"Judge! Judge!" McCormick called after him. "Frank," he said breathlessly, "go get him. This isn't his fault. God, I didn't want him to know how stupid I was." He rose as far in the bed as his bandages and his pain would allow, his face reddening from the exertion.

"Hardcastle!"

Harper had started toward the door to go after the judge, but McCormick's sudden agitation had begun to set off the alarms on the machinery still connected to the young man. He turned back in to the room. "Mark, calm down," he said quickly, pushing the weak form back onto the bed. "It's not going to make things any better if you get all worked up and end up back in la-la land. I'll go bring Milt back, but you've got to take care of yourself. He won't- - -"

"McCormick!" Hearing McCormick's room number called over the intercom had sent Hardcastle back through the door immediately. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He moved to the bedside, and Harper gladly stepped aside to let him get closer.

"I'm fine," McCormick said weakly, allowing his head to sink back into the pillow. "Don't run out like that again, Judge. At least not until I can run out after you." He tried a small smile, though he felt it might've come out more like a grimace.

"McCormick- - - "

Hardcastle didn't have a chance to say anything else before a nurse burst into the room. She was immediately at McCormick's side, checking readings, looking over her patient, testing connections. But the alarms were already growing quieter, and she could see that McCormick was in no immediate danger. She gave him a warm smile. "Not the best way to meet, but welcome back to the real world, Mr. McCormick."

She was still looking him over and found the dampness on his arm. "Okay, it looks like I'll need to re-start your I.V.; you've managed to pull it out. Is everything okay?"

McCormick glanced over at Hardcastle, who had made room for the nurse, but showed no signs of bolting from the room again. "Everything's fine," he answered. "Sorry to be so much trouble so early." He forced strength into his voice. "But, listen, unless the stuff in this tube is actually keeping me alive right this minute, can this wait? Not to be rude, but I need to finish a conversation with my friends here."

"Let the woman do her job, McCormick," Hardcastle growled. "We're not going anywhere."

The nurse looked slowly between each of the men and took in their shared tension. "No," she said finally, "it's not actually keeping you totally alive. How about if I go get my supplies and grab you a breakfast tray, and come back here in about fifteen minutes?"

"That would be great," McCormick answered sincerely. Under other circumstances, he might have flirted with the pretty brunette, but right now his heart was pounding just from the strain of trying to sit up in bed, every muscle in his body ached, and he needed to talk to Hardcastle. Flirting would have to wait. "Fifteen minutes would be perfect."

As soon as the door closed behind her, McCormick turned his attention back to Hardcastle. "What the hell was that all about, anyway?" he demanded, trying unsuccessfully to turn to fully face the judge.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," Hardcastle answered roughly as he moved himself back into McCormick's line of sight.

His tone softened immediately. "You almost died just to keep me from thinking you had crossed the line."

"Nope," McCormick contradicted. "I almost died because I was too stupid to know when to pull out. But," he continued pointedly, "I haven't crossed any lines, and I don't want you thinking that I have...not then and not now. I don't have that money, Judge." He looked at the detective standing quietly at the foot of the bed. "You guys didn't find anything in the offices?"

Harper shook his head. "And not in the Coyote, or Garza's house, either."

"Well, since you did find me in the office, and since I've been here ever since you took me from there, just where do you think I'm keeping it?"

Hardcastle didn't answer. His face was still white, and his blue eyes were filled with sorrow and regret. Harper wasn't sure the judge was really following much of the conversation.

"Garza says you never came back with the cash," the detective replied. "Says they picked you up late that afternoon and were trying to make you give up the stash."

"Yeah, right," McCormick said sarcastically. "I don't know what he thinks he's gonna gain by telling you guys that crap, though for some reason, it did seem really important to him to discredit me. Anyway, I suppose he failed to mention that I wasn't working alone? His goon, Morrissey, was with me every step of the way, so I couldn't have kept that money if I'd wanted to. Unless he thinks his buddy is in cahoots with me."

Harper raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I don't know about in cahoots with you, Mark, but it may be that Morrissey decided to go into business for himself. He's one of the guys we don't have yet," he explained.

"Well that's a neat little package, isn't it?" McCormick asked. "But I'll tell you the truth, Frank; I don't think Morrissey ripped Garza off. We went back to that office together, but he didn't stick around for the festivities. My guess is Garza had him stash the money somewhere, and when you guys showed up, Morrissey just stayed gone. I'm telling you, that man didn't spit without Garza's permission; he wouldn't double-cross him."

"Well," Hardcastle interjected in a strangely dull tone, "whether he's working on his own or not, I guess if we find Morrissey we'll find the money."

"Yeah, Judge, I think you will." McCormick examined Hardcastle closely, not liking what he saw. The judge was pulling further and further into himself, tension etched in every line on his face. He glanced back toward Harper. "Frank, could you give us a minute?"

Harper nodded and started for the door. "I need to report this information about Morrissey, anyway. Looks like he needs to be bumped up the ladder of importance." He paused in the doorway and turned back to his friends. The horrified and withdrawn demeanor of Hardcastle worried him; he let his eyes meet McCormick's. "You guys work this out." He vanished through the door, saying a silent prayer that McCormick would be able to get through to the judge.

"All right," McCormick said without preamble, "let's have it. Yell at me, curse at me, threaten me. Hell, hit me. Just get it out."

Hardcastle continued to stare. "What are you talking about?"

McCormick sighed in exasperation and earned another stab of pain. "Look, I know you're pissed. And I know you've been worried. And now you're mad at yourself because you think you could've stopped all this somehow. But, Judge, you didn't cause this. None of this is your fault."

"Did you or did you not go back on that last day because I accused you of taking that money?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Not," McCormick said flatly. Not entirely true, but he was beyond caring.

"Listen, I was upset about what you said; I won't pretend that I wasn't. But by the next morning I knew you had just been running your mouth and I knew you would've calmed down." That was mostly true; he just wouldn't mention the tiny lingering doubt that had kept him from going into the house and simply asking.

"And," he continued, "I decided I had overreacted to the thing with Garza, anyway. I thought if he really had me made, he wouldn't have let me leave at all, so I figured I didn't have anything to worry about." Okay, that part was an absolute lie, but it was the same lie he had told himself in order to work up the courage to walk back into that madman's home, so he figured it would be okay to use it again. He would not have Hardcastle blame himself for this.

"You didn't make this happen, Judge," McCormick said earnestly, "and I doubt if there's anything you could've done to stop it. Please don't blame yourself."

Hardcastle looked into the shining eyes of the man he had never intended to care about, and his heart ached at the pain he saw. The physical pain was beyond his influence, but the emotional pain was quite another story. He pulled the chair close to the bed and dropped into it, never taking his eyes from McCormick.

"Okay, kiddo, I'll tell you the truth. I feel real bad about what happened, and I'm not sure I can change that. But since it seems to matter to you, I'll try. Maybe it will help if I start with an explanation."

"Judge," McCormick began, "you don't have to- - -"

Hardcastle placed a hand gently on McCormick's arm. "Yes, Mark," he contradicted firmly, "I do have to.

"Anyway, that night you came home, you were so late, and I was getting really worried. These cases where you have to go in alone and without even a wire make me nervous."

McCormick was touched by the rare admission, and wanted to offer some type of reassurance. "I can- -" he stopped, started again. "Usually, I can take care of myself. You shouldn't worry."

Hardcastle smiled weakly. "It's not the usually part that worries me, kiddo. We're here now because of the unusual.

"At any rate, I was worried then. You were much later than I had ever anticipated, and I was getting pretty worked up. Then, when you came strolling in, all wide eyed and grins, instead of just being relieved, I got angry."

The judge took a deep breath. "But when you told me about pulling that robbery, that's when I really let my temper get the best of me." He shook his head sadly. "I didn't mean to drive you away, kid, and I was sorry before you were even out the door. But I was so mad I couldn't stop you from leaving.

"But understand this, Mark: I never for a minute believed you had taken money. I mean, you were right; you didn't even have to tell me you got it and I would never have known. Hell, you didn't even have to tell me about the job, and I knew that even when I was yelling at you. It's like you said; I was just running my mouth.

"And as for the cash from the other jobs? We did think maybe you had stashed it away from Garza for some reason, but we never thought you intended to keep it. No matter what I might have ever said, you have my complete faith, kiddo." He offered a weak smile. "Even when you do dumb things like breaking into the courthouse, you know? Nothing's ever gonna change that, and I'm real sorry I made you think otherwise."

Hardcastle stopped talking abruptly, his smile turning to one of embarrassment. "I've been waiting four days to say that stuff to you, kid. Don't ever put me through that again."

McCormick grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it," he assured. The grin faded from his face. "Can I ask you something serious?"

"Of course."

"Well..." McCormick hesitated, unsure how to frame his question. The pain and exhaustion weren't doing much for his thinking abilities. "I guess...it's about the robberies. Or mostly the first one. Like I said before, it was so easy. And it was even kind of...fun." He met Hardcastle's eyes directly. "Is there something wrong with me, Judge? I mean, it's not fair that the only things I'm good at are all the wrong things." He shook his head. "I absolutely want you to trust me, Judge, but what if..." He paused for a long moment, and Hardcastle allowed him the time to gather his thoughts. "But what if," he finally continued, "I don't always trust myself?"

Hardcastle smiled gently, thinking he might be more proud of McCormick now than he had ever been. "First of all, kiddo, there's nothing wrong with you. And you're good at more things than you probably even realize. The fact that it bothers you that you also possess some rather questionable skills says more for your integrity than you'll ever know. And, if for some reason you ever start to doubt yourself, you just talk to me. I've got more than enough trust for both of us."

Though McCormick smiled, he didn't answer, knowing he would never be able to find a way to tell the judge what those few words meant to him. So he settled for hoping Hardcastle could see that truth in his eyes, just as he could see the truth in the pale blue eyes that stared back at him.

And in their shared gaze, the friends could see the healing begin.

"Will you stop sloshing your spoon around in that stuff?" Hardcastle growled from behind his paper. "I thought you were hungry, anyway?"

"Yeah, for food," McCormick complained. He looked at the broth in front of him. "This isn't even good enough to be called soup. And it's getting a nasty film on it." He stirred more vigorously.

Hardcastle set the paper aside with a slight grin. "Well, you know, kiddo, you were banged up pretty bad, had major surgery, and you've been unconscious and pumped full of all sorts of drugs for days. Did you think they were gonna bring you a loaded pizza for breakfast? Besides, you've been stirring that broth around for over an hour. If you'd eaten it while it was hot, it wouldn't have a film on it."

McCormick rolled his eyes and pushed the tray away, muttering. "Cold broth, warm tea, not even any sugar. What kind of a meal is that to wake up to? They could at least give me some crackers, or something with substance."

The judge chuckled, though it was difficult not to feel bad for the kid. "Give it time, McCormick. You'll be back to your normal culinary experiences before long. They just want to make sure all that grease and crap isn't going to kill you at a quicker than normal rate."

"Well, I'm not eatin' that stuff, so I think I'll go back to sleep for a while."

Hardcastle's expression was immediately concerned. "Yeah? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right, Judge, I'm just really kind of beat." McCormick shifted slightly, trying to make himself comfortable. "For someone who's been asleep for days, I sure feel like I haven't rested in years."

Hardcastle lowered the bed slowly and helped rearrange the blanket. "I don't imagine it was exactly pleasant sleep," he said with a small smile. "You rest as much as you need." He flipped off the light over McCormick's bed, then settled back into his chair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

McCormick returned the smile as he closed his eyes. "I know you will, Judge."

McCormick held his breath and waited for the pain to pass. This was getting old in a hurry.

�You need to take the medicine, McCormick,� a voice growled from beside the bed.

That was getting old, too.

�I take the medicine when I need it, Judge. Let�s not argue about it again.�

�Then you got a strange definition of needin� it, kiddo. How bad are you gonna hurt before you just swallow the damn pill?�

Gritting his teeth, McCormick tried to explain. �Judge, everything that�s gone on has been kind of...scary...for me. It�s like I haven�t been in control of my own life for a long time. And, as goofy as it sounds, when I take that medicine, I lose the rest of whatever control I�m getting back. I mean, if it doesn�t knock me out completely, then I just get all loopy and can�t think straight. And when I do go to sleep, my dreams are so weird, and I don�t want...� He broke off and turned away, suddenly embarrassed at confessing his fears.

Hardcastle took a deep breath, forcing down a renewed anger for Garza, and focused his attention on McCormick. In the ten days since he had awakened, the ex-con had grown increasingly irritable, seeming to believe he should be able to simply jump right out of bed and get on with his life. And, he had grown more and more depressed each time he realized that simply wasn�t the case.

Hardcastle reached out and placed his hand gently on the young man�s arm. �It�s all right, kid; I understand. I�m sorry you�ve had to go through all this, and I hate that you�re still hurtin� so bad. But you have to remember that I�m here now, and I�m not gonna let anything hurt you again. I�m gonna help you, kiddo, until you feel like you�re back in control again. Okay? Can you let me do that?�

McCormick drew in a shaky breath, and nodded his head slowly, but he didn�t turn back to face the judge. He couldn�t really decide if the gentle tone calmed him or scared him, but he did believe Hardcastle would do anything to keep him safe, and that reassurance finally allowed him to relax, breathe through his pain, and drift off to sleep.

And as he sat at McCormick�s bedside, softly patting the arm beneath his hand, Hardcastle prayed for the complete recovery of his friend-body and soul.

McCormick flipped disinterestedly through the magazine pages. �Cabbage Patch Kids,� he muttered under his breath. �Isn�t there anything more important to write about? Kinda ugly little creatures, anyway.�

�What�re you grumbling about, McCormick?� Hardcastle asked, laying aside his own magazine. He�d read a lot of magazines lately.

�Nothing,� McCormick replied as he tossed the publication onto the bed in disgust. �I�m just bored. Can�t you get me out of here?�

Hardcastle smiled slightly. McCormick had been complaining more and more the last couple of days-a sure sign he was beginning to feel better. But while McCormick�s recovery was progressing even more quickly than the doctors had anticipated, and many of the smaller knife wounds had healed, he had taken a gunshot to his left thigh which still required him to be off his feet almost entirely, and his right shoulder didn�t seem to be healing at all. �Not just yet, kiddo,� he answered, almost gently. �It�s only been a few weeks, you know, and you weren�t even awake for the first part of it. Hell, McCormick, you still can�t put any weight on your leg and can hardly move your arm. You know you�re not ready to get out of here yet.�

The young man just glanced away, not bothering to answer. He knew Hardcastle was right, of course, but he still didn�t like it. He could feel the judge watching him, waiting for a response. �I hate it here, Judge,� he finally said softly. His voice gained strength as he elaborated. �I can�t do anything, can�t eat what I want, can�t go outside if I want...it�s not a whole lot different than prison.�

The judge tried not to snort his disbelief. �I�m pretty sure if you�re ever back inside, McCormick, you�ll look back on your time here fondly.�

The ex-con looked back at the grinning jurist. �I don�t really plan on havin� the opportunity to test that theory, Judge. Besides, I figure my time with you is sentence enough.� McCormick had delivered the jab with his typical bantering tone and cocky grin firmly back in place, so he was surprised to see Hardcastle�s face cloud over as the older man looked away uncomfortably.

�Judge?� McCormick ventured hesitantly after a moment. �What�s up?�

Hardcastle shook his head. �Nothin�, kiddo.�

McCormick examined him closely, still not understanding the sudden change in mood. �Hey, Hardcase, you know I was only kiddin� around about that prison thing, right?� Normally, McCormick would never consider trying to apologize for one of his off-hand insults, but normally, Hardcastle wouldn�t seem so bothered by them, either. He watched the judge settle himself back into the chair, visibly trying to push aside whatever troublesome thoughts had popped into his mind.

Undaunted, McCormick tried again. �Hey, why don�t we talk about who�s next on the old Hardcastle hit parade? It�ll take my mind off this place.�

That got Hardcastle�s attention.

�What?� The sharp tone wasn�t exactly what McCormick had been hoping for, but it was a start.

�You know, the bad guys? One of the poor unfortunate souls who managed to somehow offend your sense of justice? Someone we can harass for a few days before we throw them in the slammer? C�mon, Judge. A case.�

Hardcastle stared at the grinning face before him. Hard to believe that two minutes earlier the kid had been on the verge of depression, though the McCormick mood swings were one of the things that kept life interesting. But a case? �Have you lost your mind, McCormick? You haven�t recovered from the last case yet.�

�Just a matter of time,� the young man replied confidently. �Besides, I told you; it�ll take my mind off this place.�

�Well turn on the TV and watch some more of those soap operas if you need a distraction, kiddo; that�s a lot safer. Anyway, besides the fact that you�re still layin� in a hospital bed, you also haven�t even finished up with all the reports from this case, yet.�

McCormick rolled his eyes slightly. He should�ve known he�d walk into that again. �Don�t start,� he said firmly. �There�s about half a dozen witnesses who saw Garza shoot me; Morrissey confessed when the cops finally picked him up with the money; and you�ve given your statement about how I came to be involved in the whole business in the first place. The man isn�t going to get off this time, whether or not I outline all the gory details to the cops. I told Frank-and I told you-I�ll tell him about it when I�m feeling a little better. So could we please not have this discussion again?� The thought of trying to tell Hardcastle what it was like to have a blade caressed across his body time and time again, never knowing if-when-it would actually break the skin in a small scrape or even be plunged deep into tender muscle...well, that was a thought he just couldn�t bear right now. He wasn�t sure he ever could.

Hardcastle relented immediately. �Sure, kiddo. In fact, you�re looking a little tired again, and I�m starting to feel kinda beat myself.� He propped his feet up into the second chair, stretching himself out into the makeshift �bed�. �Why don�t we get some rest?�

�Not a bad idea, Judge,� McCormick agreed, though he realized Hardcastle had very deftly managed to steer the conversation away from whatever had been bugging him. �But why don�t you go home and get some real sleep? Or at least let them bring you a cot in here, or something.� The young man had been making those same suggestions for over two weeks, hoping each time would be the time Hardcastle finally said yes.

Hardcastle shook his head as he closed his eyes. �Don�t worry about me; I just need to rest my eyes for a bit, and you should do the same.�

McCormick nodded, though Hardcastle couldn�t see the gesture, and snuggled down into his own bed. The judge was asleep almost instantly, but McCormick lay awake for a long time, staring at his sleeping friend, and wondering what had caused the jurist�s strange reaction today. And with the curiosity came a strange uneasiness, and the very first inklings of fear.

"So, you feeling up to telling us about that last day yet?"

When McCormick didn't answer right away, Hardcastle forced himself to take a breath and count to ten. He was trying hard to be patient. After all, the kid had been near death just a few weeks ago. And, in truth, it was far too easy for the judge to remember those agonizing days when he had been almost certain McCormick wouldn't survive. And he also remembered the vows he had made-both to himself and to God-that he'd treat the young man better if only he had the chance.

But now that recovery was also bringing a return of the familiar, infuriating hard-headedness, Hardcastle was finding it difficult to keep his promises, so he kept counting. He had almost reached fifty before McCormick spoke.

"You sure I shouldn't get a lawyer?" the ex-con joked.

"Hah!" Hardcastle grumped. "I'm the only lawyer you need."

"I think most courts would consider that a conflict of interest, Hardcase. Too much history for you to represent me fairly; the judge would throw your butt right out of the courtroom."

"Oh, that's what you think is it?" Hardcastle asked the young man. Then he added dangerously, "I have a different idea of how things are gonna turn out."

McCormick knew instantly the comment wasn't completely in jest, and figured he should probably be worried. But the entire exchange was just so damned typical he couldn't be bothered.

As McCormick's health had slowly improved, Hardcastle's temperament had slowly deteriorated, and it seemed harder and harder for the jurist to control his irritability. So, as the days wore on , McCormick had become increasingly certain that Hardcastle had some unpleasant surprises in store for him eventually, even though the judge was trying to treat him with kid gloves here in the hospital. But, honestly, the kid gloves were getting a little old. It felt good to actually be threatened again.

"What are you grinning at?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Nothing," McCormick answered, but the grin spread across his face.

"Don't antagonize him, Mark," Harper complained.

"And don't try to distract me," Hardcastle ordered. "I asked you a question."

On second thought, the kid gloves might be better, McCormick thought, but he answered the judge. "I know you did, Judge, and, yes, I'm ready to tell you what happened." McCormick spoke confidently, hoping he was doing the right thing. The truth was he didn't want to talk about that day at all; he sure as hell didn't want to talk about that day with Hardcastle. But he had run out of stall tactics, and Hardcastle's patience was obviously dwindling. He glanced at Harper. "It's your show, Frank. What do you want to know?"

The detective pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. "Well, everything, really. But let's start with what happened when you first went to see Garza that morning, and then we'll just work our way through the day."

"But tell us if you need to take a break," Hardcastle added, back to the kid gloves.

"You know I will," McCormick answered with a smile. He took a breath.

"Okay. Garza wanted us all there by seven to have one last run through of his big caper. He'd given us all like a critique of our work the day before, and he wanted to make sure we were making the changes he suggested. I got there about five minutes before seven and I was the first one there. I knew then there was gonna be trouble."

"What do you mean? Why trouble?" Hardcastle asked.

"The rest of the team Garza had put together was a bunch of young kids, Judge; lots of talent, but not a lot of experience. They were all starry-eyed just to be working with Garza, fawning all over him." McCormick shook his head. "Hell, they were even impressed with me; thought doing time was like some kind of badge of honor." He rolled his eyes. "I hope I was never that stupid."

"Not likely," Hardcastle muttered, with just a hint of pride.

McCormick grinned his thanks, and continued his story. "Anyway, they were always early for everything, trying to make a good impression. When I realized none of them were at the house yet, I knew something was going on."

"So why stay?" Harper asked, hoping he wouldn't start another string of self-recriminations from Hardcastle.

"No choice by then," McCormick explained. "I already had to pass through Garza's security, so he knew I was there. Leaving would've only made things worse."

Hardcastle rubbed a hand across suddenly tired eyes. How many different times could this disaster have been prevented?

Noticing the expression, McCormick turned his attention to the jurist. "Still not your fault, Judge," he said gently. "You promised, remember?"

"I promised I'd try," Hardcastle clarified. He met McCormick's eyes and offered a small smile. "I'm working on it. Go ahead."

"So I rang the bell, and Morrissey answered the door. He took me into Garza's study...

"Hey, Tony," McCormick greeted cheerfully. "Where is everyone?"

Garza looked up from his desk. "There's been a slight change in plans. Sit down and we'll talk about it."

The tone wasn't exactly inviting, but Morrissey was standing immediately behind McCormick, ready to herd him in the right direction, so sitting was really the only option. McCormick sat.

"How's Hardcastle?" Garza continued conversationally.

McCormick didn't like the question, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Big a jack-ass as ever. Why?"

"Just wondered what he thought about your extra-curricular activities yesterday."

"Well, it's a pretty good bet he wouldn't be too happy about it. But, it's also a pretty good bet he's still in the dark, or I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here now."

Garza stared across the desk. "I'm not sure I really believe that, McCormick."

McCormick forced himself to look surprised, and offended, but definitely not scared. "What the hell are you talking about, Tony?" he demanded. "I told you how it is with us. I've got a pretty good gig going, you know." He allowed a slightly menacing tone to enter his voice. "I hope you're not planning on doing anything to mess it up." He felt Morrissey's fist cuff the side of his head and knew he was pushing his luck.

"Don't threaten me, Mark." Garza's low, even words were almost sinister in their simplicity.

McCormick shook his head, wanting to get back on track. "Of course not, Tony," he said in a conciliatory tone. "That's not what I meant at all. Sorry, man."

When Garza didn't respond, McCormick continued. "So what about this change in plan, anyway? Do you have more work for me?"

Garza was silent for another long moment, then jerked a thumb in Morrissey's direction. "Give him the list."

McCormick took the offered sheet of paper, then sat silently, absorbing the information. Finally he looked up at Garza. "Three banks?" he demanded, as calmly as possible, mindful of the muscle standing at his side. "In less than twelve hours? Did you actually mean for me to make it back with the cash?" He was surprised to see Garza shrug carelessly.

"The money will just be an added bonus," the thief replied. "What I'm really looking forward to is watching that old hard-ass judge have his world ripped apart."

"What?"

"I did some more checking, Mark, and I don't think Hardcastle is the one you've been conning; I think it's been me. It looks like your relationship with him is real."

"Of course it looks real," McCormick answered reasonably. "If it didn't, he'd never fall for it."

Garza shook his head. "Seems like more than that. You guys hang out, go on trips together, play poker. Most people think you're real important to Hardcastle."

McCormick snorted. "Well most people would be wrong. I'm a convenience to him; handy to have around, but easily replaced."

"And what's he to you?"

"A meal ticket," McCormick answered coldly.

But Garza wasn't buying it. "I don't really think so, Mark. But even if that's all it is to you, it's definitely more than that to him. I'd like to take something away from him for a change."

"Even if you were right about that, Tony, I mean, even if he would care, you're talking about him finding out about these jobs."

Garza raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Yeah. So what's the problem?"

"Me spending the next twenty years in a cell comes to mind," McCormick snapped. "I'm not sacrificing myself just so you can get some kind of warped revenge against a judge."

"Mark, Mark, Mark. I'm not talking about sacrificing you." Garza's attempt at reassurance missed the target badly. "You get that money back to me, and I'll make sure you've got enough to live on for the rest of your life. You can disappear."

McCormick shook his head. "This isn't what I signed on for, Tony. I'm not looking to be on the run for the rest of my life, either. In less than two years I'm a free man. Just let me do my time in peace. I'll do these jobs for you if you want, but let's leave Hardcastle out of it."

"I think you're missing the point, Mark," Garza said, his silky voice turning to stone. "I'm not asking."

"You can't exactly force me to rob a bank," McCormick replied logically. "What're you gonna do? Hold me at gunpoint while I crack a safe?"

"Of course not. If you don't agree, I'm just gonna kill you. We'll dump your body out on that nice private beach in Malibu, and Hardcastle will still lose his pet convict."

"Dead's probably better than the rest of my life in prison," McCormick said slowly, "and Hardcastle isn't gonna care one way or the other."

Garza took a moment to observe the man across the desk, watching him closely, and he almost believed him. He put forth one final test. "And, I figure after he's had a month or two to grieve, I'll kill him, too. I'll even tell him about your scam right before he dies, just so I can see his eyes when he finds out you betrayed him."

McCormick forced himself not to move, tried to keep his face from betraying his sudden terror. But he found he had no idea what words needed to come from his mouth now. If he pretended not to care, he knew Garza would carry out his threat, and both he and Hardcastle would end up dead. But if he argued to save Hardcastle, then Garza would know without a doubt that he'd been conned, and they'd probably end up dead, anyway. Finally, his silence said enough.

"That's what I thought," Garza said snidely. "You care what happens to him."

"I care what happens to me," McCormick countered, "and things are going okay for me right now. All these plans of yours are just gonna screw everything up.

"Besides," he continued, "I get the funny feeling that it isn't going to matter what I say; I'm pretty sure I end up dead either way."

"That hadn't been my intention in the beginning," Garza told him. "But now you're starting to piss me off."

"Well that sure as hell wasn't my intention," McCormick assured him. He tried again to redirect the conversation. "So let me make sure I have this straight. I do these jobs today, and you pay me enough to disappear forever? Is that the deal?"

"That's the deal."

"And I don't have to do anything else?"

"Nope."

"But you report me to the cops and to Hardcastle?"

"Yep."

McCormick hesitated. It was clear Garza didn't intend to give him the assurance he sought without a direct question, and the question would end the charade. But, he seriously doubted he was fooling anybody, anyway. Hardcastle was right; he should've used a different cover story. He swallowed hard and spoke.

"And Hardcastle stays alive?"

Garza laughed maliciously at the admission. "Yeah, McCormick, Hardcastle stays alive. But you know you might've just made it a hell of a lot less likely that you do."

McCormick slumped slightly in his chair, listening to Garza laugh. He thought he would remember that evil sound until the day he died. He tried not to dwell on the idea that day might be today.

McCormick reached for the cup of water on his bed table, trying to discreetly study Hardcastle's reaction. He wasn't surprised to see Harper doing the same.

But the judge was carefully avoiding their gazes, and the horrified guilt that he'd been trying for weeks to hide had erupted to the surface again. McCormick exchanged a worried glance with the detective. His eyebrows shot up into his curly hair, as if to say, I'm out of ideas.

Harper sighed slightly. "Maybe I should talk to Mark alone," he suggested.

Hardcastle jerked his head up to glare at the lieutenant. "I don't think so, Frank. I'm not gonna- - -" He broke off, just barely stopping himself from blurting, 'I'm not gonna leave him alone again.' The time for that kind of emotional talk had passed. Well, maybe it hadn't really, but that's not how he dealt with things.

Seeing the others watching him curiously, he finished the thought. "I'm not gonna break into a million pieces, ya know," he huffed.

Slightly reassured, McCormick felt a small grin pulling at his lips. But still, it was clear that continuing his story was a bad idea. "Okay," he said, "so then me and Morrissey ripped off those three banks. But I think Garza really had intended I get caught, because I'm pretty sure he had called the cops about the second location."

McCormick paused, remembering his terror at the idea of getting arrested while committing any crime, but especially this crime. The thought of facing Hardcastle from behind bars had been unthinkable, and he had driven like he had never driven before to escape the unexpected police cars. He shook his head to clear the memory, and continued speaking.

"But we managed to escape and finished the third one, too. We took the money back to Garza's office suite, and he was pretty surprised to see me. Morrissey disappeared, and Garza had his other goons work me over some. That's when you guys showed up, and here we are." McCormick chanced a quick look over at Harper, hoping he would go along. He received a sly wink in return.

"Thanks, Mark," the detective said as he slapped his notebook closed. "That should about do it."

"Yeah, no problem. And I know it's a long ways down the road, but make sure the D.A. knows I can testify when it's time."

"That'll be great. I'm sure they'll- -"

"What the hell is going on with you two?" Hardcastle finally demanded, interrupting their conversation.

Young blue eyes looked back at him innocently. "What? Were you feeling left out of the official police business?" McCormick figured it would be easier to have one of their typical arguments than the very real one he could feel brewing in Hardcastle.

"Don't try flashing those baby blues at me, McCormick. I'm not one of those young nurses, ya know. Now what the hell happened to the rest of your statement?"

"Whaddaya mean? That is my statement."

"McCormick," the judge seethed, "I am not fooling around here. Frank's gonna need more details than that. And I am more than a little tired of you pulling this mother-hen routine on me. I am not the one layin' in a hospital bed, lookin' like something the cat dragged in, so I don't think you've got all your plugs wired right if you're worried about me. Now spill it."

McCormick couldn't keep the grin from his face. "You always did have a way with words, Judge." He sobered just a bit, and met Hardcastle's eyes.

"Look, it's not just you I'm worried about here, okay? I mean, yeah, there's probably some stuff that happened with Garza that I don't want you hearin' about. But you know what? I don't really want to talk about it, either. Some of it I probably don't remember all that clearly anyway, and some of it I'll probably wish I didn't remember, but I sure don't want to keep dwelling on it and pouring out all the gruesome details." He paused a moment to let Hardcastle consider his words, then offered another small grin.

"And as for the rest of the day... Well, when it comes to discussing my-what did you call it? criminal aptitude?-I think I'd feel better leaving some things to the imagination. A true artist never reveals the tricks of the trade, you know, Judge."

For one terribly long moment, the two men simply stared at each other, neither quite sure what would happen next. McCormick was pretty certain Hardcastle would argue, but he was absolutely certain the older man would lose. He had tried to give his statement because the judge had insisted he was up to hearing it, but that obviously was not the case. It would be a thousand times better to put up with his anger than his sorrow.

But though he would never admit it, Hardcastle had long ago learned there were times when all the bullying in the world couldn't budge Mark McCormick, and he recognized quickly that this was one of those times. And, if he was completely honest with himself, Hardcastle would admit that the kid was probably even right this time. There really was no need for him to hear the damnable details, and it filled his heart to find McCormick so concerned with his welfare, even after all that had happened.

Finally, he smiled gently at the younger man. "All right, kiddo. But when you're out of here, if Frank needs more details..."

"I'll talk to him," McCormick answered quickly, immeasurably relieved that Hardcastle was going to let this go.

"But," the judge continued forcefully, "if you ever just need to get some of this stuff off your mind..."

McCormick smiled at his friend. "I'll talk to you," he promised.

And in the brief moment of honest affection, a few more wounds began to heal.

"Kiddo? You awake?"

If it had been anyone else, McCormick would've ignored the voice and continued his descent toward sleep. Not that it would be anyone else, of course, since no one else would ever care enough to sit at his bedside day and night. He smiled to himself, and spoke without poking his head out from under the blanket. "What's up, Judge?"

"I know you said you don't want to talk about this..."

McCormick didn't move, didn't speak. Hardcastle was rarely the one trying to force conversation about any topic, but he sure had picked a doozy to be stubborn about.

"But there's something I need to know," Hardcastle continued in a strangely subdued voice.

Still McCormick didn't respond, though he certainly knew there was no real point in trying to withstand Hardcastle once the jurist's mind was made up.

"That stuff you were talking about with Garza..."

Under the blanket, McCormick grimaced. But after just a second, he relaxed his features, uncovered his head, and gazed directly at Hardcastle. "I was working, Judge," he said softly.

"I know that," the judge responded, waving his hand in the air, dismissing McCormick's statement. "But, when he was threatening me..." Hardcastle paused again. Suddenly, his eyes blazed with an unexpected anger. "Dammit, McCormick, what in the hell were you thinking? Did you really think I'd rather you sacrifice yourself?"

McCormick stared. Had he been upright rather than lying in bed, he thought his jaw might've hit the ground. He'd stayed awake to be yelled at? Over this? "Hardcase, I thought you had something important on your mind," he complained. "I was trying to sleep, ya know."

"I'm serious, McCormick. How do you think I would've felt if you'd died?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Ummm....bad?" McCormick ventured.

As suddenly as his temper had flared it was gone again, and Hardcastle laughed. "Yeah, kiddo, I guess that about sums it up; I would've felt bad. In the future, will you please try to remember that we're supposed to tackle things together? It's not your job to have to take care of me. I don't want you feeling like you need to protect me all the time, okay? If I'm gonna send you out on these cases, I have to know you're gonna be safe. Don't try to be a hero."

McCormick grinned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be a hero, Hardcase, but I'll try to keep it in mind. Although, if I do have some kind of hero complex, it's your fault anyway."

"How do you figure?" Hardcastle snapped.

Gathering his blanket back up around his chin, McCormick turned away and closed his eyes. "I've got a lot to live up to," he mumbled, then allowed himself to fall into a comfortable sleep.

�You�re never gonna make it home if you don�t start eating better, McCormick.�

�Probably never make it home if I crawl out of this bed and deck you, either,� McCormick thought angrily. He kept his teeth gritted together to ensure the damning words didn�t actually escape his lips.

�Did you hear what I said, McCormick?� Hardcastle demanded.

McCormick glared over at the scowling jurist, but still didn�t answer. It was going to take another moment before he could trust himself to speak.

�Well?�

�I�m not hungry, Judge,� the young man finally replied, somehow managing to keep his tone level.

�I don�t remember asking if you were hungry,� Hardcastle snapped. �But I do remember the doctor telling me that you weren�t eating enough to get your strength back up. You know, I�d like to get out of here sometime soon, but I�m beginning to think you�ve decided this hospital bed is an easy way to get out of your chores.�

�Easy?� McCormick sputtered, his face turning beet red. �Easy? Judge, there has been nothing easy about my life since the day I met you, and I�m not looking for that to change anytime soon. And, just for the record, I�d clean a lot of gutters and clip every hedge on the estate not to be here anymore. So as soon as you can get these quacks to let me out of here, you�ll get your slave labor back. Sorry I put such a crimp into your daily routine. Next time I get tortured by one of your bad guys, I�ll try to just go ahead and die.�

McCormick regretted the words the second they left his mouth. True, Hardcastle was making him crazy with the constant hovering. And the judge�s mood seemed to be growing surlier by the day. But, there was no way he wanted to start Hardcastle down the familiar path of guilt and shame. He grabbed the fork laying beside his plate.

�I�m sorry, Judge; I know you�re worried. I�ll eat, okay?� He shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth. �Okay?� he repeated thickly.

Hardcastle nodded silently. He watched as McCormick diligently worked his way through the tepid food that clearly was not enjoyable. After several agonizing minutes, he spoke. �I�m not really worried about the chores, McCormick.�

�I know,� McCormick replied, then forced himself to take another bite of the bland baked chicken.

Another long moment passed before the judge spoke again. �I can�t really do anything about the food, kiddo, but would you at least like me to get you a soda? That�s sort of like junk food.�

McCormick grinned. �That would be great. Maybe one of those giant ones like they have at the convenience stores?�

The judge returned the grin as he started out the door. �How about one of those cans like they have in the machine down the hall?�

��Kay.� McCormick just shook his head as he continued his tasteless meal, and wondered just what the hell was wrong with the judge.

"Judge, I'm telling you, I'm fine! Go home, already, and take care of yourself." McCormick's peevish tone didn't really do justice to his genuine concern.

"Don't worry about me, McCormick," Hardcastle ordered, "and don't tell me what to do."
"You're wearing yourself out!"

"No, kid, that's what you're doing to me."

"Very funny," McCormick snapped, his irritation as real as his concern.

"Hey, you guys wanna hold it down in here? They can hear you halfway down the hallway." Frank Harper was grinning as he entered the room, but there was a trace of seriousness in his eyes. These last five weeks were taking their toll.

Two sets of angry blue eyes turned to look at the detective. McCormick raised one hand limply in a half-hearted wave, but that was the only greeting he received.

"Well, it's good to see you, too."

"Sorry, Frank," McCormick said, and almost managed to sound sincere. "But you wanna tell this donkey over here that I don't need a 'round the clock nursemaid anymore?"

"Hah!" Hardcastle interrupted before Harper could be pulled into the conversation. "If that was true, they woulda let you out of here already, but since they haven't, you obviously still need some watchin' over. So quit arguing with me about this because I'm the one who's right, de jure and de facto."

McCormick laughed suddenly, managing to reduce the rising tensions. "I just love it when he gets all legal," he said, rolling his eyes at Harper.

Hardcastle grinned, his own frustration diminished by McCormick's new good humor. "All right, kiddo, how about if I go get a cup of coffee and give us both a break? Frank, you'll be here for a few minutes?"

"Of course," Harper replied, relieved his friends could put aside their anger so easily.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while."

McCormick held his tongue until the door was completely closed behind the judge, then he sighed loudly. "He's drivin' me crazy, Frank!"

Harper smiled as he pulled up a chair. "You need to cut him a little slack, Mark. This has been hard on him."

"Hard on him? I'm the one who almost died, and I'm the one who has to stay cooped up in this room like some kind of a prisoner. And I'm the one who has to look at his ugly mug and listen to his goofy stories day and night."

After a long moment of silence, McCormick realized he wasn't going to get any sympathy. "Oh, all right," he conceded, "I know it's been hard on him, too. He's been worried, and I appreciate the concern; I really do. But, Frank, he needs to get out of here. I'm gonna be fine; they let me out of bed a lot more these days; I can walk up and down the hallway all by myself; and they said I can probably even go home soon. But Hardcase hangs around here like I'm at death's door. He's exhausted. He doesn't sleep well, and he's trying to live off that crap they call food down in the cafeteria. I'm worried about him. And besides..."

It took a moment for Harper to realize McCormick didn't intend to finish his thought. "Besides what, McCormick?"

The young man shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just worried about him is all. I wish you'd talk to him and get him to go home."

The detective wasn't buying the brush-off. "And besides what?" he insisted.

McCormick sighed as a troubled look filled his face. "I'm not sure. I know he's tired, but, honestly, it's like I'm always on his last nerve. I mean, he won't leave, but he acts like he can't stand the sight of me sometimes. We fight all the time. Nothing I say is right. He gripes if I don't eat when he wants me to, or if I tell the nurses I don't want any pain medicine. Hell, he even complains if I don't sleep enough. Can you believe that?"

Harper smiled at the pitch of McCormick's last question. The higher octave was a sure sign the young man was reaching the end of his rope. "I think you're making too big a deal of this, Mark," he said reassuringly. "Milt's just been really worried about you, which is sort of unusual for him. At least, it's unusual for him to show it. And, you're right; he's worn out and should probably go home. But he hasn't quit blaming himself for what happened. When you get back home, things will be better."

"If I get back home," McCormick muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harper demanded.

McCormick shrugged-and reflected quickly how much easier that simple movement was becoming, though it still brought a stab of pain. "I told you, he's mad at me. I think it's because of...because of the things I did. But it's like he won't really get mad at me about that because I'm here, so he spends all his time yelling about other stuff. It's the craziest thing. And...it makes me wonder what he'll do when I'm better."

"What do you think he's gonna to? Lock you up?"

"Maybe."

The single word was spoken so quietly Harper almost missed it. And when it finally did register in his senses, he marveled that McCormick could honestly be worried. But now that he knew to look for it, the detective could clearly see the quiet fear in the young man's eyes. He shook his head slowly.

"Mark. You must've been taking more of that pain medicine than I thought. Trust me when I say that you do not need to be worried about this. There is no way Milt is sending you back."

"You don't know how angry he is," McCormick contradicted. "And...you don't know everything he's angry about."

Harper allowed himself a slight smile. "Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea of what he's mad about, and-trust me-I know what it's like to feel his wrath. And, I'm not saying there's not gonna be consequences. But, honestly, I think the worst thing you have to look forward to is some extra pruning or maybe scrubbing the sea wall. He isn't looking to make this official."

"Then why's he being so damned cantankerous?" McCormick demanded, throwing his arms up in exasperation, then immediately regretting the movement. "Aww, shit!" he cried, grabbing his right shoulder. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," McCormick replied in a strained voice that betrayed the lie.

Harper reached for the call button. "Let's let someone take a look," he suggested, and grew more concerned when McCormick didn't object.

It only took a couple of minutes for the nurse to come bustling through the door, but it was long enough for McCormick's face to lose all color.

"Hey, Mark," the nurse said cheerfully as she approached the bed. "You've looked better."

It had been many days since the pain was stronger than McCormick's other feelings. He smiled bravely. "You, on the other hand, Lizzie, have never looked more beautiful."

Nurse Elizabeth Perlman laughed as she gently pulled McCormick's gown away from his shoulder. "I keep telling you, Mark, I don't date the patients." She pulled the bandages back a bit, and could see that blood was beginning to seep through the underlying gauze. She turned a mock scolding look on the young man. "And if you keep pulling your stitches loose, you're going to be a patient a very long time."

"Then I'll stop," he assured her.

"It's not really too bad," Perlman continued, including Harper in her glance. "I'll just go get a suture kit and we'll get it fixed right up." She turned her full attention back to McCormick. "I think you might need a pill now, too, okay? Just a light dose. It will help."

McCormick nodded his agreement. He hated medicine, but there was no sense being obsessive about the idea.

She smiled in relief. This one had been stubborn before. "Don't go anywhere," she said lightly as she turned to leave.

"For you, Lizzie, I would wait forever."

McCormick grinned as he saw Harper roll his eyes. "What?" he demanded once the nurse was out the door.

"I'm just a little bit in awe," the detective admitted. "You're laying in a hospital bed, hurting like hell, worn down, and worrying-however unnecessarily-about spending a long chunk of time behind bars, but you've still got the energy to flirt with the nurses?"

McCormick laughed. "Hey, life goes on," he said philosophically.

Harper shook his head. "Incredible.

"But listen," he continued, growing serious, "before she gets back. I want you to quit worrying. The only thing you need to focus on right now is getting well and getting out of here. I'll talk to Milt, if you want, but- - "

"No!" McCormick interrupted forcefully. "Frank, please. Don't tell him what I said. On the outside chance that you're right and he's not already planning my return to prison life, I don't want to give him any ideas. Okay? But I do wish you'd talk him into going home for a while. He really does need a break."

"Mark, half the problems you guys have happen because you won't just talk to each other. He should know how you feel."

McCormick shook his head and stared resolutely into Harper's eyes. "Please, Frank."

And in that instant, Harper knew that he would give in, even though he disagreed; knew suddenly that it would never be possible to withstand those blue eyes once McCormick made up his mind to be honest and sincere. He wondered briefly how Hardcastle ever managed to win any of their arguments.

"Oh, all right," he agreed reluctantly. "But I still think you'd be better off to tell him what's going on in that goofy brain of yours and ask him what's going on in his."

"Maybe someday," McCormick replied, resisting the impulse to shrug, "but not right now. But really, you make him take care of himself. He absolutely isn't listening to me."

"I'll do my best," Harper promised as the nurse re-entered the room. He sat silently as she tended to her patient, worried about the young man on several different levels.

"First, take this," Perlman instructed, handing McCormick a small pill cup and a glass of water. "It isn't a big dose, but it's still going to make you sleepy."

McCormick didn't argue as he gulped down the painkiller, so she knew he was hurting. She looked at him closely, gauging the level of pain, and was pleased to see him smile.

"I'm okay, Lizzie," he said softly. "Do what you need to do."

She returned the smile-reminding herself that she didn't date patients-and set to work. "First, just a small shot for local anesthetic. I know your shoulder is really tender, so it's going to hurt a bit." She carefully removed all the gauze and tape, cleaned the area, and then skillfully gave him the injection, ever mindful of his comfort.

"Didn't feel a thing," he told her with a small grin.

She made mindless chatter with him for a few moments, giving the medication time to take effect, then picked up her tools. "Okay, let's get you sewn back together."

She continued the light-hearted conversation as she began closing the gash of skin that McCormick's movement had re-opened. She had almost completed her task when she saw a grimace cross McCormick's face. "Mark? Did I- -"

"What the hell happened, Frank?"

Perlman winked at McCormick, offering silent support, then directed her comments to the newly returned Hardcastle. "It's nothing major, Judge Hardcastle. Mark pulled a few of his stitches loose, so we're putting him back together."

"You were supposed to watch out for him, Frank," Hardcastle accused.

"And you were supposed to chill out a little bit while you gone," McCormick interjected. "Anyway, I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Apparently you do," Hardcastle huffed.

"All done," Perlman interrupted suddenly, overly cheerful. She had witnessed enough of their bickering to know they usually just needed to be reminded of an audience in order to stop, and this was no exception.

"Is he okay?" Hardcastle asked the nurse, choosing to ignore his friends for the moment.

"He's fine, Judge. It really was fairly minor, just kind of painful. He'll probably be resting for a while." She rearranged McCormick's gown as she spoke. "Did you need anything else, Mark?"

He smiled at the young woman. "I'm good, Lizzie, thanks." He watched her leave before turning his attention to Hardcastle. "Judge..."

Wisely silent up until this point, Harper finally spoke up. "Hold it. Neither one of you talk; just listen.

"Milt, Mark is right; he doesn't need a baby-sitter. And it's not like he was out of bed playing basketball or something; he just moved wrong and the stitches came out. He took a pain killer, and he's going to rest for a while.

"And, Mark, while you might not need someone to be with you 'round the clock, you've had people worried lately, and it makes us feel better to know you've got someone with you. But, it does kind of wear Milt down, so you should try to cut him some slack if he's a little testier than usual.

"But since things seem to have reached a boiling point right now, here's what's gonna happen: Milt, you're gonna go home for a while." Harper glared at his friend and held up a single warning finger, forbidding interruption. "You're gonna have a decent meal, take a nice long shower, then crawl into bed and sleep for at least the next six hours. And I'm serious about that. Set your alarm or something, but don't get up out of that bed before six hours. Mark will be asleep a good portion of that time, anyway.

"And, Mark, you are gonna sleep. If that pill isn't strong enough to block the pain and let you rest, you're gonna get something stronger." He turned the stare and the finger toward McCormick. "You are going to sleep, because you're hurting, and because you're a little bit testy yourself. When you wake up, you also will have a decent meal, and if the pain is still bothering you, you'll let the nurses give you another dose of medicine.

"And during all of this, I will be right here, reading a magazine and maybe eating a cheeseburger, enjoying the peace and quiet." The detective stopped talking abruptly, and watched the other two men expectantly.

There was a moment of silence while both Hardcastle and McCormick seemed to consider their options, then they spoke, almost in unison.

"Okay."

Harper grinned, pleased with himself, and dropped back into his chair.

Hardcastle remained at the bedside, suddenly uncomfortable. He started to reach out and rearrange McCormick's blanket, then stopped himself and let his hands drop back to his sides.

Noticing the movement, McCormick smiled gently. He was already beginning to feel the effect of the medication, but there was still time for this. "I'm sorry I've been on your case, Judge."

Hardcastle waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to make all this harder on you, kiddo; I wanted to make it easier."

"And you have," McCormick answered softly. "Really. But you don't have a monopoly on worrying, you know. I want you to take care of yourself."

"You'll be okay?" Hardcastle asked, for once allowing his concern to genuinely show.

"I'll be fine. And Frank will be here, so you don't need to worry. Okay?"

"Okay," Hardcastle agreed with a slight nod. "Then I'll be back this evening."

"Good," the younger man answered with a smile.

Hardcastle grinned, reflecting quickly that McCormick really was a good kid, even when he was being annoying. Frank was right; a short break would be good for both of them. He glanced at the detective. "Thanks, Frank. I'll see you later."

Harper breathed a sigh of relief as the jurist exited. "Well, that didn't go so badly."

McCormick grinned. "You did great, Frank. Thanks."

"I was a little bit worried you guys might kill each other," Harper complained.

"I told you he was on edge." McCormick paused. "Well...okay, we're both on edge," he admitted. He felt his eyes drooping. "I think I'm gonna go ahead and sleep now, Frank," he said slowly. "But you don't really need to stay. I'm fine. Really."

Harper smiled. "If you think I'm gonna risk getting him pissed at me over this, you're crazy. If he came back and found me gone, your friend, Lizzie, would have to get me my own bed."

McCormick chuckled slightly as he pulled his blanket up around his chin. "Okay, I give. No more arguing today."

Still smiling, McCormick allowed himself to drift off to sleep. And in his dreams, he clipped hedges, and played basketball, and knew he would always be safe.

McCormick opened his eyes slowly and groaned slightly. He saw Harper looking at him with concern.

"Mark? Are you okay?"

McCormick pulled his hands across his face, doing his best to focus. "Yeah, I think so. Damn. I hate takin' that stuff."

Harper smiled at him. "Even in your sleep your shoulder seemed to be bothering you, so I think you did the right thing."

"So what time is it, anyway? Has Hardcase made it back yet?"

"Nah. If he actually does what I told him, he won't be back for another couple of hours."

"Good."

The detective looked at the young man crossly. "What do you mean, good? This little break was supposed to put you in a better frame of mind. You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that crap?"

McCormick grinned. "Don't worry; your plan worked. I just need you to get a few things together for me before the judge gets back."

Harper watched the other man suspiciously. Only McCormick could wake up from a drug induced nap with a scheme. "Go on..."

Frank Harper jumped to his feet as soon as he heard the door push open.

"Knock, knock," Hardcastle called heartily as he entered the room. "Hey!" he cried, as Harper pushed by him. "Where you rushing off to?"

"Back in a minute," the officer replied without pausing.

"What's with him?" Hardcastle grouched as he approached the bed.

McCormick mimicked Harper's non-answer. "He'll be back in a minute."

Hardcastle just shook his head, wondering briefly what had ever possessed him to allow a friendship between the ex-con and the detective. Honestly, that was just asking for trouble, he thought to himself with a small grin, though he knew he wouldn't really have it any other way.

"Yeah, okay." He dismissed the idea from his head. "I brought you something," he said, raising his hands to reveal a white sack and paper cup.

"Burger Man?" McCormick asked gleefully, a sudden grin lighting his face.

"Yep," the judge replied, "including one of those chocolate shakes you like so much." He placed the food on the table, set about raising McCormick's bed slightly higher, and then slid the table into place. "All set?"

"All set," McCormick agreed, as he greedily opened the bag.

"I know Harper said you were supposed to have a decent meal," Hardcastle continued, "but I figured you might be going into some kind of junk food withdrawal."

"You got that right." McCormick gladly stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth. "Thanks, Judge," he said thickly.

"You're welcome, kiddo," Hardcastle grinned. The smallest things always seemed to bring the biggest joy to McCormick.

"That other sack for me, too?" McCormick asked between bites, glancing at the previously ignored brown paper bag.

"Yeah, but not for right now. It's some of those car magazines you like." Hardcastle placed the bag onto the nightstand, then took up his familiar spot in the bedside chair. "I figure if you're gonna keep runnin' me off, you'll need something to do while you're here alone."

A flicker of guilt crossed McCormick's face as he placed his cheeseburger back down on the paper wrapper and looked at Hardcastle. "I'm not runnin' you off, Judge," he said softly.

"Sure you are, kid, but that's okay. I should've let you do it a long time ago. You're right; we're wearing each other down. I need to quit being so overprotective and just let the hospital do their job."

"But you'll stay for a while tonight, right?" McCormick asked hopefully.

Hardcastle smiled in surprise; there was just no understanding this kid. "As long as you want, kiddo."

"Good," McCormick grinned, and returned his attention to his meal.

Hardcastle grabbed a news magazine off the stack Harper had brought in and settled back in his chair. Only then did he notice the television on a rolling cart sitting just beneath the one mounted on the wall. "Your TV go out or something?"

"Something," McCormick mumbled around the burger.

Hardcastle looked more closely. "And they brought you a VCR, too?"

McCormick gave a half-hearted shrug, mindful of his shoulder. "That's the way it came."

McCormick's response seemed a little odd to the judge, but before he could really consider it, Frank Harper came back through the door. But Hardcastle smelled him before he saw him. "Popcorn?" he asked in surprise, looking at the bowl the detective carried.

McCormick grinned. "See? I got you a snack, too."

Harper placed the bowl on the table next to Hardcastle, then pulled open a drawer to reveal a small Styrofoam cooler. "And there's soda and a few beers, too," he explained. He glanced at McCormick. "But only soda for you, young man."

Hardcastle laughed. "Thanks, guys."

"Don't thank me," Harper said as he started back for the door. "I'm just the leg man; it was Mark's idea."

"Where're you going?" Hardcastle asked.

"Home to my wife," Harper answered with a grin. "You guys have a good evening."

McCormick waved. "Thanks for everything, Frank. See you later."

Hardcastle looked back at his young friend with a smile. "Thanks, kid."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," McCormick answered smugly. He reached under his blanket and produced a remote control. Pointing it at the newly arrived rolling cart, he powered on both the television and the tape player, and after just a moment, Hardcastle could see the sprawling opening sequence of True Grit.

The judge laughed aloud as he grabbed a beer and put the magazine aside. "You're too much, kiddo," he said as he made himself comfortable. He looked around the room a moment, and then added, "Well, it doesn't quite have all the comforts of home..."

"No," McCormick agreed, "not quite." He glanced over at the older man, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "But it does have the best parts."

Mark McCormick was leafing through a magazine again, though-as usual-he wasn�t the least bit interested in what he was seeing. Not that he didn�t appreciate the racing magazines Hardcastle had brought in...he did. But the judge�s behavior had grown increasingly unusual over the past couple of weeks, and McCormick was finding it difficult to concentrate on much else.

Since the night of True Grit, Hardcastle had been true to his word and had made a concentrated effort to spend less time sitting at McCormick�s bedside. But, his actions were more in keeping with the letter of the agreement than the spirit, and he never left the hospital until the young man was asleep for the night. And, although he didn�t rush right back to the room as soon as he was up for the day, Hardcastle was always seated in his familiar chair before McCormick finished his breakfast, ready to be of service.

Still, McCormick could�ve handled all of that. At least the judge was getting a decent night�s sleep, so he was much less irritable. And, Mark could�ve even tolerated all the hovering and pampering, because he knew Hardcastle meant well.

But what he was not dealing with particularly well was the way Hardcastle was withdrawing into himself, pulling away, like their friendship didn�t matter anymore. It was really kind of strange how the old guy could simultaneously seem so concerned with the ex-con�s security and comfort and still seem so remote and unapproachable.

McCormick was accustomed to Hardcastle�s normal lack of sentimentality and emotionalism-that was part of what made it fun to tease the judge so mercilessly. But he was not used to this feeling of isolation. Honestly, he hadn�t felt so alone since before he had gone to live at Gulls Way. And, he knew Hardcastle well enough to know that this wasn�t an accident. He knew he was being pushed away. And, although he didn�t know for sure, he thought he had a pretty good idea why.

Hardcastle didn�t trust him anymore.

It was a realization McCormick hadn�t wanted to accept; he really wanted to believe that Hardcastle meant all the kind and understanding words he had said weeks earlier. But he knew now that had been the judge�s guilt talking, and nothing more. Milton C. Hardcastle was a law and order type of guy, and-in his rational moments-it was hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that some people just weren�t. And when the guy who wasn�t just happened to be an ex-con paroled into his custody, well...Hardcastle had a pretty easy solution, didn�t he?

McCormick thought it was possible-barely-that the judge might have gotten over his problems with the bank heists. After all, that had all been in the line of duty, right? But, after hours and days of introspection, he had reached the conclusion that it was breaking into the court records office that had been his downfall...even if it had been for a good cause. Yeah, apparently that was the part Hardcastle was really having a difficult time coming to grips with, and he would undo it if he could, but now the damage was done.

�Hey, you okay over there, kiddo?�

The anxious tone cut into McCormick�s thoughts. He hadn�t noticed the magazine crumpling beneath his clinched fingers, but seeing Hardcastle watching him with renewed worry brought him back to reality, and he forced himself to relax.

�Never better, Judge,� McCormick answered, but he couldn�t quite manage the light-hearted tone he sought.

�I�m serious, McCormick,� Hardcastle said as he rose to stand next to the bed. �You�re supposed to go home tomorrow, and I need to know if there�s some reason you shouldn�t.� He locked his gaze onto McCormick�s eyes and repeated, �Are you okay?�

McCormick managed a genuine smile at the obvious concern. �Yeah, I�m okay, Hardcase. Don�t go getting all misty eyed on me; I�m just kinda tired. If I fall asleep during the ballgame tonight, just leave my winnings on the table.�

Hardcastle chuckled lightly as he resumed his seat, but he still watched McCormick closely. He didn�t like the kid keeping secrets from him.

Then again, it seemed there were more than enough secrets to go around.

"Glad to be getting out of here?" Hardcastle asked, as he helped McCormick pull on his shirt.

"What do you think?" McCormick replied, a grin splitting his face. "You know what they say: there's no place like home. At this point, I'm even starting to miss the gutters."

Hardcastle smiled in return, but McCormick couldn't help but notice that the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. The laughter faded from the young face as he turned his attention to buttoning his shirt. He held his breath, waiting-as he had for what seemed an eternity-for the words he dreaded. Regardless of Harper's constant assurances, McCormick knew when something was bothering Hardcastle, and this was definitely one of those times. As much as he wanted to believe things would return to normal now that he was finally leaving the hospital, every fiber of his being knew differently. Something had changed with the judge. Now it was simply a matter of waiting for the old guy to find the courage to say so.

But even in this, McCormick wanted to make things easier on the judge, and he found himself wishing the words would just come, already. He hated the pain and uncertainty that never left the older blue eyes, and he wanted it to end. Of course, he knew that particular pain probably ended with him behind bars, but at least the judge could finally relax.

He shook his head slowly. The judge could relax? That was insane! Since when was old Hardcastle's well being more important than his own, anyway?

The thought stopped McCormick cold. He didn't know since when, but he thought it was probably true, even as crazy as the idea was. He opened his mouth to let the judge off the hook. "If you want..."

But he couldn't force the words from his throat. Honestly, he would die for Hardcastle if necessary. And, he would even go back to prison without-much-argument, if that was the judge's decision. But, no matter how much he hated Hardcastle to hurt, he couldn't find it in himself actually ask to be sent away.

The judge eyed him uncertainly. "If I want what, McCormick?"

McCormick forced a slight grin. "If you want, I can drive us home."

Hardcastle's sudden laughter immediately chased away most of McCormick's gloomy thoughts. "McCormick, you're so stiff, I just hadda help get you dressed. If you think I'm trusting you behind the wheel, you're crazy."

McCormick managed an honest smile. "Okay. Just thought I'd ask."

Hardcastle smiled in return as he grabbed McCormick's duffel bag. "Just put your butt in that wheelchair, and we'll get out of here."

"Judge..."

"Hospital rules, kiddo," Hardcastle told him firmly.

"Well that's convenient," McCormick muttered.

The judge grinned shamelessly. "Yep, it is."

McCormick thought that a person could learn a great many things hanging out with the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle, but probably the most useful was the ability to give in gracefully. He dropped into the waiting wheelchair without further argument. "All right, Kemosabe; Tonto is ready to head out for the ol' homestead."

Hardcastle chuckled as they headed out the door, though he felt his own sense of unease at the thought of returning to Gulls Way. As he pushed the chair down the hallway, he said a silent prayer that he and his friend had recovered sufficiently to weather what was coming next.

Hardcastle glanced at the passenger side of the Corvette with a grin. McCormick was sitting straight up in the seat, his stiff right arm resting on the open window, eyes wide open with wonder, and a smile lighting his face. �God, it�s a beautiful day, Judge!� the young man exclaimed.

Hardcastle laughed. �You act like you�ve never seen outside before, kiddo.� It probably wouldn�t do to let on just how much the simple joy delighted him.

�I feel like I�ve never seen outside before, Judge.� McCormick breathed in deeply, then let out a long, slow exhale. �The ocean smells great, doesn�t it?�

�Yeah, kid, it does,� Hardcastle replied, his grin matching McCormick�s.

And that�s how they completed the drive to Malibu: McCormick enjoying life, and Hardcastle enjoying McCormick.

McCormick followed Hardcastle�s pointing finger and folded himself down onto the sofa while the judge carried the bag upstairs. Truth be told, the drive home had worn the young man down just a bit, but there was no way he was going to admit that to Hardcastle. It was already annoying that he still had so little strength; no way he needed to have Hardcastle fussing over him any more than he already was.

As if on cue, a voice carried over the balcony. �You sure you�re gonna be up to these stairs, kiddo?� Hardcastle moved away from turning down the bed and leaned over to peer down into the living area. �We could set up a bed down there. Or, you could come set up camp in the den for a while?�

McCormick grinned slightly. They had already had that discussion at least a dozen times, but the judge clearly would�ve preferred that McCormick not be alone in the gatehouse just yet. �I�ll be fine, Judge,� he assured the older man. �I�m ready to sleep in my own bed. It�s time to start getting things back to normal.� It was the same argument that had finally caused Hardcastle to give in originally, and it again brought an end to this particular conversation. But McCormick saw the brief flicker of uncertainty that played across the jurist�s expression, and his own eyes became serious. This had gone on long enough; he wouldn�t live with this apprehension in his own home.

He took a steadying breath as Hardcastle descended the stairs, then spoke. �You ever planning on tellin� me what�s bothering you, Judge?�

Hardcastle�s step faltered momentarily, then he continued for the front door. �Don�t know what you�re talking about, kid. Now you should take a nap before lunch.�

�Milt. Please.�

The quiet desperation in the voice behind him froze Hardcastle in place. He let his hand fall from the doorknob, and turned slowly, bracing himself for what had to be done.

�I�m thinking it�s time to make a change, kiddo. This isn�t really working.�

The color drained from McCormick�s face and his breath caught. He thought he had been prepared for this, though it occurred to him now that had been just another of his insane thoughts. How did you prepare for this?

�Judge...I don�t want...I can�t...� He took a shaky breath, rose from his seat on the sofa, and made the argument he had already worked out in his head. �Don�t put me back inside, Judge, please. I mean, I know I did some things on the case that you weren�t thrilled about, but I won�t do it again. Can�t you give me a chance to fix it?�

�What?� Hardcastle was still surprised anytime he was reminded how fragile McCormick believed his freedom to be. �No. That�s not what I meant. You haven�t done anything wrong, kiddo.�

�Then...why?�

�I�m not sending you back to prison, McCormick,� the judge clarified. �Jeez, what were you thinkin�?�

�I was thinkin� you were mad at me,� McCormick answered quietly. �For all the jobs.�

�I was mad at you,� Hardcastle concurred gruffly. �Hell, I am mad at you. Some of that stuff just really wasn�t too bright.�

�Well, then...� McCormick raised his eyebrows quizzically. �What was I supposed to think?�

�Dammit, McCormick,� Hardcastle barked, �I get mad at you all the time. So what? Don�t you know by now I would never- - -� He broke off suddenly and clenched his teeth together, glaring at the younger man.

McCormick felt himself relax, and a small smile formed on his face. �Watch out there, Hardcase; you�re about to give up all your leverage.�

�Ya think?� the judge challenged quietly.

Mark allowed his eyes to meet Hardcastle�s. �Nah, probably not,� he admitted gently.

That was as close as they were ever likely to get to admitting that the fundamental basis of their relationship had changed, and for a moment, neither man spoke.

Finally, McCormick�s confusion reared its head again. �Okay, so if you�re not putting me back inside, then what? I thought the deal- -�

�The deal,� Hardcastle interrupted, �was for you to be in my custody indefinitely. By definition, that means not for a specified amount of time but until I say it�s been long enough. I�m saying it�s been long enough. I�ll arrange for an officer down at the parole board to take over your case and you can report to them for the rest of your parole.�

�But...�

�But what, McCormick? I would�ve thought you�d be glad to be off the hook. Now you can live your life. Get a real job; get your own place; go back to racing if that�s what you want.�

McCormick stared at the judge, dumbfounded. Of all the scenarios his imagination had conjured up in the last few weeks, he had never seen this coming. And the real irony of this whole situation was that a year ago-maybe even six months ago-he would�ve jumped at the deal Hardcastle had just offered. Hell, if he�d been asked six minutes ago, he probably would�ve said he wanted to be free from his indentured servitude to good old Hardcase Hardcastle. But he suddenly realized that his answer would�ve come from habit more than from truth.

Because the truth was he didn�t want to leave.

McCormick considered the realization silently. How could he possibly want to stay in the judge�s custody rather than live a life of relative freedom? He had been doing just fine on his own for the first six months of his parole, and he could do just fine again. Why would he keep himself here, where he would certainly die an early death-from some sort of exhaustion working out in the yard, or in some insane car chase, or, of course, even from the all too frequent bullet like the one that had recently almost done him in-when he could get an actual job? And Hardcastle was right...he might could even get back into racing; it hadn�t really been all that long. But...

And, anyway, what about the judge? Who would be Tonto and watch out for him? If he tried working some of his cases alone, he could get hurt...or worse. McCormick remembered with dreadful clarity the painful hours spent in Garza�s office, and tried not to imagine Hardcastle lying bleeding on that floor. But he knew that�s what would happen if he weren�t around. As much as he hated always being the clay pigeon, he really didn�t want the judge using himself as bait. And now Hardcastle was going to send him away? Not if he could help it.

�I don�t want that, Judge.� The words were spoken so quietly Hardcastle had to strain to make them out.

When the judge didn�t answer, McCormick continued, his voice stronger. �I mean...you�re still the boss, Judge, so I�ll do whatever you say, but I thought we were doing a good thing here. I thought we were doing what you wanted. You had it all planned out, didn�t you? Was it supposed to end this way, Judge? Is this part of your retirement plan?�

�Look, kiddo,� Hardcastle began, �if you�re worried about money, you can stay in the gatehouse until- -�

�No, Hardcastle,� McCormick interrupted harshly, �I�m not worried about money.� He took a deep breath and allowed himself to say the things that were on his mind. �I�m worried about you.� He met the judge�s eyes and held the gaze.

�Can you promise me you�re not gonna try going after any of the creeps in your files by yourself? If so, I won�t argue with your decision; I�ll just go. Even if....� He made himself say the words. �Even if you�re gonna get someone else, I can live with that, I guess. Doesn�t mean I�ll like it, because-believe it or not-you�re actually starting to convince me that what we�re doing is important, and I wouldn�t mind helping you do it some more. But still...I would go, if that�s what you wanted.

�But you can�t do this alone. It�s dangerous. This last case should sure as hell have proven that. I won�t have you working by yourself, Judge; you�ll have to put me back in Quentin before I�ll let that happen.�

Dammit. Hardcastle had never been a man comfortable with discussing emotional issues, and McCormick�s relative ease at saying the things on his mind-and his heart-had always amazed him. But, if he was going to send him away, the kid probably did deserve an honest explanation. �I can take care of myself, kiddo,� he said hoarsely. �It�s you I seem to be having some difficulty looking after.�

McCormick stared, disbelieving. Another thing he hadn�t really seen coming, though all the signs had certainly been there. �Is that what this is about?� He was relieved to discover that he wasn�t to blame for Hardcastle�s sudden change of direction, but this was insane.

�God, Judge, it wasn�t your fault I got hurt, you know. I thought we had settled that.�

�Then whose fault is it?� Hardcastle demanded. �I�m the one who brought you here to chase after the bad guys, and I�m the one who sent you into Garza�s group. If that doesn�t make it my fault, I don�t know what does.�

�You�re crazy,� McCormick said flatly. �I�m the one who screwed up. Said too much and made him suspicious, then went back anyway when I sure as hell should�ve known better. So if either of us is to blame, it�s me. But, here�s a thought for you, Judge: how about we let Garza take the blame? He is the one who pulled the trigger, after all. I thought that was the whole idea behind your crazy justice crusade, anyway. The people responsible take the blame and pay the price.� McCormick knew he had scored with that comment, but he could tell Hardcastle wasn�t completely convinced. He continued his argument.

�And anyway, after all this, you�re gonna actually let Garza win? The only thing he cared about, Judge, was splitting us up. He wanted you to get rid of me. Now you�re gonna let him get away with it? You�re gonna let him have that satisfaction?�

McCormick thought he had almost gotten through to the other man, but he could still see the lingering guilt and the overwhelming fear in Hardcastle�s eyes. It surprised him, really. Even with all they�d been through together, he never would�ve expected this level of concern.

He gave an imperceptible shake of his head. �I�m okay, Judge,� he said softly. �Really.�

�Do you know how close you came to not being okay, kiddo?� Hardcastle had intended to bark out the question harshly and force the young man to recognize his own mortality. Instead, his voice was filled with desperation, almost pleading for understanding. He turned away quickly, not wanting McCormick to see any more of the raw emotion flashing in his eyes.

After a moment, McCormick crossed to the older man and placed a hand on his shoulder. �I know it was close, Judge, but you made sure I was okay.� He paused a brief moment, then added, �Just like always.� The words gave him an idea for a slightly different approach. He didn�t want Hardcastle taking the blame for what had happened with Garza, but it might be okay to give him responsibility for other things.

�If I go, Hardcase,� McCormick continued mildly, �who�s gonna watch over me then? Who�s gonna keep me in line and out of trouble? I don�t ever want to go back to prison, Judge, but...�

Hardcastle had the definite feeling he was being manipulated-though he thought the kid meant well-but he still didn�t like the unfinished thought McCormick had left hanging in the air. He pulled away from the comforting hand and turned to face his young friend.

�But what, McCormick?�

The ex-con shrugged lazily. �I don�t know, Judge. It�s just that sometimes I sorta do dumb things, ya know? I mean, even with Garza...I know I made some mistakes. In fact, I think if I hadn�t ended up in the hospital, you might have made sure I ended up in a cell somewhere just on general principle.�

�I don�t know about that,� the judge objected with a small smile, beginning to understand where the conversation was leading. �At least you were working for the good guys.�

�Yeah,� McCormick agreed, �this time.�

�You tellin� me you can�t behave yourself, kiddo?� It might be fun to know just how much of a line of crap the kid was willing to throw out there.

�Well...� Again the lazy shrug. But McCormick was willing to say just about anything to get things back to normal, especially when all that was needed was an honest admission. �I�m just sayin� sometimes it�s good to have some help.� He let the words sink in a moment, then went on. �But if we�re through here, Judge, I can certainly manage. I was doing okay before you brought me here, I�ll do okay again.�

�I don�t know, kiddo. Seems to me I found you in a courtroom about to head off to Quentin again,� Hardcastle reminded him.

McCormick glanced down at his tennis shoes. He should�ve known Hardcase wouldn�t make this easy. �Juuuudge...�

Hardcastle laughed briefly; it was time to let the kid off the hook. And time to make a final decision.

�Are you sure about this, McCormick?� He looked at the young man intently. �Because I really will let you out of the deal, kiddo. And...� the judge hesitated. He breathed deeply before continuing. �And if you were serious about anything you said earlier...I really will retire if that�s what it takes to...to keep you safe.�

McCormick felt his breath catch again, but not from fear this time. No, not fear. In fact, if he had to put a name on the feeling tightening in his chest right now...

Even in his mind, McCormick backed away from this particular admission. But the word buzzed in his head, refusing to be denied. He tried to tear his eyes away from Hardcastle�s gaze, but the same emotion was shining strongly in those pale blue eyes.

McCormick smiled, enjoying the love he felt in this rare moment of candor, and found his voice. �I�m sure, Judge. Somebody has to be the Lone Ranger, and somebody has to be Tonto to keep the ranger�s butt out of a sling.�

�And somebody has to make sure Tonto doesn�t go riding off down the wrong path every now and then,� Hardcastle added with a grin.

�Absolutely,� McCormick agreed easily.

Hardcastle laughed again as he started back toward the door. �Get your rest, kiddo,� he said in his patented gruffly affectionate tone.

Seeing McCormick start to object, he continued quickly. �Don�t argue, McCormick. I�m only lettin� you stay over here because you promised to follow the doctor�s orders. If you give me any lip, I will make you stay in the den. Or,� he added darkly, �I�ll have the doc put you back in the hospital.�

McCormick held up his hands in surrender. �I�ll be good, Hardcase.�

�Good. I�ll wake you when it�s lunch time.�

�Hey, Masked Man.� McCormick�s voice stopped him just before he could step out the door. Hardcastle turned back to face the curly head and twinkling blue eyes.

�I�m glad I�m staying.�

Hardcastle smiled, and matched the sincere tone. �Me, too, Tonto. Me, too.�

And as he walked toward the main house, Hardcastle finally knew that both he and McCormick were going to be okay after all.

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