All the usual disclaimers apply: the show and characters aren't mine, only this story. As always, feedback is highly appreciated. Enjoy!
This story was inspired by two challenges issued in the last few months: friendship and trust. You will need to have read "One in a thousand" for some of this story to make sense.
Refuge
By BHP
Hardcastle wasn't sure where the magnets had come from. All he knew was that Mark had come home from the campus one day with a handful of them, and stuck them on the door of the refrigerator. A variation on the standard yellow smiley faces all the students on campus seemed to be flaunting at the moment, these came in a rainbow of colours, with a smile more mocking and sardonic than genuinely happy. But Hardcastle couldn't deny that he found himself strangely drawn to their charming cynicism, and that he always found himself smiling after looking at them.
In some ways, they reminded him of Mark; always quick to smile, but maybe not always as happy as he'd like people to believe. Still, being surrounded by kids ten years younger than him had to be hard on the kid. He surely didn't have much in common with the rest of the students. Hardcastle sighed slightly at that. He knew Mark wanted this, wanted law school as badly as he'd once wanted to race cars. But the work and the pace were hard enough to manage for the younger students, those without Mark's demons to carry.
The magnets were part of a coping strategy, Milt was sure: most of them held papers related to courses, test dates and schedules of classes and study groups. One of them even held his own tutoring schedule. He'd argued that he didn't need the reminder, but Mark had insisted that while Hardcastle might not see the need for it, Mark had wanted it there. Just so that he would always know where the judge was, and Hardcastle would always know where Mark was. After all, the younger man had reasoned, things so often didn't go the way either of them had planned that some sort of certainty was a thing to celebrate. Hardcastle had given in, just as he always did when Mark needed reassurance. He was sure that the papers were just another way for Mark to remind himself that he wasn't really alone.
Checking the papers, a habit now so ingrained he didn't even realise he was doing it, Milt spotted a new scrap of yellow paper, most likely torn from a legal pad, hanging by a tattered corner from a lime green circle of plastic. The scrawled words, redolent with exhausted concentration, required some squinting before the message was clear: "Extra study group early this morning. Library later. Sorry."
Hardcastle shook his head at that, "You know you don't have to apologise, kiddo." His voice filled the empty kitchen, and Hardcastle suddenly felt his solitude keenly.
Mark had been running himself ragged in preparation for the mid-term exams, which were coming up soon. Mark was worried about the exams, Hardcastle knew that. But he also knew that the fears were unfounded.
Milt knew that some of Mark's class mates should have found tutors, as their grades were so poor that they were almost guaranteed to fail. Lecturers always talked in the faculty lounges, and although Milt personally had no time for one of Mark's first year lecturers, Professor Spencer, he wasn't averse to listening to the man talk to other staff members. In Hardcastle's opinion, Spencer was one of those lawyers who couldn't have survived in the real world and had gravitated to academia as a safer choice. A classic case of those who can, do; those who can't, teach. But from all Hardcastle had heard, Spencer was a good teacher. And his commentaries on all his students had been revealing, especially Spencer's opinion that Mark was one of his best students and likely to do well in his course.
Milt and Mark had planned an evening of nothing more than television and popcorn and beer. The kid probably wouldn't be home until after eight now, at least, and experience had taught Hardcastle that spending a late night at the library usually saw Mark coming home with another armful of books to occupy his time until midnight, at the earliest. After that, the younger man was good for nothing other than sleep. Their plans would have to wait. Hardcastle decided that he'd skip the early morning basketball too; Mark needed all the sleep he could get.
After collecting his papers and a few books for his tutoring sessions from the den, Hardcastle dug into his desk drawers, looking for a particular piece of paper. Finding it at the bottom of the second drawer down, Milt read it over and smiled gently. The sentiment resonated more deeply every time he read the words, and he trusted that Mark would understand what he meant.
Making a detour back to the kitchen, Milt read Mark's note again. The level of exhaustion, clear to anyone who really knew the kid, worried him. A law degree was no good if you worked yourself to death for it. An idea popped into his head and Milt checked the schedule of Mark's exams. The first was on Friday morning, two days from now. The next was on the Wednesday of the next week.
The younger man could afford to take one weekend off from studying. Milt scrawled a quick note on the back of the sheet of paper and hung it by the corner, note-side out, from the same lime green magnet. Mentally checking his list of fishing gear and assigning a spot in the truck for at least one or two of Mark's books, he left the house with a satisfied smile on his face.
00000
Mark rubbed his eyes and yawned as he made his way across the lawn to the kitchen in the main house. He'd hated to cancel on the judge the night before, but the exams were coming up and in his opinion he needed all the help he could get. He knew he could ask Hardcastle any of the questions he needed answers to, and the judge would gladly help him study, but he felt like he needed to do this on his own. After the exams, he'd either feel more confident about this whole law school idea, or he'd be sure that it was the wrong choice. He wanted to succeed on his own to prove this was the right choice for him, and that Hardcastle's investment in him was justified. Nothing scared him as much as the thought that he might disappoint the older man.
His mind wandered back to yesterday's study meeting, as he lingered outside the door, drinking in the clear air and wide ocean view. The other students were nice enough, he thought, but they all seemed so young to him. Not just in their ages, but in their outlooks. Mark had seen too much of the dark side of human nature to be as open and trusting as they all seemed. He was even careful about how much he told any of them about himself. They knew he'd started studying later than they had, but he knew most assumed it was for financial reasons, and because he'd raced cars for a few years first. He was willing to let them think that, but it made things awkward. They made a point of including him, and tried to make him feel welcome, with invitations to their pool parties and beach outings. He was sure it was their way of saying that they didn't care that he was older than they were.
Even so, it also made things more difficult as their best efforts just made him feel more of an outsider. They seemed to have no responsibilities other than classes and studying. He had a life full of law school and all its details, but he also had a life at Gulls' Way, with gardening and hedges to trim and cars to putter around with. He knew Hardcastle wasn't actually expecting him to do everything in the garden, but over the years he'd come to find the work soothing in some way. Now he found it helped him to think and get things in perspective. In fact, he remembered spending a lot of time working in the garden once he'd been sure Hardcastle was going to survive being shot by Weed Randall.
Mark also wasn't comfortable with the idea of telling the other students much about himself. Living with a retired judge and having policemen like Frank as close friends was rather difficult to explain when everything they knew about him was far removed from law enforcement in the real world. Without knowing his background, he found that none of them actually understood why he was so determined to do well. A couple of the guys in his study groups treated each group more as a social event than a work session, and were quite clear about the fact that failing wasn't a problem, as their fathers would simply pay for them to take the course again.
Mark shook his head in disgust at that as he slipped quietly into the kitchen, careful to make as little noise as possible. He'd swung by the library last night as he'd mentioned in his note to the judge, and he'd come home too late to see the other man, or to relax in front of whatever the judge had chosen to watch. The silence indicated that Hardcastle wasn't awake yet, and Mark didn't want to disturb him.
He'd made friends with one of the librarians in the legal research department in his first few weeks on campus, as he'd been sure he'd be spending a lot of time in the library. Past experience had taught him that it was always a good thing to have the authorities on your side. Last night Marian had agreed to let him into the library when she arrived today, an hour before the library officially opened. He'd also had to promise to take her out for coffee, but as she was about his age and rather sweet, that would be an easy promise to keep. She'd agreed to leave all his reference books on the table, so he needed to get back to his studying before one of the other librarians decided to put all the books away again. Which meant that he'd need to leave before the judge was awake.
At this rate, Mark realised, he'd most likely never see the judge again until his graduation! Suddenly, everything just seemed almost too much to take. For just one second, Mark desperately wished he could just leave it all behind; just get in the Coyote and keep driving. He just wanted to forget everything he needed to do. Giving himself a stern mental shake, he checked the schedule on the fridge, resting a hand on the door as he scanned all the papers.
Exhaustion almost made him miss the obvious change of paper under the snidely grinning lime green magnet. Pulling it free, he read Hardcastle's scrawl on the back of the large page; it was marginally clearer than Mark's writing had been, but years of practice made it easy to read in any case: "Keep the weekend clear. You need more sleep. Eat something."
"Mother hen," Mark laughed quietly, warmth filling him at the blatant concern for his health. He opened the refrigerator to find a ready-made ham and cheese sandwich on a plate. Putting the plate on the counter, Mark picked up the sandwich and took a bite, savouring the taste of one his favourite meals. The piece of paper drifted to the floor and landed note-side down. Mark bent to pick it up, and realised that the page was a photocopy. Closer examination showed it came from an anthology of Rudyard Kipling poetry.
Reading the title, he realised how well the judge knew him. Trust Hardcastle to know just how to make things seem better with one simple action. The judge had been his refuge for years now, the one person he could trust to take his side and be there when things became overwhelming. Milt always seemed to know just when Mark needed to be reminded that he wasn't alone.
Mark read the note again. He was sure that the weekend would involve fishing, as Hardcastle considered that the cure for all the world's ills. Still, he was positive he could sneak a book or two into his bag, and get some studying done. Taking the second half of the sandwich with him, Mark tucked the copy of the Thousandth Man into his pocket and left the house smiling, friendship his companion for the day.