,
and worked the problem, explaining each step as he did so. Shannon
suddenly caught on. "Oh! I get it," she said. "Then if x squared
equals–"

"That's it," Nick said.

He helped her through several more problems in her homework
assignment. Shannon seemed to gain more confidence with each
one. "Now I see," she said. She did the rest of the problems herself,
occasionally asking Nick to check her work.

"When you're confronted with a problem you don't understand, do any
part of it you do understand, then look at it again," Nick summed up.

"Did Burton tell you that?" Shannon asked.

"No, a math teacher at the school my father sent me to after my
mother died," Nick said. Shannon looked startled. The part of Nick
that seemed continually at war with his better nature made him smirk
inwardly. If he did it to me, he can do it to you, he thought, and
hoped Shannon could pick up on what he was thinking.

"Oh," Shannon said. She put her hand on his arm and Nick became
suddenly aware that as she had been putting her books and papers away
she had been moving gradually closer to him. "What was that like?"

Nick felt something touch his pant leg and realized it was the tip of
Shannon's shoe. For God's sake, he thought, she's coming on to me. He
was thankful that he had left his door open when Shannon came into
the room. He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up, then
walked to the window and looked out. "Well," he said, "the food was
mediocre and my roommate was a slob. They did have some pretty good
teachers, though."

At that moment, Burton walked into the room. "Shannon, honey, you
ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," Shannon said.

"What were you two doing, anyway?"

"Nick helped me do my math," Shannon said. She smiled winsomely at
Nick. "Thanks."

"Sure," Nick said.

"That's great," Burton said. "I like to see the two of you getting
along. Well, we'd better get going."

"Uh-huh," Shannon said. "She turned to Nick. "We're going to Aunt
Liz's for dinner tonight."

"Yes, I thought it would be nice for Shannon to meet some more of the
family," Burton said. "You want to come along, Nicholas? I'm sure
Liz'll be glad to see you and so will Jeremy."

"I have plans," Nick said.

"Oh. Well, see you tomorrow." Burton ushered Shannon out of the room
as Nick went back to his desk and sat down.

Since when did my Aunt Liz become her Aunt Liz? Nick thought. She's
meeting some of the family, all right. And me? I don't fit into this
equation at all, do I? God, I wish I had a stash. I'd really love to
do a line right now. Well, I don't have anything and I can't score
anything and what would happen if I did? You'd really like that,
wouldn't you, Dad? If I'm in prison for violating my probation, you
don't have to think about anything except her. Well, I'm not about to
give you the satisfaction. Besides, the damn stuff wouldn't work
anyway. Realizing that he had just had a completely new thought gave
him pause. Well. There's an insight. I can get high as the proverbial
kite–higher–and it won't matter because I'll still be hurting just as
much when I come down. Shit. Now I don't even have that. Nothing
works for this. He looked at his desk calendar. There's a meeting
tonight and I might as well go. I can talk to everybody else who
doesn't have a family. We're all in the same leaky boat.

The meeting ran late and Nick stopped for gas on the way home so it
was after midnight when he got to bed. Nick enjoyed the five or six
hours' sleep a night he got and resented having them interrupted, so
when his cell phone rang some time between two and three a.m. his
response was distinctly lacking in cordiality. The best he could do
was " 'lo."

"Nick?" a woman's voice said. "Nick, are you there? It's Liz–Liz
Hetherington–Aunt Liz."

Nick felt himself begin to wake up. "Oh, Aunt Liz," he said. "How're
you doing?"

"I'm very well–I'm in remission," his late mother's sister, who was
undergoing cancer treatment, said. "Nick, I need you to help me–help
Jeremy. He's–he's in trouble."

"What, was he gambling again?"

"No, it's not that. He–did you know your father and–and that girl,
Shannon, were here tonight?"

Nick swung his legs over the side of his bed so his feet were flat on
the floor. He needed to be as awake as he possibly could, he
realized. "I knew they were coming to your place," he said.

"Yes. I–Burton didn't say anything about you, just that there was
someone he wanted me to meet, so I didn't ask you. I'm sorry." She
paused. "Who is this Shannon Gressler, anyway?"

"It's a long story. What happened?"

"Well, we had dinner and afterward, Burton and I were relaxing with a
brandy and Jeremy and–what's her name–Shannon–asked to be excused. I
thought they were going downstairs to the basement to look at
Jeremy's model train setup, but they went to his room instead."

"Oh-oh."

"Yes. If I'd known about it I wouldn't have allowed it, but I didn't
even realize that's where they'd gone until they'd been up there for
a while."

"How old is Jeremy now?"

"He's–he's fifteen."

"And Shannon is–wait a minute–I think she's twelve or so." Nick had a
feeling he knew what he was going to hear next.

"They were in Jeremy's room longer than I thought they should have
been, but I wasn't really paying that much attention. Burton said he
thought it was time they left–Shannon and Jeremy both have school–so
we went upstairs. Jeremy's door was locked and we were just about to
call to them when we heard Shannon say, `stop it.' She said it again
and your father–"

"Yes?"

"Burton kicked the door open."

Jesus! Nick thought. And I had to miss that. The ramifications of the
situation caught up with him almost immediately and he got back to
business. This was no laughing matter. "What happened next?"

"We both went in. Shannon and Jeremy were on the bed, but it didn't
look like anything had happened. I saw that her skirt was up, but it
looked like–everything else–was still in place."

"What about Jeremy?"

"I–I really wasn't looking, but it seemed as if he was still dressed,
too–his shirt was pulled out of his pants, but that was all I saw."
She took a breath. "Burton held Shannon, calming her. Then he–he–"

"Yes?"

"I said we all should calm down and find out what really happened. He
said he knew what had happened and he wasn't going to let a little
monster like Jeremy get away with this. He–he called the police."

Oh, man, Nick thought. "And they came?"

"They came and they took Jeremy. Burton and Shannon went home. I–I
didn't know what else to do, so I called you."

"Okay, you did the right thing. Do you know where they took Jeremy?"

"I–they said something about Juvenile."

"All right, then they probably took him to Juvenile Detention."

"Juvenile detention! Nick, Jeremy's just a child. I–he'll be so
frightened."

"Aunt Liz, there's nothing we can do tonight, but I'll get on it
first thing. Try to get some rest. that's the best thing you can do
for Jeremy and yourself right now."

Nick put his cell phone back in the charging holster and lay awake
for some minutes after his aunt hung up. Oh, my God, he thought.
Jeremy, you asshole. You see something like this coming, run, for
God's sake. Well, how was he to know this junior-grade floozy was
going to throw herself at him?

Nick felt himself break out in a cold sweat. Jesus, it almost
happened to me. She was making a play for me today. Like grandmother,
like granddaughter. Well, that might help a defense. She can't help
being what she is and she probably led him on. Yeah. That'll work if
everybody in the courtroom takes stupid pills. I know where this
one's going already. Even if she recants, Jeremy's looking at some
time in a juvenile facility. Wonderful.

The next morning found Nick in the county juvenile detention facility
interview room. He had explained the situation to Alvin Masterson,
who to Nick's surprise, had said he understood that Nick wouldn't
want to be making a lot of calls for this from his other office, even
though Jeremy was a paying Fallin & Fallin client, rather than an LSP
case. Masterson had also volunteered to see what, if any, strings he
could pull, expressing the opinion that when all the facts came out
Jeremy might be found less culpable than he initially appeared. That
was decent, Nick thought. Thanks, Alvin.

He looked at Jeremy sternly. "All right, what happened?" he
asked. "And don't hand me any of your usual snottily supercilious
bullshit–this is serious."

Jeremy was sweating, even though the interview room was cool. "Honest
to God, Nick," he said, "nothing happened. We were sitting across the
table from each other and she was eyeing me all through dinner. We
asked to be excused and I–look, I'm not totally stupid, I said why
don't we look at the model trains and she said she'd rather see what
my bedroom looked like, she likes seeing other people's houses."

"And?"

"And we went upstairs and she looked at some of my stuff and asked me
about what I was doing in school and did I hang with anybody special
and like that."

"All innocence, huh? Jeremy, the only way I can help you is if you
tell me the truth."

"I AM telling the truth!" Jeremy's shout made a guard standing
outside the room look inside inquiringly. Nick shook his head in a
gesture that meant "it's all right" and the guard turned away. "She
asked me if I thought she was cute and I said sure and she said she
thought I was cute, too, and maybe since Burton is my uncle and she's
staying with him we could get together sometime."

"How `get together'?"

"She said she thought maybe we could go on a date or something.
Honest, Nick, I wouldn't date her–she's just a kid. Besides, my mom
said if I didn't keep my grades up by next term I was grounded, so I
have to spend all my time studying–I couldn't date her if I wanted
to."

"Okay, okay. So then what happened?"

"I asked her what she thought we could do on a date."

Nick winced. Inwardly he was slapping his forehead. Dumb move,
Jeremy.

"She said she'd show me and the next thing I knew, she was pulling my
shirt out of my pants. I said hey, stop that, and she said she wanted
to see my chest–she'd bet I had muscles just like the guys her mom
dated. She pushed me back on the bed."

"And then?"

"I–I started getting–excited–you know." Nick nodded. "And the next
thing I know we're both lying on our backs. She's giggling and
reaching for me and I tell her cut it out, we don't need to do this,
and she says stop it–yes we do. I pulled away from her and she said
stop it again and grabbed for me and that was when your old man came
charging in."

Nick frowned. "Let me get this straight. She was egging you on and
you pulled back and that's when she said stop it?"

"Yeah. Like she wanted me to keep going."

"Did you?"

"I told you–no. She's a kid. I'm not interested in kids."

"Okay." Nick closed the notebook in which he had been writing what
Jeremy told him and stood up. "I'll see what I can do."

"Don't you believe me?"

Nick gave his young cousin a direct look. "Oddly enough, yes. But I'm
not the one who has to be convinced."

*************

Nick's misgivings proved entirely justified. He had called in markers
from everyone who owed him favors, worked some backstairs deals and
succeeded in getting Jeremy charged as a juvenile. Still, after three
weeks of caseworkers' investigations and presentencing conferences,
the best he had been able to do for the boy was nine months in a
juvenile facility euphemistically named a school. Judge Damsen seemed
oddly sympathetic, but explained to Nick, Liz and Jeremy that her
hands were pretty much tied.

Jeremy had been told to bring a small bag with personal items in it–
toothbrush, underwear and other such items–and one of the officers
had gone through it, then handed it back to the boy.

"Darling, try to be brave," Liz kissed Jeremy as the court officers
prepared to take him away. Jeremy looked briefly embarrassed, then
hugged his mother back, trying manfully to restrain his tears.

Nick shook hands with his cousin. "I'll be tracking what's going on
with you–that's part of my job," he told Jeremy.

For a brief moment the defiant Jeremy surfaced. "If you'd done your
job–" he started to say.

Damsen intervened. "Young man, don't blame your cousin for this. Lots
of lawyers couldn't have done as well as he did. He really pulled out
all the stops for you, including pleading your case very eloquently
with me. You're lucky you have him on your side. And you're even
luckier that I listen to him, even though he may not think I do.
Jeremy, you get through this without any trouble and your record can
be expunged when you turn 21. That wipes the slate. Try to learn
something from this, and try not to disappoint your mother, your
cousin–or me. You may not think so, but we're all pulling for you."

"Yes, Ma'am–Your Honor," Jeremy said.

As the court officers left with Jeremy, Damsen rapped her
gavel. "Next case," she said. Nick and his aunt had been about to
leave when they saw Laurie, Burton and Shannon enter the courtroom.
Nick took his aunt's arm and guided her to a seat in the back of the
room. If Damsen noticed that they had remained she gave no sign.

"In the matter of the minor, Shannon Gressler, remaining in the
custody of Burton Fallin," the bailiff said. "Application by the
Department of Children's Services to terminate the provisional
custody arrangement."

"What does that mean?" Liz whispered to Nick.

"I don't know," Nick whimpered back. Nor did he. "Terminate the
provisional custody arrangement" could mean that Burton had applied
for–and gotten–full, permanent custody of Shannon. Then, again–

"Under the rules attendant on provisional custody placements, the
Department of Children's Services feels that the best interests of
the child would be served by her removal from Burton Fallin's care,"
Laurie said. "This incident put a child in a dangerous situation
through an adult's poor judgment."

"Wait a minute," Burton said. "You're telling me that an 11-year-old
girl–"

"She's twelve," Laurie interjected.

"Okay, twelve-year-old girl–can't be a dinner guest in the home of a
15-year-old boy?"

"Certainly, she can, but there's a recognized need for adult
supervision and it wasn't provided," Laurie said.

"How was it not provided? Two adults were present, one for each
child. In fact, there was even a gender match–a woman for the girl
and a man for the boy."

"But the adults weren't supervising the children, were they?" Damsen
said. "According to the records I have, the said adults–you, Mr.
Fallin, and Mrs. Hetherington–allowed the girl and the boy to be
alone in a room where the decor and the circumstances encouraged
inappropriate sexual contact. What's more, the child herself said you
and Mrs. Hetherington were consuming an alcoholic beverage while you
allowed the children to be unsupervised."

"`Consuming an alcoholic beverage'?" Burton repeated,
incredulous. "We were having an after-dinner brandy. How many times
do parents have an after-dinner drink while the kids go off by
themselves? And we didn't `allow them' to be anywhere. Jeremy
suggested they go to the basement and look at his train set. We
didn't think they'd end up in a bedroom."

Damsen looked at Burton. "You failed to check to see if they were, in
fact, playing trains instead of moving the playing field to a 15-year-
old boy's bedroom. As for the after-dinner drink, the rules for
foster parents are different than for biological families, Mr.
Fallin. You know that."

"Yes, I do," Burton said. "All the same, I can't help thinking that
everybody overreacted here."

"Well, the first person who did was you," Damsen said. "You decided
to make it official."

"Make it official?"

"You called the police," Laurie said.

"Shannon was attacked by Jeremy Hetherington," Burton said. "I acted
appropriately."

"That doesn't change anything, unfortunately," Damsen said. "The
incident occurred while she was in your care. That you drew police
attention to it doesn't change the fact that it demonstrates the
difficulty you have in fulfilling this responsibility. Ms. Solt, the
court returns the custody of Shannon Gressler to Child Protective
Services. She is to be placed in the Allegheny Children's Shelter
until an appropriate foster home can be found."

Shannon jumped up. "Wait a minute! You mean because I said that about
Jeremy I can't stay with Burton?"

"I'm going to ignore that outburst this time, young lady, but in the
future, ask Ms. Solt to address the court with any questions you may
have," Damsen said. "And the answer is yes. The incident proves that
Burton Fallin cannot provide you with adequate supervision."

"But Jeremy didn't do anything!"

"Shannon, honey," Burton said, "Are you saying that Jeremy didn't do
what you said he did?"

"Yeah."

"He never attacked you? He never raped you?" Damsen asked.

"No. I wanted to have sex with him, but he didn't want to have sex
with me. He didn't want to date me."

Burton looked dazed. "You told me, you told the police he tried to
rape you."

"So?"

Briefly Damsen looked as incredulous as Burton. "I just sentenced
Jeremy Hetherington to nine months in Willow Hill Training School
because of what you told everyone, Shannon. Are you saying you lied?"

"I think `lied' is a little strong," Burton said. "Shannon, are you
telling us you were mistaken?"

"Yes, yes, I was," Shannon said. She turned to Judge Damsen. "Now can
I go home with Burton?"

"No," Damsen said. "Shannon, do you realize what you told the police
and Ms. Solt was the reason I sent Jeremy away?"

Burton took Shannon by the arms. A court officer tapped his shoulder
and he released her and stepped back. "Shannon, if you were mistaken
about what you thought Jeremy was doing you should have told us so at
the very beginning," he said.

Shannon shrugged. "So I was wrong."

"And you don't think it matters that you told us something that
wasn't true, something that I had to punish someone else for?"
Damsen asked.

Another shrug.

Damsen had been leaning over the bench to look at Shannon. "Ms. Solt,
I find that the child herself makes a very good case for terminating
the provisional custodial arrangements," she said. "Please take the
child to the Allegheny Children's Shelter. You can pick up her
belongings later."


"I can bring them," Burton said.

`No, I don't think that would be wise," Damsen said. She rapped her
gavel. The case was closed. "The court is in recess for an hour," she
said. She left the bench and the courtroom.

Laurie guided Shannon by the shoulders out of the courtroom and
Burton, looking defeated, went down the aisle to the double doors.
Liz Hetherington got up and stepped around her nephew so she stood in
the aisle, blocking Burton's way.

"Well," his sister-in-law said, "You sure changed your tune, didn't
you?"

"Liz–"

"Once upon a time you were so morally upright and unapproachable you
couldn't stand being married to a woman who had to find some other
way to meet her needs because you couldn't, but you'll take the word
of this little floozy, no matter who it hurts."

"Liz, please. I–you saw I didn't have a choice."

"Oh, please. Didn't have a choice. You didn't even bother to ask what
really happened, did you? Tell me something, Burton. Did you ever
bother to ask Anne what really happened?

"Liz–"

"Did it ever occur to you that it was as much your fault as hers? Did
it ever occur to you that instead of walking out the door you might
have bothered to ask what it was that was making her do what she did?
Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you might bear some
responsibility for what happened?"

"I–"

"Aunt Liz," Nick found an opening, "what are you talking about?"

"Liz, I asked you not to–" Burton said.

"Yes, you did," Liz snapped. "Well if you can throw my son away on
the word of that little liar, that means all commitments are off.
Nick, your father divorced your mother because she was finding
something he couldn't give her outside their marriage."

"What? I don't understand."

"Your mother had several affairs," his aunt told him. "That's why he
left."

Nick had never before felt blood draining from his face, but he did
at that moment. For a nanosecond he couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Gold lights began to pay through the green and blue of his eyes.

"Nicholas–" Burton said. Nick turned toward him and Burton flinched
inwardly at the look on his son's face.

"Is it true?" It came out in a harsh whisper through thin lips.

"Nicholas–"

"Is it true?"

Burton lowered his head. "Yes."

Nick inhaled deeply. Then he turned to his aunt. "Come on, Aunt Liz.
I'll walk you to your car." They turned and started out of the
courtroom.

"You're coming back to the office, aren't you? There's the Hilford
conference," Burton called. Perhaps a return to the ordinary routine
would help hold things together until he and Nicholas could get
together privately and hash this out, he thought.

Nick looked over his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm not about to forget
my responsibilities as a partner in this firm." He turned and with
Liz, left.

Burton sank into a chair as they did. What have I done? he asked
himself. All I wanted was to give something to a kid who had nothing
and no one. Now it turns out she lied about my nephew, his mother, my
wife's sister, wants to claw my eyes out and my son–oh, God, my son.
I never wanted him to hear that. Damn that Liz. I thought he was all
right with Shannon for a foster sister, but now I see he was angry
about it too. Serves me right–I never bothered to ask him how he felt
about it. I just took it for granted he'd feel the same way I did.
Now the one woman who reminds me of Anne hates me and I think I've
just lost my son.

**************

Nick walked in the conference room where the corporate officers of
Hilford Industries were waiting to consolidate the deal that would
enable the purchase of a shopping center management company that had
operations in six states. Like the Conroy-Tindall negotiations, this
was another easy victory for the firm. Ironic, Nick thought, even as
he negotiated a purchase price for the property very much in his
clients' favor. My personal life is in the toilet, but professionally
I'm bringing down the chandeliers all over the place. Is it always
going to be like this?

Afterward, Nick followed Burton into the latter's office and stood
while Burton seated himself behind his desk.
"Sit down, son," Burton invited. Nick's answer was a cold stare. He
remained standing. For a long moment they looked at each other.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, son," Burton finally broke the
silence.

"I'll bet you are," Nick sneered.

"Yes, I am. I know you love your mother. I never wanted to take that
away from you."

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

Burton took a deep breath. "Do you think you can't?"

"You never told me what my mother–did. You never told me why you
divorced. What else haven't you told me? How do I know I can believe
anything you say?"

"Nicholas, I've always felt that one thing I owed you as your father
was the truth. I may have held off on telling you things, but in the
end, I've always leveled with you."

"As my father, you owe me the truth. But you've never told me the
truth about this. That says something about the way you approach
paternal responsibilities, doesn't it?"

"There never seemed to be a good moment for telling you."

"Uh-huh. What else has there never seemed to be a good moment for
telling me? If my mother played around, what does that make me?"

"What does that mean?" Burton paled slightly. "Nicholas, I know that
your mother was faithful to me when you were born. She didn't start–
keeping company–with other men until you were much older. I have no
doubts whatever about you."

"Oh, yeah. That's why you've never wanted me"

"Never wanted you? Nicholas, I fought for custody of you. I didn't
have a chance, but I fought anyway. Of course, I wanted you."

"I know about the custody thing–after I saw Aunt Liz off I checked
the divorce court records."

"Well, then–"

"So what was the first thing you did when you got custody, after mom
died? You couldn't wait to get rid of me."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? She'd been dead what, two weeks or so,
when you sent me away."

"Sent you? Oh–you mean to school."

Nick looked at Burton, incredulous. "What did you think I was talking
about?"

It was Burton's turn to look incredulous. "You got good grades, you
had friends. I thought you liked school."

Nick shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? You never get it."

Burton's intercom buzzed. He looked at it in surprise and then picked
it up. "Yes, Gretchen?" He put the instrument down and said to
Nick, "DeSica is here to see you."

Nick turned and walked out, saying nothing. Burton put his head in
his hands.

***********

In Nick's office Fred DeSica eyed his probationer warily. "How's it
going?" he asked.

"Fine," Nick answered listlessly.

"Your last test came back clean."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for telling me you talked to Bennett."

"I didn't have a choice."

"To talk to him or to tell me about it?"

"Both."

"Well, you told me right after it happened, so that's not a
violation."

"Thanks."

Whatever was eating Nick Fallin, DeSica knew he'd never find out from
Nick, at least. Seeing Nick at Fallin & Fallin because that was where
Nick had encountered his former dealer had seemed like a good idea at
first, but now his probation officer wondered if he should have
called Nick into his office and exercised the weight of officialdom
to pry off a few layers. Nick, Nick, he thought. We really want to
help you. "Maybe if you talked about it, it wouldn't hurt so much,"
he said.

"What?" Nick was startled.

"I was thinking out loud," DeSica said. "But Nick, is there anything
you want to get off your chest?"

"No."

"Okay." It's not okay, DeSica thought, but as long as you don't do
anything to violate the terms of your probation, there's nothing I
can do. Sometimes I wonder why I took this job–I never accomplish
anything. "Well, that's all, then." DeSica stood up. "Is it good for
you if I see you here or would you be okay with me coming by LSP now
and then?"

"Wherever you want," Nick said. He stood up. "I'll walk you out."

The two walked through the corridors of Fallin & Fallin to the
reception desk. DeSica put out his hand. "Well, Nick, hang in," he
said.

"Thanks for stopping by," Nick said. They shook hands and DeSica
turned to leave.

The reception desk at Fallin & Fallin was actually a cubicle within
which Marcie sat and tended to the firm's PBX and worked at a
computer terminal. Glass panels etched with the F&F logo surmounted
each wall except the front. Nick stood at the reception desk and
watched as his guest opened the main entrance doors, then turned to
go back to his office. His gaze fell on the glass panels.

Marcie had given her chair a slight push back from the front of the
cubicle as she turned away to answer a question from someone and Nick
stood alone, staring at the F&F logo. Fallin & Fallin. Yeah, right,
Nick thought. Do I even have a right to use the name "Fallin"? Do I
even care?

Nick seemed to step outside himself and watch as a person he did not
know drew back and then put his fist squarely through the F&F logo,
showering Marcie's desk and the PBX with broken glass.

DeSica was halfway through the doors when he heard glass breaking and
turned around. Nick Fallin was standing at the F&F reception desk,
his left hand through a fist-sized hole in one of the glass panels
atop the cubicle walls. Blood dripped from Nick's wrist. The
receptionist stared, open-mouthed.

DeSica reached the desk in three strides. "What's your name, honey?"
he asked the receptionist, who was staring at the shattered, bloodied
glass.

"M–Marcie," she replied.

"Okay, Marcie, you got a first aid kit here?" She nodded "Let's have
it." Marcie reached under the counter and mechanically produced
it. "All right, you wanna check in there and see if there's any gauze
or tape?" She came up with a roll of gauze. "That's fine."

DeSica began wrapping the gauze around Nick's bleeding wrist,
carefully avoiding a shard that was still embedded and that moved
rhythmically with every pulse beat. "I was a medic in Desert Storm,"
he explained as he worked. He reached in Nick's breast pocket and
pulled out the crisply folded handkerchief that was always to be
found there, slipped it under Nick's wrist, folded it over the broken
glass and snapped off several fragments, making the hole larger and
eliminating the more prominent jagged edges. "Okay, Nick, pull your
hand back, nice and slow. That's good."

"Nicholas! What happened?" Burton Fallin came up to the reception
desk to see a hole with bloody edges in a pane of glass and his son's
probation officer bandaging Nick's wrist.

"It was an accident," Nick said without looking at him.

"Accident? How–?"

DeSica finished securing the gauze around Nick's wrist. Everybody but
you knows how your kid felt about this business with the Gressler
girl, he thought. I'm just surprised this didn't happen before now.
Jesus, Fallin, can't you smell a fresh pile of dog shit when it's
right in front of you? "Let's go, Nick. Next stop's the emergency
room," he said.

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" Burton asked. "Or–I'll take you,
son."

Nick didn't look at him.

"I can drive there faster," DeSica said. He aimed a very direct look
at Burton. "Better call somebody and get that fixed," he said. "The
customers won't like it." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder and turned
him toward the doors. "Come on." Burton watched as they left.
Nicholas did not turn around.

"It was an accident," was all Nick said as DeSica headed toward
Allegheny General Hospital through the afternoon traffic that was
beginning to build.

"Okay," his probation officer said. Yeah, it was an accident and I'm
an Olympic figure skater, DeSica thought. There's going to be hell to
pay about this.

*************

Two hours later Nick emerged from a treatment room in the Allegheny
General Hospital emergency department to find DeSica waiting for him.
"Thanks for bringing me in," he told his probation officer. "You
didn't have to wait, though–I can take a cab."

"I had to call Hundley, you know that," DeSica said. Nick
nodded. "She's in chambers and she wants to see both of us–right now."

Nick didn't respond, even to hearing the name of his supervising
judge. "Whatever" was all he said. They headed to the parking garage
and got in DeSica's car. "Your dad wanted to come here, to the
hospital," DeSica said. "I told him we had to see Hundley. Call him
when you get home–it'll get him off your ass and mine."

"Uh-huh." They drove in silence to the federal courthouse where Judge
Hundley had her chambers.

Hundley, who had taken over Nick's case after the death of Judge
Richard Stanton, who had originally imposed Nick's sentence, was
seated at her desk. "What's the story on the wrist?" she asked.

"I didn't damage any nerves and blood loss was minimal," Nick
said. "Tylenol should keep the pain under control. They told me not
to play handball for a couple of weeks, though."

"You think this is funny?" Hundley asked.

"No, Your Honor."

Hundley reached in her desk and took out a sheet of paper. "Damn
straight it's not," she said. "All right. I've been a judge for 17
years. I've supervised more than a hundred probation cases. Nobody
has ever offed themselves on my watch, and you're not going to be the
first."

"I wasn't trying to commit suicide," Nick said.

"Mister, right now you're gambling with cooling your heels in a
holding cell for contempt of court," Hundley said. "Just because
we're meeting in chambers doesn't make this any less a court session,
so do not hand me any crap. You've been working with disturbed
adolescents long enough to know that it's almost impossible to commit
suicide by slashing your wrist horizontally. But vertically, along
the vein–if Officer DeSica hadn't kept you from pulling your wrist
back through that hole you made, with all those nice jagged edges,
you'd have been bleeding merrily all over your office carpet–and
almost no way to get it stopped."

The same gold lights that had played through Nick's eyes earlier when
he learned the truth about his mother were visible again. "It was an
accident," he said.

"What did I tell you about handing me crap?" Hundley snapped. "My
mother was a nurse–she grew me up with an aphorism about accidents
are caused–they don't happen. And this was no accident. For that
reason, Nicholas Fallin, I am changing the terms of your probation.
You have 24 hours to pick a therapist from this list or find a
reputable, APA-certified one on your own, subject to the court's
approval. From now until your probation is over you will attend at
least two sessions of anger management therapy every week. This is in
addition to the three weekly Narcotics Anonymous meetings you are
required to attend, random drug testing, unscheduled visits from your
probation officer and your community service. Oh–on-line anger
management therapy is not acceptable. This is going to be person-to-
person–you and a therapist, either individually or in group.
Whichever therapist you choose will make regular reports to me
indicating that you have been attending sessions. and since you're
going to be paying for this yourself, I strongly suggest you
participate–it's a lot more cost-effective. If after a year and a
half there hasn't been what I consider adequate progress I'll be
looking very seriously at ways to extend your probation. So I suggest
you get your act together."

Nick started to say something.

"And yes, I can do this and you know it," Hundley said. "You are on
probation until midnight, August 31, 2004. That means until 12:01
a.m. September 1, your ass belongs to me. And you're not going to
spoil my record for live probationers. Do you have any questions?"

Nick took a deep breath. "No, Your Honor."

"Okay, then, that's it. You will advise the court the name of your
therapist and when your appointments are going to be. Fred, 24 hours
from now, you will confirm that Mister Fallin here has picked himself
a therapist and has sessions scheduled." She stood up and so did Nick
and DeSica. Court was adjourned.

"You probably shouldn't drive," DeSica said as he and Nick left the
courthouse.

"No," Nick agreed. "Like I said, I'll take a cab."

"Okay." DeSica watched as Nick flagged a taxi and got in.

Nick's voice mail and his home answering machine were clogged with
messages from Burton Fallin, who had obviously called on an average
of every two minutes. Nick ignored them all and dialed Gretchen's
extension. "Gretchen? Nick," he said. "I'm sorry about the glass. Put
the bill on my desk, please, and have some flowers sent to Marcie.
I'll apologize to her when I see her tomorrow. No, no other messages–
for anyone."

The End–Until Season 3