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

Rating: K

A/N: When the STAR team was dividing up the epilogues for Pastiche a Trois, this is the one episode that had to be mine. As many of you may have heard me say from time to time, this is my very favorite episode, and there are probably tons of things I could've said about it. And, heck, you never know; I may still have more to say about it in future volumes! For now, though, this is from the first volume, and I'm grateful to all those who have supported our series of CD-zines, along with all of our continuing efforts to see Brian Keith immortalized in Hollywood.

Also, since this will be my last installment from this volume, this would probably be a good time to mention how grateful I am also to L.M. Lewis and Owlcroft for so many things it would be impossible to list them here. Putting these 'zines together with them is a blast, and there's no one I'd rather be working with. (And, quite honestly, there probably just aren't all that many people who'd put up with me, so that works out well!)

The Crystal Duck—epilogue by Cheride

Unbeknownst to the judge, and in violation of their parole agreements, Teddy Hollins, Mark's old cellmate, is hiding out in the gatehouse. Unbeknownst to McCormick, Teddy is being pressured, along with other ex-cons, into committing robberies for his parole officer, Thomas Quinlan. One of his 'jobs' involves robbing a poker game that Hardcastle and Mark are attending. The host, Judge Gault, figures it for an inside job and issues a warrant for McCormick's arrest.

All ends well, though. Working from the inside, and the outside, Hardcastle and McCormick get the goods on Teddy's shady parole officer and then use Hollins to trap him.

"Did you get Teddy moved into his new place?" Hardcastle asked without looking up from his desk.

McCormick paused on the first step. He still had a lot to learn about living with the retired judge, but recognizing the man's 'we need to talk' tone had come pretty early.

Practice makes perfect, he thought ruefully. "Yeah," he answered aloud, "got him settled. It's a place over in Hollywood. Who knows how many goons Quinlan had working for him; not much sense in making it easy for them to find him again."

"Better safe than sorry," Hardcastle agreed, scribbling a final note, then closing the file folder on the desk in front of him. "So he's all set," he tapped the folder, "and I just finished some notes on Quinlan for the files. Pretty good for a few days work."

"Yep," Mark said, and continued down the stairs, thinking maybe he'd been wrong about the tone after all. But he didn't even reach his seat before Hardcastle spoke again.

"Then now's probably a good time for us to have a little talk."

The young man tried to stifle a sigh as he shifted an armchair around. The other thing he'd learned was that there really wasn't much point in trying to avoid the inevitable, so he dropped into the chair and faced the desk, waiting expectantly.

It took almost a full minute—and McCormick was certain the judge was just trying to make him squirm—but then Hardcastle shoved himself out of his own chair, rounded the desk slowly, and propped his hip on the corner, fixing the ex-con with a stern gaze.

"Before I put together the file on Quinlan, I spent a few minutes reading over yours."

McCormick swallowed, and bit back a response. While it was unlikely he was ever going to forget his place in this unusual partnership, he still didn't like the fairly casual way Hardcastle tossed about the frequent reminders. He managed a bland, "So?"

"So, I just wanted to make sure I hadn't overlooked some kind of unusual provision in your parole conditions."

"You mean, more unusual than being a slave to the Lone Ranger?"

"Hmph. I actually meant something that allowed you to hang out with known felons or maybe lie to your de facto parole officer."

This time, McCormick couldn't stop the sigh, though, in truth, he was surprised the lecture had taken this long. But then, Hardcastle did usually seem to be more concerned with catching the bad guys than giving his sidekick too much grief. He had to give the guy that.

"I didn't exactly lie," he objected weakly. "And besides, Teddy isn't exactly Public Enemy Number One, either."

"Would it have mattered?" Hardcastle demanded.

"He's a friend, Judge."

"So that makes everything okay." It wasn't a question, and McCormick thought it actually made things a little bit easier that Hardcastle could at least recognize his priorities, whether they agreed or not.

"It doesn't make everything okay, Hardcase," the young man countered. He tried a small grin. "But for what it's worth, I probably wouldn't be friends with Public Enemy Number One anyway, so you can scratch that off your worry list."

The jurist's eyes narrowed. "This isn't funny, McCormick."

"No," McCormick admitted, deciding to try a different approach, "it isn't. And you're right; I should've told you about Teddy up front. I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

It didn't take quite a minute this time, but McCormick still thought the silence was designed for maximum discomfort.

"Hah," Hardcastle finally huffed out. "If you really thought throwing yourself on the mercy of the court was a viable defense, you might shoulda tried it a coupla years back."

"I figure it woulda gone over just about as well," McCormick replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But he sobered immediately. "But seriously, Judge, just say what you gotta say."

Hardcastle pulled a hand quickly across his chin. "What I gotta say, McCormick, is that this penchant of yours for ignoring the law when you're trying to help a friend is gonna get you into real trouble one of these days."

"Ya think?"

"I'm serious, McCormick," the judge snapped, "so quit foolin' around. You think this is trouble, bein' here in my custody? Well maybe you oughta try remembering what was waiting for you behind door number two. I figure there's guys who need partners for things a lot worse than being Tonto. You might be livin' here in the lap of luxury, but you're still on parole, and you really ought to start acting like you understand that."

McCormick shifted uncomfortably in his seat; apparently Hardcastle was angrier than he'd known. And here he thought he'd been learning to read the guy. "I haven't forgotten, Judge," he said sincerely.

It seemed Hardcastle had been expecting more of an argument, and he just shook his head slowly at McCormick's calm reply. "What if Teddy hadn't come back?" he finally asked.

That surprised McCormick. "What?"

"If he hadn't come back," the judge repeated. "If he had tried to stick you with the rap for the robberies. What would you have done then?"

"Teddy wouldn't do that," McCormick answered automatically, but the back of his mind tickled with an echo of Hardcastle's question. What if?

And though McCormick would've preferred that the judge rant loudly, the older man seemed content to simply stare quietly and allow Mark the time to ponder possibilities.

"Well," McCormick began haltingly, "I guess I would've . . . I might've thought . . . that is, I guess I would've hoped, that maybe you could help me out." He looked back at Hardcastle, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and defiance.

And, to Mark's surprise, rather than pounce on his obvious unwillingness to make that confession, Hardcastle offered a perfectly logical response.

"Well, if I'm the guy who's gonna have to bail you out when there's trouble, shouldn't I also be the guy you come to before there's trouble?"

Letting out a long, slow breath, McCormick made another confession. "I'm not used to thinking about you like that, Judge."

The older man smiled slightly. "It's kinda new for both of us, kiddo."

"Yeah," Mark agreed. He had almost allowed himself to relax when Hardcastle spoke again.

"But about those parole conditions . . ."

McCormick grimaced and dragged a hand through his hair. Should've known that was too easy. "I got it, Hardcase. No false or misleading information to be provided to parole officers, and no associating with known felons."

"That includes Teddy Hollins," Hardcastle said firmly. "At least," he amended quickly, "until I say so."

McCormick didn't argue. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry; I haven't forgotten about door number two."

"Good," the judge said gruffly, then stood and moved back behind his desk.

Taking that to mean the lecture was over—and still surprised that it hadn't been worse—McCormick pushed himself from the armchair and took a step toward the stairs. But he paused as he saw Hardcastle pick up two files, one folder new and slim, the other thicker, and more faded and worn.

"Anything else in there you wanna tell me about?" He jerked his head toward the files as Hardcastle reached to stash them in a side drawer.

The jurist completed his movement, closed the drawer, then turned slowly toward the young man. "Not now; maybe someday though."

McCormick thought about that a minute, shrugged, and then started back toward the steps.

"What about you?" Hardcastle called from behind him.

McCormick looked back from the landing, eyebrow raised quizzically. "Me? I haven't read it."

"Anything not in there you wanna tell me about?"

The kid smiled at the subtle challenge. "No," he said firmly. He crossed the few remaining feet to the double-doors and never looked back as he called out his final comment.

"But maybe someday."