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.

A/N: First, thanks to all of you who have been reading my other stories. And, a double-thanks to those who have submitted reviews or dropped me an email. We all know that writing can be a very solitary experience, and I appreciate knowing that the work is actually reaching others from time to time.

Second, this story is actually complete, though it may take a bit of time to get it all formatted and uploaded; just wanted to let you know.

Feedback:  Comments welcome at: trekfantoo@aol.com

Milton Hardcastle jumped out of the ambulance and followed the paramedics as they went racing through the emergency room entrance. He was trying to stay out of their way, but he didn't want to be too far from their patient. He was a step behind them and fully intended to follow them into the trauma room, but he felt a firm grip on his arm and heard the voice that he would have preferred to ignore.

"Sir? Sir, you can't go in there. You need to stay out here."

Hardcastle wanted to argue with the nurse, wanted nothing more than to force his way into the small room that was filled with machinery, frantic medical workers, and a lanky, curly-haired kid who was lying much too still. But he knew that doing so would only distract the doctors from their work, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Not now. Not when he would give anything to ensure that they would be successful. He forced himself to turn away from the room.

"Is there anything I need to do?" he asked the nurse, mostly just to occupy his mind.

"There is some information we need to gather up at admitting," she replied gently, "if you feel up to it." She motioned down the hall away from the trauma room, trying to lead the judge to a less stressful environment. "You won't be far away, and they'll take good care of your son."

Hardcastle started to correct the assumption; "He's not..." but thought better of it. He was too distracted to really explain adequately, and it didn't matter anyway. He followed the nurse meekly to the admissions desk and began filling out the forms the attendant placed in front of him. He handed over his driver's license and insurance card. He reflected briefly that he was glad his agent had advised him to take out a business policy so that he could cover McCormick as an employee. Not that it would've mattered; he would pay any price necessary to get the kid back on his feet again. But experience told him it was always smoother with insurance. It was a crazy world when cash was not the preferred method of payment, but the vagaries of modern day economics were the least of his worries at the moment.

He was still signing forms when a familiar voice spoke from behind.

"Milt?"

Hardcastle turned to find Frank Harper standing behind him, his face lined with worry. He tried not to stare at the bloodstains on the detective's shirt, just as he had tried not to notice the similar discoloration on his own clothes. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Frank." He turned back to the seemingly endless stack of papers.

Harper didn't like the answer, and he certainly didn't like the horribly vacant expression in his friend's eyes. He looked around for someone to talk to. Spying a young man in scrubs, he walked over purposefully. "Is there someone in charge I could speak with for a moment?" he asked, flashing his gold shield.

"Um, yes, sir. I'll get Dr. Dovry. Wait just a moment, please."

The orderly returned just a moment later, leading a young woman wearing a white lab coat over her pastel colored scrubs. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Dovry," she said, extending her hand. "I understand you wanted to speak with me?"

"Lieutenant Frank Harper, L.A.P.D," the detective answered, shaking the offered hand. "You're in charge this evening?"

"I'm the attending physician," she confirmed. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"A young man was just brought in here a few minutes ago with multiple gunshot wounds, and...various other injuries. Mark McCormick is his name. I'd like to know how he's doing right now, and I'd like to be kept frequently apprised of his situation, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Is he one of your officers?" Dovry inquired.

"Close enough," Harper replied. "He works with us; he's part of the family. And he was hurt in the line of duty."

She nodded her understanding. "Wait one moment, please, Lieutenant, and I'll see what I can find out."

Harper waited more or less patiently while Dovry disappeared down the hall and into the trauma room. There was a part of him that always felt a bit underhanded playing the 'line of duty' card, because if you asked him in a rational moment, he would say that trained medical professionals would always do their very best to save a life...regardless of whose life they were saving. But on the rare occasions-though they were never rare enough-when he had wounded officers to look after, the detective believed that the doctors and nurses might try just a little bit harder if they knew they were trying to save one of the good guys, and he was not above laying on that small amount of guilt if it had even the slightest chance of tipping the scales in his favor. And right now-as he looked back and saw one of his oldest and dearest friends numbly hand over one final piece of paper, then slowly shuffle to the indicated waiting area-he knew that he would do just about anything to make this night end well.

He tore his gaze away from Hardcastle as Dr. Dovry approached. "Well?"

"It doesn't look good," she replied honestly, though with deep compassion. "He's lost a lot of blood, and there's a lot of damage. But, they do almost have him stabilized enough for surgery, and they should be taking him up in just a few minutes.

"That is a positive sign, Lieutenant. The operating room is exactly where he needs to be if he has any chance of surviving."

Harper nodded his understanding. "My friend and I," he jerked his thumb to indicate the stocky, white-headed figure slumped into one of the waiting chairs, "will stay down here until they move him. Will there be someone from surgery who can keep us informed once we're up there?"

"I'll make sure of it," she promised. The doctor glanced toward the waiting area. "You know," she added, "there really isn't anything you can do for Mr. McCormick right now. You should try to help your friend; he doesn't seem to be handling this too well."

"No, he's not," Harper agreed. "Thanks for the information, Doctor. I appreciate what your staff is doing." He offered her a tired smile, then turned and crossed the distance to Hardcastle.

Harper seated himself in the chair next to the judge. "They're gonna take him up to surgery soon," he said.

"Thanks for checking," Hardcastle answered dully. After a moment, he continued in the same lifeless tone, "You know, in the ambulance, they said they didn't think he'd make it to the operating room." He paused again, feeling his emotions raging. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "He's in bad shape, Frank."

Harper twisted to look at his friend. "Yeah, he is," he admitted, "but they're doing everything they can. He's in good hands, Milt."

"He shouldn't have to be in anyone's hands. If I had- -"

"Stop it!" Harper interrupted forcefully. "Just don't even start. You didn't cause this, Milt. No matter what happens, this isn't your fault."

"Easy enough to say," the judge replied without anger. "But you aren't the one who should've been there to stop this, and you aren't the one who sent him after that lunatic to begin with."

"Mark knew what he was getting himself into when he went after Garza. Hell, he knew what he was getting into when he signed up with you. He wouldn't blame you."

Hardcastle shook his head sadly. "This was never about Mark getting in to anything; it was about what he was getting out of. God, Frank, how many times have I reminded him that I could have him locked up with a snap of my fingers? He might bitch about going after someone, but he's not gonna refuse. That's always my ace in the hole, you know; he never wants to go back to prison. He'd rather die--" The judge broke off abruptly, horrified by the words coming from his mouth.

Harper placed a comforting hand on Hardcastle's arm. "It's been a while since this was just about staying out of prison, Milt, and you know it. It means more to him than that. You mean more to him than that. He wouldn't want- - -" Harper broke off as Hardcastle rose quickly to his feet. He held out a restraining hand as he noticed that the judge was half a heartbeat from charging down the hallway after the gurney that had reappeared and was now heading toward the elevator. The detective was relieved to see Dr. Dovry coming toward the waiting area and she was suddenly standing in precisely the place necessary to prevent Hardcastle from easily following the stretcher.

"Lieutenant," the doctor began, "I wanted to come speak with you both briefly." She looked at Hardcastle. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Dovry," she introduced. "Lieutenant Harper asked to be kept apprised of Mr. McCormick's condition."

"And do you have any news?" Hardcastle asked, too numb to even think about introducing himself to the doctor.

"As you saw," Dovry continued, "Mr. McCormick is being moved to surgery, which is the best outcome we could've hoped for down here. The surgery ward is up on the third floor, and there's a family room just to the left as you exit the elevators.

"I've spoken with the attendant on duty up there, and she's going to make sure you get regular updates on the progress. However, he's going to be in surgery a long time, gentleman, and I would suggest you go home and at least clean up a little bit; it would be best if you actually got some sleep. It's late, and you both look like you could use a little rest. Mr. McCormick is in good hands. You did your job getting him here, now let us do ours. You can't help him right now."

"Is he going to live?" Hardcastle asked, completely ignoring the advice.

The doctor met his eyes. "I don't know," she admitted. "He's badly hurt. But we've got an excellent group of surgeons waiting for him; his odds of survival went up drastically just by getting him to them. Beyond that, I really couldn't speculate, and you shouldn't try to, either. Go home, get some rest, and there should be more news by the time you get back."

But Hardcastle knew that the news could be of McCormick's death, and if that horrible event should come to pass, he did not intend to be lying in bed pretending to sleep when the news came. He owed it to the kid to be here until the end.

"Thank you for the update, Dr. Dovry," Hardcastle replied. "I'll be up in the family room if anyone needs me." He turned to Harper. "Frank, you should go. It's late, and you still have a job to do tomorrow. Besides, Claudia will be worried."

Harper smiled gently. "I've already talked to Claudia and she sends you her love. She knows the drill, Milt, and she knows I'll be home when I can. As for the job, no one's going to mind if I spend some time here instead of there; I did put in quite a bit of overtime tonight, you know. Besides, my men are working on rounding up the last of Garza's gang, so the only thing I have to do is some paperwork, and I can do that here as easily as at my office." He clapped his friend on the arm. "You're stuck with me for a while, Milt, so you might as well get used to it."

Hardcastle managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Frank."

Harper waved it off, and spoke sincerely. "Now, I want you to let me drive you home for a while." He held up his hand to stop the immediate objection. "Not to stay, Milt, just to get cleaned up. A shower and fresh clothes will do you a world of good. Besides, you heard the doctor; Mark's going to be in surgery a long time. You can take some time for yourself."

The judge shook his head firmly, and started for the elevator. "I'm not leaving, Frank, not until I know he's okay or...not until I know." He repeated his earlier instruction. "But you should go."

Harper followed his friend immediately; he hadn't expected Hardcastle to agree to leave, but he'd had to try. "Let's get situated upstairs then I'll go round us up some coffee. It's probably going to be a long night."

"Milt?"

Hardcastle raised his head quickly at the sound of his name, panic in his eyes; he hadn't intended to doze off. "Frank. What's wrong?"

Harper shook his head and patted Hardcastle's arm. "Nothing's wrong, Milt. There's no news. I brought you the clean clothes, remember?"

Hardcastle rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his mind at the same time. "Oh, yeah. Thanks." He looked at the small duffel bag Harper placed at his feet. Why had clean clothes seemed important? They certainly didn't now. Still, he vaguely recalled that after several hours of sitting, Harper had felt the need to do something useful, so he had gone to gather some items for his friend. Neither man was very good at simply waiting.

"I talked with the head nurse," Harper continued, "and she says you can use the staff lounge to take a quick shower and change."

Hardcastle was going to object, but there was no real reason to simply sit here in bloody clothes. He was glad Harper had taken the time to change his own clothes, too. God knew, he didn't need any additional reminders of McCormick's fate. He grabbed the bag and rose slowly. "Okay, Frank; point me in the right direction."

"Mr. Hardcastle?"

The judge turned away from the window where he'd been watching the increasing traffic in the early stages of morning rush hour. Strange that the world outside seemed to be carrying on so normally when his world was slowly grinding to a halt.

Harper had been sleeping fitfully in one of the barely stuffed chairs, but he woke immediately at the sound of the doctor's voice. The detective rose to stand next to Hardcastle, and the jurist was grateful for the support. It definitely had been a long night.

"I'm Milton Hardcastle," the judge said to the approaching doctor.

"I'm Dr. Jackson," the doctor said by way of introduction. "I was on Mr. McCormick's team."

Hardcastle wasn't interested in social pleasantries. "How is he?"

"He's out of surgery," Jackson answered slowly, "and I think we can cautiously call the operation a success. But he's certainly not out of the woods yet."

"What exactly does that mean?" Hardcastle asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

Jackson relied on his years of experience to deliver his information professionally, undeterred by the horror of his words, though he had not yet learned to truly not feel. "He's been badly hurt, sir. I don't know if you are familiar with the extent of his injuries, but there were five different gun shot wounds, though it appears that not all of them were intended to be fatal. There were close to a hundred knife wounds of varying degrees of depth and damage, including several to his right shoulder area, which severed some tendons and could prove problematic. And, there was more damage than you might imagine from what appears to have been a repeated or sustained beating, including fractured ribs that punctured his lung." As Hardcastle's expression suddenly became even more concerned, Jackson hurried on. "It was a relatively minor simple pneumo- - -" The doctor broke off, reorganized his thoughts, then continued more gently, "The point, Mr. Hardcastle, is that we repaired his lung. But we'll leave him on a ventilator for a day or so, just to be safe."

Jackson paused again, then continued in the same gentle tone, "But even so, it was honestly something of a miracle he survived the operation; we almost lost him a couple of times. But he seems to be a fighter, and that's probably the best thing in the world right now. We repaired the damage that can be repaired; now we need to let his body heal. If he regains consciousness within the next seventy-two to ninety-six hours, I think he'll survive."

Hardcastle grated out the question he had to know. "And how likely is it he'll wake up?"

The doctor considered thoughtfully. This was always the question that needed answering the most, and it was the most difficult to predict. More than that, there was never a way to know how the loved ones would handle the answer, though Jackson thought this man seemed the stoic type. Not that that was necessarily a good thing. He met Hardcastle's eyes. "It's not likely, sir. As I said, he was badly hurt. A fifty percent chance is probably generous. I'm really sorry."

Hardcastle saw the room spinning slowly and felt Harper's steadying hand on his arm. He was sure the blood had drained from his face because he felt a sudden chill, and he certainly didn't feel like even an ounce of oxygen was reaching his brain. God...he couldn't even imagine what the kid had gone through. Those bastards had intended him to die slowly and painfully, and it was impossible not to consider that they might still get their wish.

"I want to be with him." He hadn't made a conscious decision to speak, but when he heard the words coming from his mouth, he felt his balance begin to return. As long as there was something to do-even if it was just more waiting-he could stay focused. He didn't want to think about what he would do when it wasn't necessary to wait any longer.

Hardcastle sat in the darkened room, silently staring at McCormick's unmoving outline beneath the sheet. The slight rise and fall of the chest was the only indication that life remained in the body, and the judge knew that even that tiny movement could cease if McCormick was removed from the tubes and hoses running into his body. The nurses in Mark's room had offered further assurance that the assistance would only be necessary for a short time, but he understood that wasn't a guarantee of recovery; the machines would be removed in a few days...one way or the other. But, the doctors were confident they had repaired the damage to McCormick's organs, including his lungs, they just wanted to give his body the opportunity to heal without the stress of functioning at full capacity.

So, McCormick had been attached to a myriad of machines to help the recovery process, and the sight chilled Hardcastle to his soul. For such a young man-especially one so normally full of life-to be lying here in this condition was an abomination, and Hardcastle was consumed with the injustice of it all. And, more than that, the judge was consumed with guilt. In his lifetime, Hardcastle had lived through many tragedies, and he knew that a certain amount of guilt was unavoidable. Regardless of the circumstances, a survivor would always wish they could have done more-done anything, really-to prevent the loss they lived through. Often they would even feel guilty for actually surviving when others did not. Hardcastle knew all of this, and he knew it from first hand experience. But this was different. This time, his guilt was warranted, for this was a tragedy he had created.

What had he been thinking when he decided to embark on his retirement project? What made him think he could do what an entire legal system could not? How could he have been so arrogant? And how could he have been so irresponsible? At least he understood the risks. He'd been trained as a soldier and a police officer; he could take care of himself. When he had decided to use an ex-con as his partner, why had he not realized the dangers? Or, even worse, had he realized and dismissed the concern because a criminal was expendable?

He considered the idea carefully. But, no, he didn't really think that was the case; he did have a strong respect for the sanctity of life. But here, in this shadowy room, silent except for the eerie beeps and hums of medical technology, the judge had nothing to do but reflect on his behavior. And it bothered him to discover he wasn't all that proud of himself.

If anyone had ever asked him to elaborate on his relationship with McCormick, he undoubtedly would have answered that the kid was damn lucky to have the chance to work with the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle. Oh, he would've admitted that McCormick had some good qualities. And he probably would've even confessed to an unexpected fondness for the young man. But mostly, he would've said that without his presence, McCormick would be sitting in a cold jail cell by now, and the kid should be grateful the judge had been willing to save him from himself.

Hardcastle knew that's how he would have answered because that's the way he felt. Or at least, that's the way he had allowed himself to feel. And, he could clearly see now that those feelings had come through loud and clear in every interaction he had ever shared with the kid.

He sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the chair. When faced with the realization that he had always acted a little-or maybe a lot-superior to McCormick, he was surprised the kid had put up with him as long as he had. It hadn't quite been a year yet, but it occurred to him now that the time may have seemed eternal to McCormick. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that he would have the chance to do better.

"Any change?"

Hardcastle turned to face the voice. "No, Frank, no change. But I thought we agreed you would go home tonight?"

Lieutenant Harper pulled an empty chair in front of Hardcastle and dropped into the seat. "Actually, I think you ordered me home; I'm not sure there was ever an agreement."

Hardcastle managed a small smile. "You could be right about that. But you were here last night for the surgery and most of the morning, then went to work. You need to take care of yourself. Go home. There's nothing you can do here anyway."

"There's nothing you can do, either," Harper countered, "but you're still here. Besides, technically, I'm still working. The brass wants an official statement from you, so I thought I'd come down here and save you from the bureaucracy."

The tired blue eyes flashed with a sudden anger. "You're joking. They want a statement? Well, my statement is that if the people who were being paid to keep the criminals off the streets could do their jobs properly, then civilians wouldn't have to be picking up the slack, and McCormick wouldn't be laying over there, hooked up to every contraption known to man, fighting for his life. Go ahead and type that up, and I'll sign it in triplicate."

The officer simply stared silently at his friend, waiting for the anger to pass. It didn't take long.

"I'm sorry, Frank," Hardcastle said with a heavy sigh. "None of this is your fault. What is it that you want to know?"

Harper shook his head slightly. "Don't worry about it. I told you I came here to save you from the bureaucracy, not be a part of it. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what happened with Garza. In the meantime, I certainly know how to stall the brass."

"Nah, that's okay. You have a job to do, and I'm not doing anything, anyway. We might as well talk about it now."

Hardcastle took a breath. "Okay. You know Garza's history-robberies of every shape and size, but mostly bank jobs. And, I'm pretty sure he killed one of his guys about ten years ago. But the only thing we ever nailed him for was a small string of burglaries a few years back.

"Anyway, I get this call one day-an anonymous tip that Garza's getting ready to pull a series of heists soon; that he's putting together a team."

"Why would someone call and tell you that?" Harper asked.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Who knows? Professional rivalry? Someone with a grudge? Hell, maybe just a concerned citizen with information. I don't know.

"Anyway, I dug out the file and figured we'd try to get this guy once and for all. But when I mentioned it to McCormick, he wasn't so keen on the idea. Turns out he knew Garza from prison..."

"Tony Garza, huh, Judge? What'd he ever do to end up in the Hardcastle cross-hairs?"

"He's only stolen just about everything you could ever think of, hotshot. That, and he probably blew away one of his goons one time. Rumor has it the guy shorted Garza after a heist. I guess you don't get to do that with ol' Tony."

McCormick grinned. "Probably not. He's kinda crazy. But, on the other hand, Judge, he's not always such a bad guy. Why are you worried about him now?"

"Some guy called today and said Garza's about ready to go back into business. Said he's looking for a few people to help him out. You've been bored with the yard work lately; I thought you might want to apply for the job."

McCormick looked up sharply. "You want me to work with Tony Garza?"

"Sure, why not? I didn't know you knew him. That should make it easier to get inside."

"It's not like we were buddies, Judge; I only knew him in passing. But I did know him well enough to know I don't want any part of this."

"What's the matter? You don't want to be the one to send your old friend back to camp? I thought you worked for me now?"

McCormick frowned. "This isn't about wanting to protect Garza, Hardcase, this is about wanting to protect me. I told you, he's crazy. He seems all fine and good most of the time, but then something happens and he just snaps. Usually he just goes into this weird kind of frenzy with a lot of screaming and yelling and not really making a lot of sense. But a couple of times I saw him just beat the hell out of some guys. Then, after a little while, it's like he gets it all out of his system and he's back to normal. And he just blocks out whatever just happened. Maybe he really forgets it, I don't know, but he won't talk about it, even if you try. It's like it never happened. It's kind of creepy.

"I'm telling you, Judge; he's unstable, and we should leave this one to the professionals."

"Don't be such a baby, McCormick," Hardcastle grumbled. "I'm not asking you to pick a fight with him. I just want you to go in and get some information so we can figure out what's going on and put this guy back where he belongs."

"Judge..." McCormick began to object again, but the look in Hardcastle's eyes stopped him. He had come to think of it as the judge's 'hunter' look, and it meant someone was going to jail. He would certainly rather it be Garza than him, so he kept the rest of his fears to himself.

McCormick sighed loudly. "All right, Judge, you win. As always. So what do you want me to do? Call him up out of the blue? 'Hey, Tony, long time no see. Got a job for me?'"

Hardcastle grinned and shrugged slightly. "Why not?"

"And that's how this whole nightmare started, Frank. You wanna tell me again how this isn't my fault?"

"Milt," Harper began softly, but Hardcastle interrupted.

"From the beginning, Frank! The kid told me from the beginning it wasn't safe, but did I listen? No. I had to have it my way; had to prove that Milton Hardcastle is the one in charge." He buried his face in his hands and spoke in a muffled voice. "If he doesn't wake up, how will I ever tell him how sorry I am?"

Harper stared at his friend, unsure how to give the comfort he needed. "Just how many times has Mark actually agreed with you on something?" he finally asked.

Hardcastle looked up at the unexpected question. "What?"

"How many times has he just said, 'Sure, Judge. Whatever you think.'?"

"Not nearly enough," Hardcastle grouched, then felt immediately guilty for the sentiment.

"But then he always does what you want, right?"

Hardcastle sadly nodded his agreement. "More or less. What's your point?"

"My point, Milt, is that Mark arguing about Garza was par for the course. There was no way you should've been expected to think anything about it because it was so damned typical. Hell, I doubt if even he really gave it a second thought. He was probably just arguing on principle, not because he truly had any problem with the idea."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "Well, I certainly wouldn't put that past him." The smile fell from his face. "But I still wish I had paid more attention, maybe asked a few more questions."

Harper shook his head. "Milt. I don't know how to get through to you... You have to let this go. If Mark wakes up and finds you moping around like this, he'll kick your ass. And probably mine, too, for not making it better."

Again the detective succeeded in putting a smile on the judge's face. "Well, he could try."

"Right," Harper laughed.

"Okay," Hardcastle continued. "I'm all right now; we can go on. So, anyway, McCormick contacts Garza and they arrange a meet, and it goes pretty well..."

"It wasn't so much an interview as an audition. Garza didn't want me to tell him what I could do; he wanted me to show him. He had me break into his office, crack two different safes, and boost three of his cars. All the while, he's talking to me and trying to distract me, and timing me. Can you believe that?" McCormick grinned. "Of course, he was terribly impressed with my abilities."

"No doubt," Hardcastle replied blandly. "What else?"

"Then we had a nice little talk about you-he's not your biggest fan, by the way-and I spun him the tale. Told him all about the nice little gig I've got going here, and how you're so blinded by my charm that you can't see the con I'm running. Told him that every once in a while I might even be able to get him some inside information that would be helpful to him."

Hardcastle shook his head. "I can't believe he would fall for that. I still think we would've been better off going with the idea that we had a falling out and you're suddenly on the run."

"Yeah, but then I end up having to live in some dive of a motel while we work this case, it's hard to meet up with you to give you information, and it just basically sucks. This way, I get to come home, no one thinks a thing about me sitting here on the patio having a conversation with you, and I get the added bonus of telling someone what a donkey you are."

"Taking the easy way out doesn't usually work out so well, McCormick. Besides, you've been here almost a year now. Does Garza really think in all that time I wouldn't have figured out what was going on?"

McCormick laughed. "Judge, you gotta think about this from someone else's point of view. This little arrangement we've got here is just plain weird, and you know it. No matter which side of the law you're on, it's easier to believe that I've got some ulterior motive...even beyond staying out of prison. Hell, half the people you know think I'm scammin' you, why wouldn't the people I know think the same?"

Hardcastle thought for a moment. The kid almost had a point. It was actually the logistical argument that had caused him to allow McCormick to try out his own version of the cover story, but he still couldn't get over the idea that no one would fall for it for long. Besides... "My friends don't think you're scammin' me, kiddo."

"Some of them do," McCormick contradicted with a smile, "even if they won't say so to you. But that's okay. A lot of them don't, and that makes up for it. But listen, don't you even want to know if I got the job?"

"McCormick, the way you've been sitting here with the Cheshire Cat grin all over your face regaling me with tales of your criminal aptitude, I just assumed you got the job. If you tell me now that Garza booted you out on your butt, I'm going to be sorely disappointed."

McCormick laughed again. "You won't be disappointed, Judge. I gotta go back tomorrow to meet the rest of the team and start learning my part of the plan. I don't know any details yet, but it sounds like he's planning on moving pretty quickly."

"Good," Hardcastle answered. "The less time you have to spend with him, the better."

"I thought you weren't worried," McCormick reminded him.

"Just playing it safe, McCormick. You are in my custody, you know. It looks bad if I let anything happen to you."

"I don't know why I can never tell him the truth, Frank," Hardcastle complained. "I should've just said 'be careful', but, no. I always have to be so cool and aloof about everything."

"He knows you pretty well by now, you know. He understands even when you don't say it."

"I guess you're right." Hardcastle moved quickly back on topic. "Anyway, he comes home the next day, grinning like some schoolboy home from the best field trip ever. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was actually enjoying the time he spent with Garza. They were planning some pretty fantastic string of robberies, from the sound of it." He paused, and studied Harper. "What's with you?" he asked, seeing a slightly pained expression cross the detective's face.

"Nothing," Harper answered. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, you just seemed a little...I don't know...worried, or something. For just a minute. What's going on?"

Harper shook his head. "Nothing," he repeated. "I was just thinking about Mark. Go on with what he found out with Garza."

Hardcastle cast a final, speculative look at his friend, then continued. "Anyway, Mark spent a few days with Garza, preparing. He was getting lots of details on what he would be expected to do, but nothing about actual targets; Garza was keeping all that to himself until the last minute. Mark and I spent some time going over different maps of the city trying to piece it together from some of the entry and exit information Garza had shared, but we weren't having much luck.

"Then, after the third day, I guess, McCormick said he thought Garza had an inside man somewhere. Someone who could help him with a lot of different types of financial facilities, not just one bank, or something. He didn't have a name, but he said he had the impression Garza had known him for a long time, and that he might be some kind of cop, or something like that."

"So that's how you found out about that treasury agent, Walton?" Harper interjected.

"Yeah. Turns out Walton was working a case way back when Garza was a kid, and that's how they hooked up. I don't really know too many of the details about that; I might like to talk to Walton sometime, though."

"How did you know about his connection to Garza's juvenile case?" Harper demanded. "The feds barely told me about that. I musta had about half a dozen lawyers in my office telling me why we couldn't open his sealed records."

Hardcastle paused thoughtfully. He wasn't in the habit of lying to his friends, but he was not about to tell Harper how McCormick had gone creeping into the court records office late one night and made copies of every scrap of paper he could find with Garza's name on it, including the sealed juvenile records. He opted for an indirect answer.

"It's only a problem if you want to use Garza's juvie record as evidence against him, you know. You can use the information to corroborate a case against someone else, as long as no detriment comes to the original defendant."

"So the department legals finally said," Harper replied. "But you didn't really answer my question. It seems a little strange that Garza would let the name of his primary contact slip, even to McCormick. And it makes no sense that he would tell him how they came to be acquainted. So how did you find out about the juvenile case?"

Hardcastle grinned mischievously. "I have my sources, you know," he said mysteriously, and would say no more. Not because he thought Harper couldn't be trusted-he would trust the detective with his life...and probably even McCormick's life. But he would not put his friend in the position of concealing an actual crime. Bad enough the kid had truly committed the felony...it didn't need to be compounded by leading a good police officer away from his sworn duty.

But Harper had known the judge a long time. "What aren't you saying?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what sources do you have that would give you access to sealed records that even the L.A.P.D. had to jump through hoops to get?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "You know the drill, Frank: Never reveal your informants, and all that."

"Yeah, right," Harper snorted. He thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what I think," he said slowly. "I think your informant is laying over there in that bed, and you're not giving him up because you know when he comes to he'd have an awful lot of explaining to do."

The judge shrugged again. "He is the one who started me asking the right questions," he replied, "so I guess I'll have to give him credit for that. But otherwise- - -" Hardcastle broke off as the door swung open slowly.

"Lieutenant Harper?" an orderly inquired as he stepped just inside the room.

"That's me."

"They asked me to let you know your delivery is here, sir."

Harper grinned at Hardcastle as he rose from his seat. "Saved by the dinner bell, Milt. I ordered us pizza." He followed the orderly back toward the nurse's station without waiting for a response.

Grinning slightly, Hardcastle reached out and patted McCormick's arm. "That was close, kiddo. Lucky for you Frank likes you." Then he turned his attention to making room on the small bed table for pizza.

Mark McCormick was sure he was in prison. He knew he had to be because no place else could make him feel so helpless. And, he did vaguely recall doing something that had really angered Judge Hardcastle, so prison seemed the logical assumption. But it seemed different somehow...why was it so dark? Some kind of solitary confinement? He must've really pissed off old Hardcase this time.

Still, his mind argued with the assessment. He didn't really think he could be in prison, and not just because he didn't want to be in prison. Like it or not, Hardcastle was part of the equation. The judge wouldn't really put him back inside...would he? God knew, he had threatened often enough, though it had never been more than talk. McCormick thought he would have to do something pretty awful to make Hardcastle finally carry out one of his threats. But maybe he had? He couldn't imagine what, though he did have a lingering sensation of anger and accusation. But...

What was that?

McCormick focused all his attention on his black surroundings. Hardcastle's voice, he was sure of it. And, the judge didn't sound angry any more. Whatever was going on, Hardcastle would take care of it, McCormick was certain. Comforted, he drifted back to unconsciousness.

"I thought he might've been coming around there for a minute," Hardcastle said as he took his seat again.

Harper shook his head sadly. Whatever had prompted the judge to jump to McCormick's side, he had missed it...if it was ever really there at all. The last two days had been hard on his friend, and the lieutenant didn't know how he was going to help if things got worse.

McCormick sensed his helplessness again. Still so dark. And he still couldn't move. He felt like he was trapped in some kind of congealing marshmallow sauce, though no marshmallow sauce should be this black. Unless they were burned in the campfire, he thought. He wanted to grin at his flighty thoughts, but he didn't think he couldn't move the muscles in his face, either.

Am I dead?

He recoiled from the thought. Couldn't be. Hardcastle wouldn't let that happen, not so soon. But then he remembered hearing the judge's voice in this strange place. If that were true, would that mean that Hardcastle was dead, too?

In his mind, he raged against the idea. No! It couldn't be; that wouldn't be fair. The judge deserved a lot more years of life and happiness. Even if they were here together, McCormick didn't want that for Hardcastle. His friend had to be alive. Any other thought only led to madness.

Unable to deal with the emotions whirling through his mind, McCormick allowed the darkness to engulf him again.

"Why's he crying?" Hardcastle demanded, wiping at McCormick's face gently. Only a few hours earlier, the doctors had decided that the ventilator was somehow causing their patient distress rather than relieving it, so they had removed the intubation tube from his throat and replaced it with a small nasal tube just to keep the pure oxygen flowing into the young man. McCormick had seemed to breathe normally on his own, and Hardcastle had been glad to see the larger tube removed because it seemed to make McCormick look more like himself. But now...how could someone unconscious seem so unhappy?

"I don't know, Judge," the nurse admitted, "but try not to make too much of it. We don't have a really good idea of what goes on in someone's mind when they're unconscious like this."

"But it's a good sign, isn't it?" Hardcastle insisted, desperate for affirmation. "I mean, he must be thinkin' something if he's crying. Right?"

The nurse chose her words carefully. "He probably is thinking something, somewhere. But, Judge Hardcastle, it's never been a question of whether or not his brain would recover-that's not where the damage lies. It's a question of waiting on his body."

The answer was filled with compassion. As much as family members wanted their loved ones to regain awareness, she knew they hated to think of them trapped inside a motionless-almost lifeless-body. But, she believed that those who asked questions needed to know the answers in order to cope, so she could never be less than honest.

She gave a gentle squeeze to Hardcastle's arm as he continued to wipe the tears from McCormick's face, ignoring those on his own.

Mark McCormick could see the den at Gulls Way. That doesn't make any sense, he thought, as he realized he still couldn't seem to move and it was darker than it ever was at the house. How could he be at two places at the same time?

Maybe he was neither dead nor incarcerated, but just plain crazy. It was certainly possible, he admitted to himself, and it would explain a lot. Maybe they had him in some kind of straightjacket in a padded room. Great. Crazy and locked up. Could it get any better?

But why the den? He'd like to think if he was having demented fantasies they'd be better than that. On the other hand, this dark place was terrifying. Was there any place he'd rather be than the bright, familiar comfort of home? Probably not.

Then, suddenly, he could see himself in the den, along with the judge. Wishing makes it so, he thought giddily, immediately followed by, Really am crazy. But he gladly gave himself over to the illusion he couldn't yet recognize as memory...

"Sorry I'm so late, Judge, I know that wasn't in the plan. But you can't always count on the criminal mentality making a lot of sense."

Hardcastle glared at the grinning ex-con. "You talking about Garza now?" he snapped. "Or yourself?"

The grin faded. This conversation was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. "I meant Garza, Hardcase. But..."

"But what, McCormick?"

How anyone could put so much threat into so few words was a mystery to McCormick, but he heard it just the same. He swallowed hard and plunged ahead. "Garza had me pull a job today, Judge."

"He what?"

"We knew it would happen," McCormick began.

"What we knew, hotshot," Hardcastle interrupted, "is that he would ask. You were supposed to find a way out of it."

"Judge, if you send me in undercover as a criminal, I think maybe you should be prepared for a little crime," McCormick said in his most reasonable tone.

"Oh, that's what you think, is it?" Hardcastle's tone clearly indicated that he was not in agreement. "Tell me about the job."

McCormick didn't hesitate. "It was some kind of financial holding facility down on Market street. That Walton guy must have the security information down pat on these places. I went in, got the cash from the safe, and got out. And, Garza had me boost a couple of cars for our travel to and from."

"So, let's see...we've got breaking and entering, grand larceny, and multiple counts of grand theft auto. And that's added to the B&E down at the court records office the other day. It's been quite a week for you, hasn't it, McCormick?"

McCormick grimaced as he dropped into the chair. He hadn't expected the conversation to be quite this difficult. And, he hadn't even managed to tell the judge about how he'd screwed up with Garza. He needed to pull out of this case, but how was he supposed to say that now? He realized Hardcastle was still speaking.

"I said, did you get paid?"

"Oh, yeah." McCormick reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it at the judge.

Hardcastle looked through the bills, then looked up at McCormick. "How much money was in that safe?" he asked.

McCormick glanced up sharply at the unexpected tone. He was not accustomed to suspicion from the judge. "I don't know," he answered. "A lot."

"And you only got twenty five hundred?"

"I'm just the hired help, Judge," McCormick said peevishly, "and I'm new help at that. I just figured Garza was a graduate of the Milton C. Hardcastle school of slave wages."

Hardcastle didn't intend to be led into their typical banter. "You're sure this is all of it?"

"What do you mean?" McCormick demanded, more hurt than angry.

"I mean, are you sure you wouldn't be trying to get yourself a little bonus?"

McCormick stiffened in his chair. "Judge, that envelope is a year's salary working here with you and it took me about an hour to earn it. If I was looking for a bonus, I woulda just kept it. Or," he added hotly, "maybe I just wouldn't have come back at all." He rose and started for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hardcastle snapped.

"To bed, Judge, unless you plan on taking me to jail. If you want me to keep working this case, Garza expects me at his place bright and early tomorrow morning." McCormick almost hoped Hardcastle would tell him to pull out, even though it would be for all the wrong reasons. He shouldn't go back in and he knew it, but he wouldn't have Hardcastle thinking he was backing out because he'd changed his mind about which side of the law he wanted to be on. What had gotten into the old donkey, anyway? He had expected to have his common sense questioned, but never his integrity.

McCormick stood paused for a brief moment, but when the judge didn't answer, he stomped up the small steps and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Hardcastle stood nervously at McCormick's bedside, seeing the tension written on the unconscious form, but not knowing why or how to ease it. After almost three days of endless waiting, the last ten hours or so had been a new kind of torture for the judge, as McCormick displayed more and more signs of awareness but still never regained consciousness. It was bad enough the kid was barely alive; he hated to think of him trapped in some kind of private hell where no one could reach him to offer help. Especially, he reflected bitterly, since their last words had been filled with anger.

What had he been thinking, anyway? He knew McCormick would never go back to any kind of criminal life, so why had he implied otherwise? Of course, he knew the answer. He had just been so scared when Mark was late returning from his rendezvous with Garza. And, he admitted to himself, he had still been angry about the little stunt at the courthouse. The kid really was going to get himself thrown back into prison if he wasn't careful. But none of that was justification for the way he had reacted. He had simply let his fear turn to anger when McCormick had returned safely, and then he had said a lot of truly stupid things. As it turned out, he'd had reason to be worried, and he wished now he'd spent more time on precautions and a hell of a lot less on accusations.

Unable to do more, Hardcastle simply took McCormick's hand into his two larger ones and clasped it with a gentle firmness. "I'm here, kiddo," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here and I won't let anything else hurt you." He spoke to the silent form in a gruff but soothing voice until he could feel his friend begin to relax.

McCormick could feel the marshmallows again. How he wished he could escape this place. Why hadn't the judge gotten him out yet? Surely Hardcastle didn't still believe he'd sold out? He would never know if he didn't get out of this darkness, though he thought briefly he might prefer this strange place to a world where Hardcastle didn't trust him.

Again he willed himself to focus his attention. He needed to understand what was happening. Oh! There was the judge's voice again. He tried to make out the words. Maybe he couldn't get out of here until he understood what Hardcastle was trying to tell him. That didn't make a lot of sense, he knew, but neither did this strange darkness.

He sent his mind out in search of clues, but he couldn't find much. But Hardcastle's voice wasn't fading, and there was a warm feeling in his left hand. He struggled to make sense of the words.

"...Frank's been here a lot; you know, he's really worried. About us both, I think, though it's you he always asks about. Bet you never thought you'd see the day when a cop was sitting worried by your bedside, did you, kiddo? Much less a judge! Anyway, I finally made Frank leave for a while this morning, but he'll be back. I hope when he comes he brings something to eat 'cuz the food is terrible in this place. When you wake up you're gonna hate it here."

Hardcastle's voice broke. "When are you gonna wake up, McCormick? C'mon, kiddo, there's stuff I need to tell you, and it won't do any good if you're sleepin'." Hardcastle squeezed McCormick's hand gently. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I never meant for you to get hurt. I never even meant for my stupid insults to hurt your feelings, either. I can't believe you won't even wake up to say I told you so. I know you weren't really working with Garza, Mark, and I've always known it. I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. Maybe if I didn't things would've been different somehow. I don't know. But I do know that I'm sorry, and I'd do anything to change what happened. I just wish..."

As Hardcastle's voice carried on, McCormick could feel himself slipping back into the darkness, but he didn't want to go. He knew the judge would be gone if he drifted deeper into the marshmallow thickness, and he didn't want to be alone. Besides, Hardcastle seemed so upset. He might not understand much of what was happening, but he didn't want the judge to be sad. And, he didn't want him to feel guilty, either. Whatever had happened to send him to this terrible, dark place, he was sure the judge wasn't to blame.

He marshaled all of his strength and tried to cling to Hardcastle's voice.

"Not...your...fault...Judge," he managed to say. At least, he thought he said it. He tried to say it. But he didn't hear the words come out. Maybe he really was dead. He felt the darkness pulling him back, even as he tried to fight it. Then suddenly, he heard Hardcastle's voice again, closer now, and filled with urgency.

"Mark? I said, can you hear me?" At the first whispered word from McCormick, Hardcastle had leaned his face next to McCormick's to hear the precious sounds. He kept that closeness now and spoke directly in the young man's ear.

"I'm right here, kiddo, so stay with me. C'mon, that's enough sleeping now, even for you. Don't leave me again; I'm tired of talking to myself all day. Come on, kid, I need you to come back to me now."

McCormick could feel the affection as the judge stroked his hair gently, and he could hear the concern in Hardcastle's voice as the jurist tried to pull the younger man toward consciousness. How could he have ever believed this man would doubt him? He wanted to offer his own reassurance in return.

"No...hedges today...okay, Hardcase?"

Hardcastle laughed even as he felt the tears of relief welling in his eyes. "Okay, kiddo, deal. No hedges today.

"Now you stay awake for a minute while I go get a doctor." Hardcastle felt the tightening on the hand that still held McCormick's. Not much, but it was there. "What is it, kiddo?"

McCormick focused his energy once more. "Don't...leave me," he implored softly, somehow feeling he might not make it back from the darkness again if Hardcastle left him alone now.

"Never," Hardcastle assured him, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Cautious of the still fragile body, he reached awkwardly across McCormick to reach the call button on the other side of the bed. He jabbed at the device, then seated himself back in the bedside chair. For the first time in days, he felt the world begin to settle back into its rightful place.

"I'm still here," he said softly to McCormick as they waited. And even as the doctors and nurses began to file in and complete their initial examinations and ask a hundred questions, McCormick never loosened his grip on Hardcastle's hand and the judge never pulled away.

Frank Harper smiled gently at the sight greeting his eyes. The nurse on duty had given him the good news as he had passed her station on the way to McCormick’s room. Mostly he was relieved for Hardcastle, but he’d been a tiny bit surprised to discover just how truly worried he had been about McCormick in the last few days. He hadn’t fully realized that the young man had actually managed to work his way into his heart, too.

Still, he was gratified that Hardcastle wasn’t going to lose his young friend. Unexpectedly, the curly headed, always grinning, wise mouth ex-con had turned out to be a very good thing for the judge, and Harper wanted him to stay around a long, long time.

The detective moved quietly to sit in the empty chair, but Hardcastle still wasn’t sleeping deeply, and he sat up immediately. “Frank,” Hardcastle welcomed with a grin, “did you hear?”

“Yeah,” Harper returned the grin. “They told me. It’s great news, Milt, really. Lots of people are going to be very relieved.”

Hardcastle nodded. “The kid never really thinks that, you know. Sees his past a lot.” A shadow of guilt flickered across the tired features. “I’m sure I don’t help that much sometimes.”

Harper scoffed at the comment. “He would’ve been stuck with his past if not for you, Milt. You gave him a future.”

“Nah. Just gave him a chance. He’s doing all the work.”

“That’s a chance he wouldn’t have gotten from too many people, you know.” Harper paused. “And the kid knows it, too. I’ve already told you he won’t blame you for any of this.”

“No, he probably won’t,” Hardcastle admitted wearily. “But that doesn’t make it any less my fault.”

Harper shook his head; he obviously was never going to win this argument. He tried another. “You know what? Now that Mark’s been awake, why don’t you go on home for a while? I’ll be glad to stay here with him until you get back.”

But Hardcastle wasn’t budging on that topic, either. “Not yet, Frank, but I appreciate the offer. Maybe I’ll take you up on it tomorrow.”

“Milt, he’s been awake. The nurse said it looks like he’ll be fine eventually. Go home and get yourself some rest.”

“You didn’t see him, Frank,” Hardcastle said quietly. “He was so scared. Oh, he was trying to put on a good show-he does that a lot, you know-but he was scared. He doesn’t really know what’s going on. The doctors tried talking to him a little bit, but he wasn’t making a lot of sense. He kept talking about marshmallows. Anyway, he was only awake for about ten minutes, then drifted off again. The doctors say it’s a more natural sleep this time, whatever that means, but I want to be here when he wakes up for real. I’m not even sure he knows he’s in a hospital, much less if he has any idea why he’s here.”

“Just promise me that after he does wake up for real you’ll go home right away and get some sleep,” Harper bargained. “And for right now, why don’t you close your eyes again and try to nap. I’ll be right here if anything changes.”

Hardcastle smiled gratefully. “It’s a deal. I guess I am a little beat.” He cast a quick glance over at McCormick to make sure the young man was still sleeping peacefully, then leaned his head against the chair back and drifted immediately to sleep.

As Harper looked at the two sleeping men, Hardcastle’s hand shamelessly covering McCormick’s, the detective said a silent prayer for life, for friendship, and for second chances all around.

McCormick slowly managed to open his eyes into a narrow squint, and the only thing he could see was Hardcastle's face. "Judge?" he croaked.

Hardcastle leaned closer immediately, the sudden smile relieving some of the worry in his features. "I'm right here, kiddo," he answered.

"Throat hurts," McCormick continued hoarsely. "Can I have something to drink?"

Hardcastle turned to the bedside table to grab the cup of ice chips he had insisted be diligently refilled each time they had melted. "Only a bit of ice," he said apologetically, as he spooned a small piece into McCormick's mouth.

"M-M-M." McCormick managed a small smile. "More?"

"Just a little." Hardcastle gave him one more spoonful, then set the cup aside. "It's good to see you again, kiddo. How ya feeling?"

"Pretty bad," McCormick admitted. He opened his eyes more fully and looked around the barely lit room. "I'm in a hospital?"

Hardcastle nodded sadly. "Yeah."

"I feel pretty bad, Judge," McCormick repeated in a small voice. "Am I...am I gonna be okay?"

"It looks that way," Hardcastle answered with a reassuring smile, "though you had us worried for a while there. You didn't really think you could get away from me so easily did you?"

"Never crossed my mind," McCormick replied, comforted more by the teasing than anything else, just as the judge had intended.

"Was it Garza?" he asked after a moment. Then, before Hardcastle had a chance to respond, he rolled his eyes and answered his own question. "Where is my mind? Of course it was Garza. Man, he was pissed."

"You shouldn't try to talk too much right now, kid," Hardcastle cautioned. "And you probably shouldn't spend a lot of time dwelling on what happened, either. You need your rest."

"Probably." McCormick instinctively knew he shouldn't fully admit to Hardcastle just how weak he truly felt, and how every word was a struggle. But he wasn't ready to sleep again. "But I'll tell you, Judge, when you came storming into that office...I was never so glad to see you in my entire life."

A horrified look flashed across Hardcastle's face. "You were conscious?"

McCormick nodded slowly, which was about the only movement he was capable of making. "Right up until you guys showed up and he shot me that last time."

The judge grimaced, but didn't speak. No sense telling the kid that lunatic had actually pumped two rounds into his gut just as the cavalry had arrived. Time enough for gory details later.

"Hey, Judge?" McCormick's voice was growing weaker as he drifted again toward darkness.

"What is it, kiddo?"

"I'm sorry I let you down. Promise I'll make it up..."

Hardcastle could feel tears burning behind his eyes again as he watched McCormick fall back into sleep. He offered a simple but sincere reply, wishing the young man could hear him.

"Kid, you have never let me down."

McCormick awoke more naturally the third time around. He glanced around the room and was a little surprised to see Frank Harper sitting at his bedside.

"Frank? Is everything okay?"

Harper grinned slightly. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

McCormick relaxed at the tone. Harper wouldn't be joking if anything was wrong. "Where's Hardcase?" He tried to reach for a glass of water on his bedside table, but realized his right arm was immobilized against a small board, and his left had an IV tube sticking out of it, making too much movement out of the question. Not to mention that he couldn't really sit up. He shook his head in disgust.

Harper smoothly placed the cup in McCormick's hand and gently helped the young man move it closer to his lips as he answered the question. "I sent him home earlier this morning; he was exhausted."

McCormick took a long drink through the straw, enjoying the cool liquid on his throat. "Thanks." Managing to hand the cup back to Harper, he sighed as he tried to adjust himself into a comfortable position. "What day is this, anyway?"

"Saturday," Harper replied, almost hesitantly.

"Saturday! But it was only Tuesday when..." McCormick trailed off, a look of sad understanding filling his face. "The judge must've been kinda upset. I didn't mean to worry him."

"Not you, too," Harper answered, shaking his head.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean," the detective answered in a long suffering tone, "you both need to get over the guilt. Milt never wanted you to get hurt and you didn't do it on purpose, so neither one of you should be blaming yourself for anything."

"I'm not exactly feeling guilty," McCormick argued, "though I do hate that he had to go through this. But he sure as hell shouldn't be blaming himself for any of this. I've been a little groggy, but I'm pretty sure I've told him that already."

"I have, too," the detective said, "but it hasn't done any good so far. Maybe he'll let it go when you're all healed up."

McCormick grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Once he starts working me like a slave again I'm sure any lingering guilt will vanish entirely." He sobered quickly.

"Please tell me we at least got Garza?"

Harper nodded. "Yeah, and most of his goons. There are one or two guys on his payroll we're still looking for to at least question, but we dropped a net over everyone who was at the office when..." he hesitated, unsure exactly what McCormick remembered and what he should say.

"When he tried to kill me," McCormick finished the thought softly. "It's okay, Frank. I know what happened. Or, at least, I have a general idea. Some of the details are a little foggy in my brain, but I certainly remember the broad strokes. As much as all this sucks," he waved his hand slightly to indicate his bruised, bandaged, and tractioned body, "I know it could have been a lot worse. I'm just glad you guys got there when you did. I'm not sure how much longer I could've lasted. And I don't even want to think about what Hardcastle would've done if..." He let the thought go unfinished.

"Me, either." Harper shuddered at the thought. He paused, then added, "He has been really worried."

McCormick nodded. "I'm glad you made him go home. When I saw him, I think he looked about as bad as I feel." He grinned faintly, but the grin faded quickly. "Besides, I need to talk to you, and it'll be easier without him around."

A brief flicker of mild suspicion crossed the detective's face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I figure you need a statement from me if we want to keep Garza behind bars."

"That will certainly be helpful," Harper said slowly. He took in the ashen color of McCormick's face, the sunken appearance of his eyes, and the pain and exhaustion that radiated from the young man. "But I think it can wait until you're stronger."

McCormick shook his head, fighting the drowsiness he could already feel overtaking him. "There's something I don't want him to know, Frank."

Harper met the pleading blue eyes. "Is it about the jobs you pulled?"

"How'd you know?" McCormick demanded, surprised. "And does he?"

Harper almost smiled, but McCormick seemed so genuinely concerned, he thought better of it. "I know because Garza gave you up. Guess he doesn't buy into the whole honor among thieves bit. But, no, I haven't told Milt yet."

"What do you mean, yet?" McCormick asked, his voice rising slightly.

"He's gonna find out," Harper said quietly. "Besides, he is your parole officer."

McCormick forced his eyes to stay open for one final question. "Am I gonna face charges?"

"Nah, I think we can work it out once we get the money back where it belongs," Harper assured him.

Drifting off, McCormick didn't completely register the detective's response. "Hardcastle's gonna kill me," he mumbled as he finally gave in to the sleep again.

“Hey, Milt,” Harper greeted as he looked up from his magazine. “You look a hundred percent better; do you feel it?”

“I’m fine,” Hardcastle said dismissively as he dropped into the chair closest to McCormick. “How are things here?”

“Things are good. The doctor was here and he said Mark’s readings seem even stronger than yesterday. He said he’d stop by later this evening in case you had any questions. And, Mark was awake for a few minutes.”

“Really? Good. Was he talking? When he woke up early this morning he was still pretty foggy.”

“Oh, he was coherent,” Harper answered. “He wasn’t awake long, but he was basically okay for the time he was.”

“What did he have to say?” Hardcastle asked innocently.

“Not a lot. He was worried about you.”

“He should worry more about himself,” the judge said gruffly. “Unless, of course, you meant he was worried about me finding out about what happened.”

Harper looked at him sharply. “What?”

“I stopped by to see Garza.”

Harper rolled his eyes. He should’ve known Hardcastle had some ulterior motive for agreeing to leave the hospital. “First of all, now that we’ve got him behind bars, why don’t you let us handle things from here? And secondly, I sent you home to rest, remember?”

“I did rest. And I thank you for that, by the way. Then I saw Garza. When were you planning to tell me he had the kid doing some work?”

“Honestly? It was gonna be a while.”

“You don’t think that’s something I deserve to know?” Hardcastle demanded.

“Deserve to know? Sure. Need to know? Not really. At least, not right now.” Harper showed none of the agitation that was brewing in his friend. “Milt,” he continued reasonably, “you’ve had more than enough to worry about the last few days. What difference does it make anyway?”

“What difference?” The judge was incredulous. “He can’t go around committing felonies every day, Frank! The kid’s out on a pass, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Harper was amused by Hardcastle’s righteous indignation, spoken in a harsh whisper in deference to the sleeping McCormick. But he didn’t allow himself to laugh. There was no sense inciting the judge further.

“I meant, what difference does it make right now? What are you gonna do about it? Revoke him?”

Hardcastle stared coldly at the detective. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, then...”

Hardcastle threw his hands up in exasperation, but he allowed the logic of Harper’s words to sink into his brain. “Oh, all right,” he finally huffed. “But, dammit, Frank, how am I supposed to keep him in line if I don’t even know what’s going on? Besides, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

Harper did allow himself a small chuckle at Hardcastle’s new, childish tone. “I didn’t know this was about taking sides, Milt.

“And, anyway,” he went on, growing more serious, “I don’t think you really have to worry too much about keeping him in line; he’s doing a pretty good job of that himself lately. Of course, that is mostly because of you, but even so...”

The detective stared directly into the eyes of his long-time friend. “He would’ve told you about Garza, Milt. Just give him a chance.”

Hardcastle sighed loudly. Harper was right, of course. Even as badly as he had treated McCormick before-on what he had morbidly come to think of as their ‘last night’-he knew the kid would confess. Always the smooth talking con man, it just wasn’t in McCormick to actually lie. Not really. Not about anything important. Not to Hardcastle.

The judge sighed again. “Of course he would’ve. But for right now, why don’t you tell me about the job?”

“Garza didn’t tell you anything?” Harper was surprised.

“Nah. He was more interested in taunting me about the idea of McCormick turning bad on me than he was in giving me any real information. So what gives?”

Harper shook his head. “Details are for Mark. Besides, I told you not to be worrying about it right now.”

The detective rose from his chair, not intending to argue the topic any further. “Okay, Milt. I promised Claudia I’d deliver my daily update in person this evening, so I’m gonna go on home. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Hardcastle grinned. “Okay; point taken. I’ll let it go...at least until the kid wakes up.”

“Yeah, well just in case I’m not here to run interference, don’t be too hard on him.”

“When am I ever?” Hardcastle harrumphed.

Harper laughed slightly, and rolled his eyes, but wisely chose not to answer as he turned to leave the room. “See ya, Milt.”

Hardcastle smiled to himself as he grabbed a magazine and settled in for another night of waiting.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Hardcastle greeted cheerfully.

"Morning?" McCormick looked curiously between Hardcastle and Harper. "But I was just talking to Frank a minute ago."

"That was yesterday, kiddo," the judge said with a small smile. "You've been a little out of it. Are you feeling better?"

McCormick thought for a moment. "Actually," he said with a small grin, "I think I am. I mean, I really still hurt like hell, but I don't feel like I've got marshmallows in my brain any more."

"Well..." Hardcastle began with a laugh.

"Don't start, Hardcase," McCormick threatened, his grin spreading across his face. "In fact, I even think I might be kind of hungry."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes at Harper. "Now I know he's gonna be okay," he grumped, but he was thrilled to hear that some of the strength had returned to the young man's voice. He turned his attention back to McCormick. "They'll be around in half an hour or so to see you, and you can ask for breakfast then. In the meantime, hotshot, since you're feeling a little better, I think we have some things to talk about."

The grin faded from McCormick's face as he heard the stern tone. Should've known old Hardcase wouldn't waste much time getting down to business. He shot an accusing glare at Harper.

"I didn't tell him anything," the detective objected.

"Frank's already gotten the lecture about the evils of keeping secrets...especially yours. When I was out yesterday I stopped by to see Garza."

McCormick shook his head. "Why would you want to go and do something like that?" he demanded. "Now that he's in jail, couldn't we just let the cops handle it?"

Harper smirked at the familiar sentiment. "That's what I said."

"I don't want to hear any of your whining, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed firmly, completely ignoring the detective, "just tell me about the job."

"Is it too late to say I don't really feel all that well?" McCormick asked, only half jokingly. When he didn't receive an answer, he took a breath and spoke. "Jobs," he corrected fearfully. "Plural."

"How plural?" Hardcastle demanded. "Your boss seems to have left out that little detail."

"He's not my boss, Judge," McCormick answered sullenly.

"How many?"

"Three."

"THREE?" The judge's bellow was a stark contrast to McCormick's softly spoken answer, and Harper shushed him and reminded him he was in a hospital. "Three?" he repeated in a more reserved yell. "In one day?"

"Well, I- -" McCormick didn't get to finish his thought.

"Three jobs in one day," Hardcastle was huffing. "First of all, that's just arrogant; you're just asking for trouble when you go doing something stupid like that. Second, I would've thought you could use that big mouth of yours to get you out of trouble almost as easily as it gets you in. Hadn't we just discussed the fact that I did not intend for you to actually commit any crimes? And thirdly, has it slipped completely out of that marshmallow brain of yours that you are still on parole? What in the hell were you thinking, McCormick?"

"I was thinking he might kill us," McCormick snapped back, annoyed that he didn't have the strength to really lay into the judge.

Hardcastle halted his tirade and exchanged a puzzled look with Harper. Neither one had anticipated that response.

"Us?" Hardcastle asked, genuinely confused.

McCormick hesitated. He thought Garza had told them everything, but obviously not. "Did I say 'us'?" he asked in his most I-Am-Absolutely-On-The-Level voice. "I must be groggier than I thought. I meant 'me'. I was thinking he might try to kill me." He smiled slightly. "Turns out I was right."

The judge examined him closely, and then shook his head. "Uh-uh, not buying it, kiddo. You said us and you meant us. Why would you think Garza would kill me? And why would Garza think you would care?"

"I don't know, Judge," McCormick replied, exasperated. "He's crazy, or hadn't you noticed?"

Hardcastle merely stared at the young man, but Harper laughed aloud. "Okay, Mark," the detective said, "even I'm not falling for that. Why don't you tell us what really happened?"

"You blew your cover, didn't you?" Hardcastle said suddenly.

McCormick laughed at the astounded tone. "Gee, Judge, you catch on quick." He grinned ruefully. "Why did you think I was laying in a bloody heap on his office floor?"

Hardcastle shuddered at the image that flashed into his mind, and McCormick immediately regretted his flippant attitude. "Sorry, Judge. But really, why did you think he was trying to kill me?"

"Garza said it was because you ripped off his money," Hardcastle said blandly.

McCormick almost laughed at the accusation until he saw the two somber faces staring back at him. "He's lying," he said simply.

"Then why don't you tell us the truth?" Hardcastle suggested.

McCormick shot a quick, pleading look at Harper.

"Maybe this could wait until he's a bit more rested," the detective immediately spoke up, and McCormick let out a huge yawn.

"He's plenty rested," Hardcastle answered. "He's been sleeping for four and a half days."

Harper tried again. "Then maybe he'd be more cooperative on a full stomach. Why don't you run get him a breakfast tray?"

Hardcastle fixed the lieutenant with a stern glare that he typically reserved for wayward ex-cons. "I thought I told you not to be covering for him." He turned back to McCormick. "Whatever it is, you can't keep it from me forever."

McCormick sighed, then realized that was painful. He pressed his free hand against his ribs and tried to ignore the fact that Hardcastle was waiting for an answer. It didn't work long.

"Spill it," the judge ordered.

"He was on to me, Judge," the young man began quietly.

"How?" Hardcastle demanded.

"I don't know, but after that first job, he figured it out. I don't know what I did to give it away, but he knew, and- - -"

"After the first job?" Hardcastle interrupted. "You mean after the first of the three you did the other day?"

McCormick was tempted to lie, but he knew that would only be a short-term solution at best. "No, Judge, the first job. I swear, we were just talking like normal, and I was spinning the same line of crap I'd been giving him for days. You know...Hardcastle is a donkey; too blind to know what's going on under his nose; kill me if he found out or at least give me a life sentence..." He grinned. "You know, that kind of stuff."

Hardcastle wasn't amused. "And?"

"And, I don't know. Somehow he knew. Really, I didn't say anything any different than I'd ever said to him." McCormick thought for a moment. "Maybe it was just too true right then," he finally suggested.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

McCormick tried to shrug, realized he couldn't, and winced at the effort. He drew in a raspy breath. "I don't know. I knew you were gonna be mad about the heist, and I was wishing there was a way not to tell you. But even more than that..." McCormick trailed off, debating the wisdom of voicing his thoughts.

"What is it?" Harper asked gently.

"I'm not sure," McCormick answered slowly, unable to meet the eyes of either man. "We had just pulled the job, and there was all that money, and it was so easy. And it would've been even easier not to tell. It kind of scared me." He shook his head slightly, then finally raised his eyes. He directed his comments to Harper, still avoiding Hardcastle. "Somehow, Garza saw something, I guess. He started asking questions about living with the judge, more details about my time in prison and my arrangement with Hardcastle. I was talking as fast as I could to undo whatever damage I had done, but I guess it didn't work."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hardcastle asked softly, his face drained of color.

McCormick was not prepared to admit how hurt he had been by Hardcastle's earlier accusations. "I was going to, but then...well, then I didn't. I don't know. It was dumb. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Hardcastle said in a low tone. "God, Mark, I'm the one who should be sorry." The judge rose quickly from his chair and left the room without another word.

CONCLUSION of Road to Recovery

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