An Innocent Man- Cheride

Rating: PG

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

A/N: This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done.

Chapter 1

Mark McCormick sat at the poolside table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth by the forkful without pausing between bites.

"You're doing it again," growled a voice from behind the morning paper.

The fork dropped immediately to the plate with a loud clatter, and McCormick could feel the burn creeping into his face. "Sorry," he mumbled around the eggs.

The paper lowered to reveal the cragged features of Milton Hardcastle, retired Superior Court judge. Though he faced McCormick with a scowl, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "We're not on a schedule here, kid," he replied, "and you don't have a work detail waiting for you. Slow down."

McCormick reached for a slice of toast and tore off a bite, looking at the older man thoughtfully. "No schedule maybe," he finally replied, "but have you looked around lately? Keeping this place in shape practically qualifies as hard labor."

Hardcastle lost the battle to keep the grin off his face. "Time you learned the value of an honest day's work, McCormick; it'll do you a world of good."

McCormick shook his head as he grabbed his fork again. "Whatever you say, Hardcase, whatever you say." He resumed his meal at a more leisurely pace, and Hardcastle disappeared behind the paper again. As he reached for his orange juice, McCormick took a moment to reflect on the man hiding behind the sports page.

It had been almost four weeks since he had come to live with the judge, and things still seemed just a little bit strange sometimes. Actually, if you really thought about it, the whole situation was strange, and not just a little bit. Whoever heard of a judge taking an ex-convict into his home to play Batman and Robin? He would have been less surprised if ol' Hardcase had had another kind of game in mind. Of course, if that had been the offer, McCormick would still be sitting in a prison cell somewhere, probably with a murder rap added to the grand theft auto. He shook his head slightly, amused now at the very idea of the sworn defender of justice making inappropriate propositions to a helpless felon.

But strange or not, he had to admit that he and Hardcastle had worked pretty well together in Vegas chasing after Martin Cody, and up in San Francisco, they had managed to drop the net around that businessman, Joe Donaldson, without a hitch. Well, not much of a hitch. There had been that one moment when Donaldson's security chief had gotten the jump on him. The chief had held him at gunpoint, using McCormick as a shield so that he and his boss could escape. McCormick had thought it might all be over for him; he was certain Hardcase would give him up before he would lose this arrest. But he had been wrong. The judge had been willing to let them walk out in exchange for McCormick's safety, and that willingness had touched Mark deeply.

But even if he had a surprising soft spot, Hardcastle was still the same man who had sent him to prison for two years, still the same man who had now blackmailed him into joining his crazy justice crusade, and…still the same man who actually seemed to be trying to make him comfortable with this new situation. McCormick was having a difficult time reconciling the Hardcastle he had spent two and a half years hating with the one now sitting across the patio table, but he knew he needed to straighten out the confusion. Soon.

McCormick finished his breakfast, pushed the plate away, then sat silently. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

Hardcastle folded the paper down and peered over the top. "Something on your mind, McCormick?"

"Um, actually, Judge, I was wondering if you had plans for me today." Seeing the raised eyebrow, the young man hurried on. "I mean, I know I have to clean the pool, and Sarah wanted me to weed the front gardens, but after that…."

The judge folded the paper completely and set it aside. "What's up, kid?"

"I thought…well, I thought maybe I could go out for a while this afternoon. I mean, I've been on a pretty short leash since I got out, and I just wanted to…I don't know…run some errands and stuff."

"What kind of errands?"

"Nothing much. Go to the bank…get some groceries…you know, just stuff."

Hardcastle examined him speculatively. "Short leash, huh?"

McCormick dropped his eyes. "That wasn't exactly a complaint, Judge," he said quietly.

"No?"

"No," McCormick assured him, cursing himself for broaching the subject. "Look, forget I brought it up. I didn't mean to overstep my bounds." He pushed away from the table and began gathering up the breakfast dishes. "I'll just take this stuff in to Sarah, then I'll start on the gardens. I'll get the pool later, so I don't disturb you."

Hardcastle watched the young man closely. Not for the first time, he thought that McCormick seemed more disgruntled teenager than convicted felon, and he wiped a hand across his mouth to hide the small smile. "McCormick," he called as the lean figure started away from the patio.

"Yeah, Judge?" McCormick answered, not bothering to turn back.

"Do your chores first. And be back by four."

The ex-con whirled around, the change in demeanor immediate and complete. "Really?" He crossed back to the table quickly—almost dropping the dishes in the process—the grin lighting up his face. "I appreciate this, Judge, I really do. You want me to do anything for you while I'm out?"

The judge returned the grin. "Yeah. Behave yourself, kiddo."

00000

Hardcastle smiled as he looked at the shimmering blue water of his pool; the kid had done a good job. He turned his attention back to the papers on the table in front of him, intending to close out the files on Martin Cody and Joe Donaldson. He had jotted only a few notes when the ringing phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Hardcastle," he growled into the receiver.

"Where was your pet convict last night, Hardcastle?"

"Who is this?" the judge demanded.

"Let's just say I'm a concerned citizen," the voice replied. "You might be interested in page seven of this morning's Times

The line clicked closed before Hardcastle could ask any further questions. He stared at the receiver in his hand, not at all pleased with the implication of the unexpected call. He replaced the phone and grabbed his morning paper, turning quickly to page seven. He scanned the print, looking for….well, he wasn't exactly sure what, but he assumed he would know it when he saw it. Halfway down the second column, he found what he was after. He read and re-read the short article, trying to determine if there was anything there that implicated McCormick in the pawn shop burglary. But except for the fact that it appeared to be a clean job, there were precious few details.

Hardcastle glanced at his watch; McCormick was due back in half an hour. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to wait much longer, but on the other hand, that didn't give him much time to figure out just what the hell he intended to say.

He let his eyes wander back to the newspaper, and let his thoughts wander back over the last month. He had been almost certain that McCormick was the man for his retirement project, but he had been disappointed to learn that the kid had been busted again before he'd even had the chance to talk to him about the idea. So, he had made some calls and arranged for McCormick to appear before him one last time, setting up the perfect opportunity to entice the young man into his 'employment'.

It had been a little rocky, but McCormick seemed to be adjusting. He had done well working the case against Cody, even though he was inexperienced and had been dealing with his own grief and anger. And then, in San Francisco, the kid had shown true potential, and true courage. As they had put together their case against Donaldson, McCormick had grasped some of the intricacies of the evidence easily; he had contributed useful ideas; and he had willingly walked into Donaldson's organization to put together the final pieces of the puzzle. When that scumbag security chief had put a gun to McCormick's head, Hardcastle had seen in the young blue eyes a weary acceptance that his life was in another's hands, and it had touched the judge deeply.

As he sat by the pool, it occurred to Hardcastle that the phone call had caught him completely off guard. He realized that he had already developed an amazing amount of trust in the young man, though he certainly had not intended that to be the case. He had deliberately kept McCormick on that short leash in an effort to establish discipline, and yet the first time the kid had simply asked, he had given in to the sad puppy dog eyes. It wasn't supposed to be that way, and the story on page seven was precisely why. With a sigh of resignation, Hardcastle set his files aside and waited for McCormick to return.

00000

The judge looked at his watch as he heard McCormick's car, the Coyote, pull into the drive, and smiled in spite of his concerns: the kid had a minute to spare. He heard the engine and the blaring music stop simultaneously, and then heard McCormick's voice calling out loudly.

"Judge? I'm back!"

Hardcastle shouted out before McCormick headed to the main house. "At the pool, McCormick!"

McCormick poked his curly head around the bushes. "Hiya, Hardcase. You been sitting out here lazing by the pool all day?" He plopped down at the table and pulled a small paper bag from the grocery sack he was carrying. "Well, you can keep right on relaxing, because I brought some burgers for lunch. Where's Sarah? I got one for her, too."

McCormick's grin was infectious, and Hardcastle found it mirrored on his own face as he answered. "Sarah got a head start on her weekend off; she went to visit some friends."

McCormick shrugged happily as he doled out the burgers and fries. "Oh, well. More for us." He eagerly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and devoured almost half of it in his first bite. Seeing the judge watching him, he felt his face flushing again, and placed the burger gingerly on the tabletop. "I'm working on it," he said seriously, then laughed. "I'll get better, Judge, you'll see."

Hardcastle winked at his young charge. "I don't doubt it a bit, kid." He took a bite of his own burger. "Do you have any drinks in that bag of yours?"

McCormick shook his head as he swallowed a handful of fries. "Nothing cold," he said rising from his chair, "but I've got stuff in the gatehouse. Soda? Beer? Water?"

"Soda's good."

McCormick disappeared into the gatehouse and returned a minute later with two cans of soda. He dropped back into his chair and pushed one of the cans across the table to Hardcastle. "Your wish is my command, Your Honor," he quipped.

"You're in a good mood," Hardcastle observed, as he popped the top and raised the can to his lips.

"Yep," McCormick answered, grinning around his hamburger. "It was good to be off the leash." The laughter in his voice removed any possible insult from the words.

"So what'd you do this afternoon, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked between bites.

McCormick's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Whaddaya mean, what do I mean?" Hardcastle countered. "I'm just making conversation."

"I don't think so, Hardcase," McCormick replied, all traces of laughter gone. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…maybe I feel better with a little bit of a leash," the judge admitted, though he suddenly realized that he already missed the light that had disappeared from McCormick's eyes. But it was his job to keep the kid in line.

McCormick glared at Hardcastle over his soda. "You sure know how to kill a mood, Judge." He looked at the jurist expectantly. When it became clear Hardcastle was waiting for him to continue, McCormick sighed loudly in exasperation. "All right. Whatever."

But then, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. "You know what?" he said earnestly. "If it were me, I'd probably wonder, too."

Hardcastle smiled gently, surprised. "Would you?" Damn. This kid was hard to figure out.

McCormick met his gaze. "Yeah, Judge, I would. I'm sorry. I know I have to earn your trust." He offered a slight smile. "And I will…I promise. Okay, obviously, I stopped at the supermarket," McCormick indicated the bag of groceries at his feet, "and I stopped for burgers. Before that, I was at the ba—-"

"McCormick, wait," Hardcastle interrupted suddenly. "This is silly. I don't know what I was thinking." He paused, uncertain. Finally, he followed his heart. "I'm glad you had a good day."

McCormick stared at him. "Really?" he asked softly.

"Really." Hardcastle returned to his meal.

McCormick shook his head, again realizing he had a long way to go before he would fully understand this situation and just what the hell he should expect. But he had never been all that good at simply waiting for whatever came along, so…

"Judge?"

"Yeah?"

"This is kind of weird for me." He stuffed a couple more fries into his mouth, confident that the judge would understand his comment.

"You think it's not for me?"

McCormick shrugged. "I don't know, Hardcase, but Sarah said you had other cons here before. I thought maybe you had some words of wisdom, or something."

Hardcastle gave a short, gruff laugh. "You asking me for advice, kiddo?"

"Maybe." McCormick's answer was guarded, but he still managed a slight grin. "Would that be okay?"

"It would be absolutely okay…if I had any to give. Every situation is different, McCormick. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that we're gonna have to rely on each other …even if it is kind of weird."

"You mean trust each other," McCormick clarified.

"Eventually," Hardcastle replied, not wanting to commit to too much too soon, then repeated, "Even if it's kind of weird."

McCormick regarded him silently for a moment, then the grin spread across his face. "Fair enough, Kemosabe. I can sure give it a try if you can. Hey," he continued after a pause, "there was something I was going to tell you about, though."

Hardcastle raised his eyebrow quizzically, saying a silent prayer that whatever the younger man was about to say wasn't newsworthy.

"I met someone today."

The judge stared at him wordlessly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The animation had returned to McCormick's face, and the blue eyes were positively dancing.

"Is that so?" he finally managed to reply.

The brown curls bobbed up and down. "Yep. We were both looking at the latest Billy Joel album in the music store. Well, she was looking, so I joined her. I think it was fate. Her name is Valerie."

"Valerie, huh?" Hardcastle asked. "So you taking her out?"

"No, course not," McCormick answered emphatically. "I didn't know if you'd want me away from the estate again, or…well, you know what I mean." The judge was surprised to realize that there was no resentment in the words.

"Yeah, I know what you mean, kid," Hardcastle answered, making a mental promise that he would talk with the kid tomorrow about the ground rules for coming and going from the estate. That should give him plenty of time to come up with them.

"But I did invite her over for a picnic dinner on the beach," McCormick continued. "I wasn't really sure about that, either, though, so I can call her and cancel if it's a problem."

"Tonight?"

McCormick nodded. "Yeah. But if it's a problem, just let me know. It's okay."

Hardcastle grinned as he realized that McCormick was sincere; he was waiting for permission. "No, McCormick, it's not a problem. I just wasn't sure you'd be able to have dinner tonight after everything you've just eaten." He watched as the young man ate the last bite of the extra burger.

"Don't be silly, Judge," McCormick managed to say through his food. "Dinner is hours from now."

The judge laughed as he gathered the trash from his lunch. He wrapped everything into the newspaper lying at his side, then tossed the entire ball across the table. "Throw this junk out."

McCormick began to gather up his own trash, then remembered something. "By the way," he said, reaching into his bag again, "I went ahead and picked up a copy of that new tape for you, too."

"Billy Joel?" Hardcastle asked uncertainly. "For me?" He seriously doubted that he and McCormick would share similar tastes in music.

"So you'll never forget me," McCormick said with a grin. He tossed the cassette on the table and walked away, hearing the judge trying to stifle laughter as he looked at the album title.

An Innocent Man.

00000

The phone was on its third ring before Hardcastle recognized the sound. He rolled over slowly and grabbed the receiver from the cradle. "Hello?" he said groggily.

"It's two o'clock," said a cheerful voice. "Do you know where your convict is?"

That woke him up. "What is it you want?" he demanded. "Who are you?" But just as before, the caller was gone without any further conversation. The judge leaned over to slam the phone back in place, then flopped back onto the bed. "What the hell?" he muttered to the darkness.

He lay on his back in the dark for ten minutes, arguing with himself. Hadn't he just told the kid they were going to have to trust one another? How could he now go storming down to the gatehouse checking up on him like some warden after lights out? And even if the gatehouse was empty, what would that prove? He hadn't specifically told the kid he couldn't go out, just let him operate on the assumption that he was confined…a tactic he was seriously regretting now. But… even if it was an unspoken agreement that McCormick would need permission to leave the estate, would his absence automatically indicate some greater guilt?

Hardcastle pondered that last thought for a moment. After all, it wasn't like he had anything approaching evidence, just some nameless voice on the phone. Was that reason enough to risk the rather fragile bond that he was beginning to form with McCormick? But if he stayed here now, would he ever be one hundred percent sure, or would his own uncertainty destroy the very foundation he was trying to protect?

Finally, as he had done for over thirty years, Hardcastle turned to the law. McCormick had been placed in his custody as a condition of parole. Hardcastle had an absolute legal right to know the kid's whereabouts anytime he chose. Whatever type of bond might be forming, it wouldn't be wise to forget the fundamental nature of their relationship.

Hardcastle rolled out of bed, pulled on his bathrobe and battered tennis shoes, and started down the stairs, trying to stay focused on the fact that he had made his decision. Damn, he hated this. It wasn't in his nature to second-guess himself, and yet everything about this McCormick situation was causing him doubts. By the time he reached the front porch, he had almost convinced himself to turn around and go back to bed…until he realized that the Coyote was not sitting in the driveway. Shaking his head angrily, he stomped toward the gatehouse, ignoring the turmoil growing inside him.

00000

Mark McCormick was a happy man. As he climbed out of the Coyote, he thought it was possible that this had been the best day he'd had since being paroled from San Quentin. Well, maybe second best, his mind amended quickly, as his last lunch with Flip Johnson flashed into his thoughts. Today had definitely been good, though. He and Valerie had certainly had a wonderful evening, but it surprised him to realize that much of his happiness was left over from the earlier part of the day with the judge. It was hard to believe, but it seemed Hardcastle was truly beginning to trust him, and—though he would never admit it to anyone else—he liked the way that felt.

As he thought about their conversation, McCormick looked around guiltily; old Hardcase would probably have his ass for being out without permission. Thank God the house was still dark; the judge would never know. He opened the door to the gatehouse and slipped inside silently.

"Where you been, McCormick?" said a voice from the darkness.

"Jesus!" McCormick yelled out, slamming on the lights. He grabbed at his chest and fell against the wall, only slightly exaggerating the fright he had experienced before noticing Hardcastle sitting calmly on the couch.

"You trying to give me a heart attack, Hardcase? What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Waiting for you, hotshot."

"What happened? Was the grass growing so loudly it woke you? Have a nightmare about hedges growing wild? Or did you just miss my smiling face?"

Hardcastle felt a smile forming at the smart-ass response, but he shook his head firmly. If he'd had this conversation earlier today, maybe he could be sleeping now. "Don't try to change the subject, McCormick."

"Didn't know there was a subject, Judge," McCormick commented as he walked further into the room. He pulled out a chair from the table, swiveled it around, and straddled the cushion. Resting his chin on the back of the chair, he met Hardcastle's eyes. "So what's up?"

"You really need to ask?" the judge replied, no trace of amusement remaining. "I asked you where you've been. What you were doing would be good, too."

McCormick grinned slightly. "A gentleman never tells." His good mood was preventing him from seeing the hard glint settling in the judge's eyes.

"You're stalling," Hardcastle said bluntly. "What is it you don't want me to know?"

The cold stare and dull monotone finally registered in McCormick's senses, and he felt his spirits plummet. "You're serious," he said, shaking his head as he rose from the chair. "Unbelievable. It's late, Judge," he continued, "and I'm really tired. Let's not do this tonight." He crossed the room and started up the stairs to his bedroom.

"We are gonna do this tonight, McCormick," Hardcastle said firmly, as he rose from the sofa. "Whether we do it here or downtown is up to you."

McCormick froze on the stairs, and then whirled on the judge as he felt his hurt and disappointment complete the transformation into anger. "Is this the way you show that trust you were talking about earlier, Hardcastle?" he yelled.

"Is this the way you earn it?" Hardcastle shot back.

The angry response died on McCormick's lips as he remembered his promise. "No," he said quietly, "it isn't." Didn't this guy ever get tired of being right?

He returned to the living area with the judge. "Valerie had car problems this afternoon, Judge, so she came out here in a cab. I took her home."

"That's it?" Hardcastle didn't seem entirely convinced.

McCormick nodded. "That's it. I'm sorry I made it into an issue; I told you I was tired." He plopped himself back onto the chair at the table. He waited until Hardcastle had seated himself back on the sofa, then continued. "What else do you want to know, Hardcase?"

"So you just decided to go out? After this afternoon?"

"I know the timing is bad—"

"You think?" Hardcastle interrupted. "Seems to me like a classic case of taking a mile instead of an inch."

"That wasn't my intention, Judge, I swear." He watched his custodian closely, hoping to see some of the earlier faith return to his eyes, but it wasn't there yet. He rubbed his hands across his eyes wearily. "Okay, Judge…just tell me what I should've done. Pound on the door and drag you out of bed at one o'clock in the morning and ask if it's okay to break curfew? C'mon, Hardcase, I want to see her again; I sure as hell didn't want her around while I had to go crawling to my parole officer for permission to leave the house."

"So you didn't tell her about our arrangement?"

"It's not exactly the best ice-breaker conversation, Hardcase."

For a moment, Hardcastle's face was filled with sincerity. "You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, kiddo. Everyone makes mistakes at some point in their life."

McCormick stared at him, disbelieving. "That might be a little more encouraging if we weren't in the middle of this inquisition scene, Judge," he replied blandly.

Hardcastle admitted to himself that the kid had a point. But still…. "Where does Valerie live?" he asked suddenly, getting his thoughts back on topic.

"Over in Windsor Hills," McCormick replied without argument.

"And you took her home at one?"

McCormick nodded. "About that, yeah."

"So I think that still leaves us needing to talk about what you've been doing. It's almost four-thirty, McCormick. Last time I checked, it didn't take three and a half hours to make the trip to Windsor Hills and back."

McCormick grinned slightly. "We, uh…might have taken a little bit of a scenic route, if you know what I mean, Hardcase."

"And after you dropped her off?" Hardcastle asked.

"I came straight home." McCormick searched the older blue eyes again. Nope. Still not there.

"Judge, please. Tell me what to say. You want an apology? I'm sorry. Really. You want me to promise it won't happen again? Okay. Your house, your rules. I won't breathe without your permission. You want to call Valerie and check my story? Go ahead; I'll give you the number. I mean, what the hell? I like her and all, but I gotta live with you. Hardcastle. Please. Just tell me what to do."

The judge studied the ex-con thoughtfully, struck by the vulnerability he saw in the blue eyes. It hit him suddenly that those eyes were the root of his problem. In his judicial mind, McCormick was a typical punk kid: too many wild ideas, too little respect for anyone or anything, and too damn stubborn to appreciate the last, best chance that life was likely to throw his way. You didn't have to spend much time around McCormick to realize that his attitude and behavior were a perfect match for that stereotypical viewpoint.

As long as you didn't look in his eyes.

Even when the smart mouth was running a mile a minute—which was most of the time—the eyes held a warmth and intelligence that belied the punk exterior. And in those rare moments when the words coming from the young man's mouth were filled with open sincerity—moments like now—the eyes revealed a depth of conviction and emotion that seemed almost out of place in one so young. These were the moments that caused the judge's confusion, for it was during these moments he was forced to admit that he might have underestimated the ex-convict in his care. He knew how to deal with punk kids; he was becoming less confident that he knew how to deal with McCormick. He shook his head slightly.

"Just don't lie to me, McCormick," he finally answered.

"I haven't," McCormick assured him, and the eyes offered their own guarantee. "I wouldn't."

Hardcastle recapped the conversation. "So you and Valerie were here until about one?"

"Right."

"Then you drove her, in a somewhat roundabout manner, to Windsor Hills?"

"Right."

"And you didn't tell me you were going because you didn't want to disturb me or embarrass yourself?"

"Right." McCormick was quickly losing interest in the conversation, but he wasn't about to argue any further.

"And you were going to tell me about it tomorrow at breakfast?"

"Ri—" McCormick broke off before he finished the word. "What?"

Hardcastle regarded him coolly without comment. And watched the eyes.

After a brief moment, McCormick shook his head. "I didn't say that, Judge."

"No?"

"No. Let me give you a little lesson from Convict 101: Never admit to anything."

"Hard to build trust with an attitude like that, kiddo," Hardcastle commented mildly.

McCormick shrugged slightly. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'll follow your rules, Judge. And I won't ever lie to you. I don't know that I can promise you more."

"What if I need more?" the judge challenged, though he honestly thought McCormick had perfectly outlined the recipe for success.

"I don't know," McCormick admitted softly. He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Then maybe I'm not the one for this," he suggested. He worked to keep the sadness from his voice, unaware that his eyes had already betrayed the secret.

Hardcastle rose from the sofa, abandoning his suspicions. "You're not getting off that easy, kid," he said gruffly. "You're the one until I say you're not."

McCormick looked up at him, immediately sensing the change in mood. Not understanding it, but sensing it. He smiled hesitantly.

"Indefinitely, huh?"

Hardcastle laughed at McCormick's word. Had it really only been a month since he had explained to the kid how things could work? Only a month since McCormick had agreed to be in his custody 'indefinitely'? Somehow, it seemed a lifetime ago. But still he laughed, confident that they would find a way to make it work. Even indefinitely.

"Go to bed, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed, as he walked toward the front door. "I don't want to have to listen to you whining all day tomorrow about how tired you are."

McCormick raised his hand in pledge. "You won't hear a word, Judge." He was relieved to watch the judge leave, but he sat without moving for a very long time, wondering—for about the millionth time—just what he had gotten himself into.