Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators.

Rating: K+

Author's Notes: Well, we didn't get to officially meet Frank Harper until the middle of the second season, but in my perfect little Gull's Way world, he's been around forever. What follows is a series of conversations that all took place prior to "Hardcastle, Hardcastle, Hardcastle, and McCormick".

And, just to give you a brief cheat-sheet, they follow my own An Innocent Man, "Flying Down to Rio", L.M. Lewis' Careless (which, in turn, follows "Ties My Father Sold Me"), and, "You and the Horse You Rode In On". I'm a big believer in equal opportunity borrowing.

And, as always, many thanks to L.M. and Owl for beta work, encouragement, and all 'round good wishes.

The quick rap on the gatehouse door had been unexpected, but the plainclothes detective standing on the front step was an outright surprise. McCormick ignored the tingle in his spine, but he couldn't control the way his hand tightened around the doorknob.

"Lieutenant." He didn't think he had controlled his voice much better than his hand, so he tried for a lighter tone. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

Frank Harper's lips twitched slightly. "Glad to hear it. Can I come in?"

The ex-con only hesitated a split-second before he moved aside to let the detective pass, but Harper's grin grew.

"Milt didn't tell you I was comin'?"

"Ah, no," McCormick answered as he closed the door, "it musta slipped his mind."

"Well, I am kind of early," Harper admitted, "and he didn't know I was coming here first."

McCormick turned back into the living area as Harper dropped onto the sofa. "So what's up, Lieutenant?" He thought that had come out a little more naturally, so he took a breath, seated himself, and gazed expectantly across at the older man.

"I thought we agreed you were gonna call me Frank?" the officer said.

Mark relaxed a little bit and finally managed a small grin of his own. "Yeah, I guess we did." He settled back into his chair. "So . . .?"

"Milt invited me over for dinner," the lieutenant began, "but I wanted to talk to you for a while first."

McCormick didn't bother asking why; he figured he'd find out soon enough. "He told me I was in charge of the grill tonight; he didn't tell me we were having company." He paused, and shook his head ruefully. "Not that he tells me a whole lot of anything."

"Keeping you in line, is he?" the detective asked knowingly.

"Well, he never lets me forget he's the boss, that's for sure." McCormick's voice wasn't bitter, but resigned.

Harper leaned back into the cushions and cast an appraising glance on the ex-con.

"So, how are things going around here?" he finally asked casually.

"Okay, I guess. Why? Do you know something I don't?"

"You're still awfully suspicious."

McCormick clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "Okay," he said, suddenly serious, "you win. Maybe I am suspicious. But I don't mind telling you, Lieutenant, you're freaking me out just a little bit. So, not to be too blunt, but do you think you could tell me just what the hell is going on?"

Harper laughed slightly. "There's nothing going on, Mark. I really did just want to know how things were going."

"And you couldn't ask Hardcastle?"

"Well, yeah, I could. And I did."

"And?"

For the first time, Harper looked uncomfortable. "And . . . he said everything was fine."

McCormick examined him closely. And then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"You're checking up on me. I don't believe it."

The detective shrugged, and didn't deny the accusation. "A couple of weeks ago, he was ready to ship you back to San Quentin."

"Yeah," all traces of laughter were gone, "but a couple of weeks ago, I made a big mistake. And you were the one who helped get me a second chance, so what's the problem now?"

"There's no problem, Mark; I'm just trying to make sure I didn't make a mistake. People are not always what they seem, you know."

"No," McCormick agreed, unperturbed, "they aren't. Though it seems to me Hardcastle isn't the kind of guy anyone could fool for long."

"Well, that much is true," Harper conceded. "Though he does make the occasional mistake."

"I know he's had other cons here who didn't work out, if that's your point."

"Well, that's at least part of my point."

McCormick nodded. "Okay, then, let me make sure I understand. Hardcastle basically thinks things are going okay right now, but you're concerned that I'm just a little too much of a smooth talker, and maybe the judge is being lulled into a false sense of security. So, you're just doing a little poking around, forming your own opinions, and this should serve as my official notice that you're watching me, too. Is that about it?"

"Something like that," the detective grinned. "Though you make it sound more sinister than it really is."

"Fair enough. I told you before, Frank, I understand the idea that you're trying to protect him. 'Course, it's a waste of your time to spend too much time worried about me, but that's up to you."

Harper's eyebrow shot up in surprise. McCormick thought the man hadn't expected his warning to go over quite so easily, even if he hadn't intended it to be sinister.

"For what it's worth," Frank told the younger man, "I won't be too surprised if it turns out to be an exercise in futility; I'm just the cautious type." He paused, then added, "But would you like some advice?"

McCormick's mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "Couldn't hurt."

"That thing about him being the boss?"

Mark nodded, and the detective continued. "Well, it might reach the point where it makes you a little crazy."

"'Might reach the point'?" McCormick repeated sardonically. "Yeah, I think that's a safe bet."

Harper didn't seem amused. "I'm serious, so pay attention. The thing you have to remember is not to let it push you to the point where you make another mistake. If things start getting tense, you have to talk to him. He's hardheaded sometimes, but he'll listen. Just don't get pissed and do something stupid, because I'm not sure how many second chances the guy has in him."

The young man looked at the officer thoughtfully, and he was touched by the unexpected sincerity on the other's face. He nodded slowly.

"Okay, Frank, I'll keep it in mind. But why . . ." He trailed off, not certain what he wanted to say.

But Harper seemed to know. "Why do I care?"

"Maybe."

"Because if it falls apart, I'm the guy who's gonna have to throw your ass in jail for good."

McCormick considered that for a long moment. He finally decided that the detective truly sounded as if he'd prefer circumstances never reach that point. But he also thought the man's preferences would never once come into play if Hardcastle ever decided this experiment was over.

Frank Harper sighed and looked up from his desk. He thought he had maybe another twenty minutes of paperwork before he could leave the office for the weekend, but if that was trouble knocking at his door, he could be here for hours. He shook his head dolefully and shouted, "Yeah?" He hoped it didn't sound too inviting.

The door opened just enough for a curly head to peek inside. "Frank? Are you busy?"

Harper almost groaned. Trouble was looking more likely by the minute. But he shook his head and waved the young man inside.

"Nah, just doing some paperwork; come on in."

McCormick stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, looking decidedly ill at ease. He crossed the few steps to reach the visitor's chair sitting in front of the lieutenant's desk, but then simply stood, hands resting on the back, rather than taking a seat. Harper wondered how long the kid was going to be nervous about just setting foot inside the police station. He smiled benignly.

"Is everything okay?" That seemed like a reasonable opening inquiry.

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Harper thought it wouldn't take a trained investigator to recognize the untruth in that response, but he waited patiently. After a moment or two, McCormick spoke again.

"And how have you been?"

The detective closed his eyes briefly and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I've been fine, Mark," he answered as he looked back at the ex-con. "But why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

When several seconds of silence went by, Harper tried a different approach. "Am I gonna need my Miranda card before this is over?"

That got the barest shadow of a smile from McCormick as he shook his head.

"Does Milt know you're here?"

That got a much quicker head shake in response, and all hints of the smile vanished.

"Okay." Harper bit back the sigh, then pointed at the chair. "Sit down, and tell me what you came to say." His tone didn't allow for argument.

McCormick seemed to recognize that fact, and scooted around to drop into the chair. He didn't waste much more time.

"Remember a couple of months ago when you told me not to let Hardcase get to me, and to just talk to him?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, that sounded simple enough, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do when what I want to tell him is how fundamentally wrong he is about things and that he just needs to get the hell out of my face."

Harper laughed slightly, though the expression on McCormick's face was anything but funny. Still, maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

"Honestly, Mark, I think you could probably just tell him that. I mean, he'd yell back, but so what?"

"Yeah, he'd yell all right, all the way back to Quentin."

"Nah, you got that all wrong. You'd have to do something worse than disagree with him to get your ticket pulled." Harper wasn't entirely sure that Hardcastle's lenient attitude with the ex-con was particularly wise, but he had recognized it almost immediately.

But McCormick shook his head. "Did he tell you we went away for a while?"

"You mean to San Rio? Sure."

"Well, in the first place, that whole idea was just insane, but he wouldn't listen to me. He gave me the choice then-go along or go to jail. Like that's any kind of a choice. Go chase the homicidal maniac, or go live with the homicidal maniacs. Whatever."

Harper was surprised by the bitterness. He was more surprised that the young man would believe Hardcastle's typical bluster. "You can't honestly think he meant that?"

Mark shrugged. "I told you, he's the boss. He can do what he wants. But that's not even the point, really. I mean, as it turns out, it was lucky I was there, so I guess that's all right."

"So what's the problem?"

"Did he tell you anything about what happened down there?" McCormick countered.

"Not much. He told me you got your guy extradited; that's the only thing that mattered to him."

"Yeah, I think he was a little too lackadaisical about the fact that he got himself thrown into the slammer in the process."

"He what?"

"Oh, yeah," McCormick elaborated, "he spent some time in the pokey. Avery had him set up on a drug beef. And, ya know, they execute people in places like that for a whole lot less. Probably wouldn't have been anything that formal for him, though. They woulda just let him get lost in their jails for a while until somebody got paid to take him out. It was crazy."

"So what happened?"

McCormick raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe he didn't tell you about any of this."

"Well, it's kinda hard to see Milton Hardcastle being too thrilled with admitting to getting locked up, regardless of the circumstances."

"You could be right about that," the younger man replied, and he finally managed a sincere grin. "'Cuz, really, if I hadn't had to break him out, I mighta thought it was pretty damn funny."

"You had to do what?" Harper dragged a hand across his face. "I really shoulda made Milt give me more details."

"Yeah, see, there was this lady pilot, and-" McCormick stopped suddenly and looked intently back at the detective. "Hey, you don't have any kind of jurisdiction down there, do you?"

Harper grinned. At least one of them kept the kid on his toes. "Nope. Whatever you wanna tell me, I think you'll be in the clear."

"Okay, then, good." So McCormick related a brief but colorful accounting of his unsuccessful attempts at going through channels to get Hardcastle released from jail, and his final decision to resort to Aggie and her helicopter.

The lieutenant was laughing when Mark finished his story. "He didn't really argue with you about breaking out?"

"Oh, he did," McCormick assured the older man. "I think the guys with rifles are the only thing that finally convinced him to get in the damn 'copter. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure he woulda just stayed put and let the system try to sort things out, though you'd think he woulda realized by now that that's rarely the answer."

The bitterness was back in the ex-con's voice, and Harper was beginning to get concerned. That was the kind of anger that could lead people to stupid mistakes, and he didn't intend for Hardcastle to get caught up in dealing with the fallout of that.

"The system seems to have been working okay for him so far," Frank said firmly, "so I don't think that's your best argument, no matter what your beef is today."

McCormick sighed and rose to his feet. "You guys are so predictable it's almost scary," he said, moving restlessly around the small office. After a moment, he settled himself in his more typical spot against the file cabinet and looked back at Harper.

"This system you're so proud of sent me to prison for driving my own car, and then got me blackmailed into slavery for trying to make sure a murderer didn't actually profit from his killing. And on top of everything else, I'm the one that ends up having to save the guy that's responsible for it all, plus listen to his bitching about how I did it the wrong way. What kind of sense does any of that make?"

Harper felt himself relaxing. This was an anger he thought he could probably deal with after all. Apparently the kid just needed to vent. It almost even made a little bit of sense-not that he'd ever say that to McCormick. He stuck to his part.

"Hardcastle's not really to blame for every bad thing that's ever happened to you, Mark."

"Not that's ever happened," McCormick agreed, "just lately."

"And you want to give him back a little bit of that grief?" Harper asked tersely. "Is that the problem?"

Letting out a heavy breath, Mark shook his head. "Nah, that'd be easy; it'd make sense. He is the biggest donkey on the face of this earth, and he really pisses me off sometimes. I should give him grief. But the problem, Frank, the part that doesn't make a single bit of sense, is that I don't think I want to." He glared a challenge across to the other man.

"So what kind of advice do you have for me now?"

Harper just leaned back into his chair, a small smile on his face. It looked like he was going to be here for a while after all.

But it looked like maybe McCormick was planning on being around for a while, too, and that seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Mark McCormick sat, unmoving, on the edge of the hospital bed. Frank Harper stood, unmoving, staring out the hospital window. After a moment, the younger man spoke.

"I told him I didn't need an armed guard."

"Well, maybe he's not too sure you're making the best decisions lately," Harper snapped.

McCormick sighed very slightly. He should've known the detective wasn't in the mood for glibness. On the other hand, he himself wasn't much in the mood for overbearing police attitude, either. He supposed that made them just about even.

"Look, I just-"

"What the hell is your problem?" Harper demanded harshly, whirling around to glare at the ex-con. "You know, for a long time-almost from the beginning-I've thought keeping you around was a good idea for Milt. And I thought you were smart enough to figure out that it was good for you. But then you go and do something stupid like this. Have I been wrong about you? Because if you're looking for a way out, tell me now, and I'll sure as hell help you find it. Even if it means I've gotta lock you away for the next fifty years, because anything's better than letting you put him through this kind of hell again."

"I don't want out," McCormick said quietly. He glanced nervously toward the door. "And keep your voice down, would ya? I don't want Hardcase hearing you down the hall."

"It's a little late to be worried about him, don'tcha think?" The lieutenant's tone was still harsh, but he lowered his voice before he continued. "And besides, it'll take him a while to get you discharged. He had a few more questions for the doctor. You've got plenty of time to tell me what the hell you were thinking."

Mark drew in a breath. "I knew you guys wanted to get Peters," he defended weakly.

It was true; they really had wanted to nail the extortionist-turned-murderer. He just wouldn't dwell on the fact that somewhere in the last few days he'd gotten the idea that the easiest way to secure a conviction would be to let the man take out one more victim, with the good guy posse waiting in the wings and conveniently recording the whole thing. And the fact that it would also eliminate a few of his own worries in the process-and that Hardcastle wouldn't have to be the one to send him away again-would just be the icing on the cake. But he realized now that he hadn't really thought things through too fully.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean-"

Harper held up his hand. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

McCormick gave half a shrug. "We talked. We're okay. Mostly. It'll be fine." He didn't let his eyes meet Harper's.

The detective dropped into a chair. "Look, Mark, I know a little bit about Atlantic City."

McCormick's eyes widened slightly at the apparent change of topic, though he supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised. He should've expected that Frank would have his own comments about recent events; the only question now would be how official those questions might be.

"What bit?" he asked wearily.

"I know it got a little complicated. And I know it didn't work out like you'd hoped."

Mark sat silently, trying to decide just how much Hardcastle had said to the officer.

Harper seemed to understand the kid's hesitation. He shrugged slightly. "You were unconscious for a while; Milt talked a little about the trip to Jersey and . . . since you've been back. Mostly just trying to figure out how things got so out of control so quickly."

"Ah, well," McCormick stammered a moment, and then focused his answer on New Jersey, ignoring 'since you've been back' entirely. "Sometimes that just seems to be the way things go. I don't know if it was really much more, um . . . complicated, than any other case."

"Really?" Harper didn't seem convinced, but he followed McCormick's lead. "I heard you got kidnapped by a mobster and Milt ended up having to participate in felony burglary to get you back."

Mark flashed a grin. "See? Pretty straight-forward." As long as they focused on the events that had taken place on the other side of the country, he thought he'd be okay. It was only the stuff leading up to that he'd really like to avoid. Well, and maybe the stuff after.

One problem at a time, he reminded himself.

But the lieutenant was still talking, so he thought he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Hah. I'm not sure even you can put enough spin on this to make it seem straight-forward." Harper paused. "Though it seems to me, maybe that Sonny Daye character had the right idea, at least about a few things."

McCormick stiffened slightly. "Like what?"

"Well, he managed to give up the funny business, right? I mean, he's gone straight?"

"If you don't count conning blue-haired ladies into thinking he's a good guy," Mark said tightly.

"But at least it's legit," Harper continued, sounding awfully philosophical. McCormick was getting a bad feeling.

"Uh-huh," he replied noncommittally.

"See, that's why he's better off than that Tommy Sales guy. Those mobster types never learn; they're habitual."

Mark nodded slowly. "I suppose so."

"And, to make it worse, they're arrogant. You know, if they didn't insist on things like interstate trafficking, or messing around with casino regulations, they could keep a lower profile. I mean, things might not get nearly so hot for them if they didn't always have the federal boys involved." The detective's eyes bored into McCormick's. "Don't you think that makes a lot of sense?"

McCormick really didn't want to dwell on the types of activities that might attract federal attention; he certainly didn't want to talk about it with a cop. He tried to keep it light. "So you're worried about the criminals these days, Frank?"

But Harper didn't let him off the hook. "Only the ones I've come to know personally," he said. "And it just seems to me that if people would keep in mind that sometimes there's a little more . . . leniency . . . at the local level, we'd end up with a lot less people growing old in federal prisons."

Swallowing hard, McCormick tore his eyes away from the older man. "I just-"

"Anyway," Harper interrupted sternly, "that's just my take on things, but it seems sensible to me.

"But back to Milt . . .besides wondering how things got so out of control lately, the other thing he's been trying to figure out is just what exactly he did wrong."

McCormick snapped his head up. "What he did wrong? God, he hasn't done anything wrong." He didn't take the time to wonder when he had stopped blaming Hardcastle for a myriad of life's inequities. "I'm the one who-"

"Who managed to get himself kidnapped by those habitual criminals who don't know enough not to mess with the big boys," the officer interrupted again.

"Yeah," McCormick agreed, finally getting the idea that this was yet one more person who definitely didn't want to hear the details of his recent visit to the federal records building. "That." He thought for a moment, then added, "But I never meant to put the judge in the middle of anything . . . dangerous. I'd never want him to feel like he had to do something he didn't want to do."

Harper seemed to soften at the young man's sincerity. "Ah, I think you might be missing the point. It's not that he wouldn't want to do it; it's that he might not always be able to do it. Even the Lone Ranger has his limitations, ya know. So maybe-if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, I mean-maybe it would be better if you're a little more careful, don't take too many chances. And for God's sake," he concluded, "try not to get involved with the feds." He stared again directly into McCormick's eyes.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Mark said quietly, though it certainly wasn't a warning he would've ever expected to receive, "I think I do." Then he glanced around guiltily as he heard footsteps outside the door. "Frank, I don't want-"

Harper grinned suddenly, and winked at the ex-con just as the door began to swing inward. "Just don't tell Milt I implied that there are lesser evils," he said conspiratorially.

McCormick laughed lightly, relieved. "That's good advice," he said, as he casually turned to face the judge.

Frank Harper gazed across at the other men, both sitting stoically, not wanting to be the first to give in. Finally the older one huffed dramatically as he shoved himself to his feet, then muttered something about folders not filing themselves as he headed toward the basement.

In the wake of the departure, the sigh that escaped from McCormick was quieter, but no less intense. He scrunched down into his chair, and looked miserably back at the detective.

"Just once," the young man began, "I wish I could do something without pissing him off."

"Ever tried telling him that?" Harper inquired.

McCormick raised an eyebrow in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "Ah . . ."

"That's what I thought," Frank smiled. He shook his head. "What is it with you two, anyway? Haven't you learned anything? Keeping everything to yourself hasn't worked yet; why not just try talking to him?"

The ex-con shrugged slightly. "I haven't forgotten what you've said, Frank, really. But sometimes . . ."

"Sometimes what?" Harper prompted after a few seconds.

"I dunno, it's just kinda weird. Sometimes it seems like everything's okay. We're getting along fine, and I almost even think he-"

McCormick broke off suddenly, and Harper couldn't help but wonder just how long it was going to take before his two friends could admit to each other what everyone else could already see so clearly.

He didn't take the time to wonder just when he had started to think of them as two friends instead of one friend and the smart-mouthed parolee in the friend's custody.

What he said was, "So what set it off this time?"

Straightening up slightly, Mark said, "I'm not even sure. But it has something to do with the Waverly case."

"Waverly? The water filter guy? Mike Delaney told me about that."

"Yeah, well Mike doesn't really know everything; he doesn't know how the whole thing started."

Harper cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

McCormick fidgeted around in the chair. "Well, he was making me crazy-even more than usual. I told him I needed a real job . . . and a real life." He hesitated, then blurted, "And so I left."

The detective was shaking his head. "I warned you. I told you not to do something stupid."

"Yeah, I know, but seriously, the guy's a donkey. And he didn't seem to care if I left, either. Anyway, that's when I ran into Waverly, and he gave me a job, and it was all downhill from there. This time, Hardcastle got himself snatched, and I just had to go on being Waverly's shill. But, it all worked out in the end-"

"It usually does," Harper interjected mildly, earning himself a slight grin from the kid.

"Yeah, but he's been a little cranky lately. I mean, I think he might be glad I'm back-"

"Of course he's glad you're back," the older man huffed in exasperation.

"Then why's he on my ass all the time?" McCormick huffed back, his own exasperation finally coming to the surface. "I mean, you just saw that . . . that . . . whatever it was. What the hell was up with that? So I forgot to pick up the potato salad. So what? I'll run to the store while the chicken's grilling. It's not the end of the world, but he acts like it's some personal attack on his God-given right to be in charge of my life. It's that kinda crap that made me leave in the first place." He pulled a hand through his curls and added, "Maybe I shoulda just stayed gone."

"Yeah," Harper replied sardonically, "it sounds like that was working out real well for you."

McCormick shot him an angry glare as he pushed himself out of the chair. "You're always on his side," he complained, moving across the room to gaze out the window.

"It's not about taking sides," the detective objected, but that was all he said. He wasn't sure he'd be able to convince the ex-con that he thought keeping this unusual partnership together was the right thing for both sides.

After a moment of tense silence, McCormick finally spoke softly.

"He could've made me stay, ya know. I guess I should be glad he didn't resort to that."

"Well what's he gonna do?" Harper snapped. "Put you in jail because you don't wanna clean his pool any more?"

McCormick shrugged. "He could. That's always been the deal. He doesn't threaten as much as he used to, but it's not the kind of thing I forget."

Harper contemplated the young man staring sullenly out the window, then put forth a gentle question.

"But is that why you stay?"

The detective thought he knew the answer; had known it for a while. But he wasn't sure either Mark or Milt had ever stopped to realize it.

It took a few seconds, but McCormick finally turned, a small smile on his face. "No," he said simply.

The older man nodded, and smiled in return. "Then my advice is to never forget that. No matter how big a donkey he is."

"More words of wisdom, huh, Frank? Though I guess you haven't been wrong yet." The smile grew as McCormick leaned casually against the windowsill. "But you're still taking his side."

This time, the accusation had been delivered playfully, and Harper grinned across the room. "Believe it or not, I've been on your side all along."

"Really? Because from over here, it feels like you've spent the last year trying to convince me not to run out on the guy. And you weren't always subtle, by the way."

"Subtlety is a lost art after too much time with Milton C. Hardcastle," Frank admitted. He thought that someday he might try to figure out when he'd stopped being afraid that McCormick would run, and started worrying that he'd leave, but he didn't figure that distinction needed to be shared with the kid. "But at least you got the message; you're still here."

There was a nod of agreement, but then the smile slipped just a little. "But maybe it's time you tell him it wouldn't hurt not to push quite so much."

"You know that's just his way."

"Oh, I know," McCormick answered quickly, "and he won't get rid of me that easily. But . . ."

"But he really is a donkey?" Harper suggested into the silence.

The McCormick smile was back full force. "Exactly. I knew you'd see my side of it eventually."

Harper laughed and got to his feet. "Hey, I'm just an impartial observer. Come to me anytime you need advice. But right now, I'd suggest you go get that potato salad."

"You're probably right about that, too," McCormick agreed good-naturedly, and moved toward the landing. "I'll be back in a few."

Harper waited until he heard the Coyote roaring down the drive, then shook his head ruefully and started toward the basement steps. It really had been a long time since he'd thought about taking sides, and he thought there was still time for a little more advice before dinner.