Author's note: Did you ever get one of those snippets of scenes in your head that doesn't fit your current story but won't go away- well I do so I thought I'd share it as a kind of therapy- If you're reading this my psyche thanks you.
Synopsis:- A conversation, a catharsis not quite sure for whom. . .
Disclaimer: This story is written as an homage to a great show with fantastic characters, great writers and fine actors who bought the characters to life, in the hope that nobody minds.
It's the law kid"You know when I let all these people go," The Judge gestured vaguely at the files in front of him, at the cabinets they came from. "On technicalities, even though I knew." He looked Mark straight in the eye. "I knew they were guilty of everything from embezzlement to murder." He paused for a moment, but his gaze did not release Mark. "I did it because I didn't have a choice. It was the law," His expression softened just a little, moisture filling his eyes as the sincerity wrapped around his emotions and gave a slight squeeze, pushing them to the surface. "And I believe in the law."
Mark shifted forward in his seat, caught off guard by the openness, by the sudden unexpected change in direction of the conversation. Normally he would have met comments like these from the Judge with a certain level of sarcasm, his own spin on what an ass the law was, if it could let murderers go free and lock people like him up. Cutting corners wasn't like deliberately hurting people, and the law should recognise that. There should be some way. . .but he kept silent. Somehow in this room, on this night, this was a whole different conversation from the one he and the judge had had a hundred times before, especially in those early days of his stay at Gull's way. He gave a small nod.
"I believe in it unequivocally, even when it makes me do things I don't want to do; makes me take actions that aren't right," Hardcastle looked down, as though he was slightly embarrassed by the admission. Then he drew in a breath, meeting Mark's gaze again, his voice taking on a little more steel, "because it's the only system we got and although it isn't perfect it's the best we can do." He paused, looking into Mark's eyes as though he were searching for something.
Mark stared back, realising this was the closest he was ever going to get to the judge telling him that he hadn't wanted to send him to prison. He wasn't sure why now, why tonight, or even why the Judge couldn't just come out and say it directly. He'd told him often enough that he'd broken the law and that for that he deserved to go to prison. Why couldn't he just tell him that he hadn't wanted to send him there? But he couldn't, it wasn't who Hardcastle was, and yet . . .the sincerity was there, the question was there. 'Do you understand why I did it?' was asked clearly and loudly without words. Then more softly but equally clear in the silence between them. 'Do you understand me? Do you accept me?'
Mark gave a slight nod, the yes almost forming on his lips, tears of sincerity pricked at the edge of his vision, tingling slightly and there was a moment of awkwardness, a moment of pure shared emotion that neither man was used to, that neither had the skills to deal with, a moment when the connection between them reached a new and deeper level. Mark broke it first, gesturing at the files. "It sure isn't perfect," he stated, "but we'll keep doing our best."
Hardcastle smiled. Message received and understood. His own gaze switched back to the cabinets. "Now you're cookin'" he said, opening the next drawer.
