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.

Author's Notes: Another epilogue from the STAR for Brian 'zine, this one based on one of my favorite episodes. Probably not a big surprise to some of you, given the amount of screen time Frank gets in this one.

Epilogophilia: Poker Night

It's poker night at Gulls' Way, with an assortment of Hardcastle's legal friends. But McCormick has bailed out at the last minute to go on a date with a girl he just met—Debbie Pledger—an anthropology student who says rum "does things to her". It so happens that in addition to the normal card playing, the evening is also the 25thanniversary of bailiff Charlie Masaryk, and Milt's gift is a very special bottle of 151 proof El Papagayo, but none of Mark's pleading and lovelorn talk can convince the judge to share.

Early in the evening, Frank Harper receives word that a local liquor store has been robbed, the owner killed in the process, but the friends try to put aside the real world with a little camaraderie over the card table. Unfortunately, roadblocks force the trio of robbers into hiding, and Gulls' Way is the unfortunate choice. The robbers descend, taking everyone hostage, including the hapless DA who was secured as McCormick's last minute replacement, Freddie Bumgarner. Over the course of the evening, Frank is discovered to be a cop, and shot, then moved upstairs to Hardcastle's bedroom while the others are kept in the den.

Having returned to the gatehouse with his date—and out of his own liquor—Mark sneaks into Hardcastle's bedroom in search of the El Papagayo. He discovers Frank, finds out about the hostage situation, then comes up with a plan to create a diversion, and he and the wounded detective manage to save the day. Two weeks later, everyone—including Debbie Pledger—reconvenes for another shot at poker night.

Epilogue- Cheride

"Toldja ya shoulda gone out with Charlie and Mattie," Hardcastle said, drumming his fingers on the card table.

From his chair across the table, Frank Harper shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry," he said, though he had been looking at his watch more frequently in the past fifteen minutes or so. He took another swig from the glass at his hand, having switched from beer to soda over an hour ago, then smirked a little. "Unless you're trying to get rid of me?"

"Hardly," Hardcastle grumped. "But I'm guessin' your doctors probably wouldn't approve of these hours. Or the evening's activities, come to think of it."

The detective waved that away. "What they don't know," he told the older man. "Besides, you didn't seem too concerned with that a while back when you were taking all my money."

"You mean when I was temporarily holding your money until Casanova out there could take it from me," the judge corrected.

"Between the two of them, it was more like Bonnie and Clyde," Harper grinned. "But having Debbie here was kind of fun."

"I suppose," Hardcastle conceded, "though I'm not sure the kid needs someone who seems like she might be able to keep up with him in the scam department."

"Might be just what he needs; someone to keep him on his toes."

"Huh. Well I wish her luck with that," Hardcastle groused. He glanced up at the clock. "But I think they've had long enough to play smash-face. You really don't have to wait around any longer on his account."

Harper grinned and drained his glass, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'll be sure to tell him you said so." He slipped into his jacket and started for the door. "Thanks for everything, Milt. Mighta been a couple weeks late, but it was still a real nice anniversary for Charlie." He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to the man who was following him. "And you don't need to walk me out. It'll be awkward enough with me interrupting them; they don't need an extra pair of eyes out there, especially yours."

"This is still my house," the jurist said stubbornly.

"Milt." Frank didn't budge from his spot on the landing.

"Oh, all right. You go have all the fun."

"I'm not sure I'd call it fun, becoming some kinda peeping Tom," Harper commented, "even for a minute."

"That's 'cuz you've never developed much of an appreciation for seein' the kid flustered," Hardcastle laughed as the detective turned back toward the front entrance.

"I'll work on it," Frank promised lightly, waving a farewell at the judge, then pulling open the front door with as much flourish as possible, trying to give ample warning of his arrival.

But as he stepped into the cool night air, Harper was surprised to see that Debbie Pledger's car was already gone from the driveway. And where her car had been, just past the edge of brightness cast by the porch light, was Mark McCormick, standing still, staring skyward. He waited for a moment, but the kid gave no indication of turning back toward the house, so he finally descended the steps and shuffled toward the still figure.

"Hey," he called out as he approached, "Debbie's gone already?"

"Yeah." McCormick didn't appear startled by the sudden company; kept watching the stars. "Been gone a while."

"Oh." Harper sidled up next to him. "Well, I was trying not to rush you guys, or anything; didn't want to interrupt."

Mark smiled slightly and finally glanced over at the detective. "Not much to interrupt. I don't think we'll be seeing each other again."

Harper raised an eyebrow, then realized it was probably too dark for such subtlety. "Really?"

"I think she might call up Freddie."

"Bumgarner?" Harper couldn't help it; he'd heard how the young man had been willing to sacrifice himself for others during their ill-fated poker night, but he still thought of the kid as pretty much of a pipsqueak.

McCormick chuckled. "Who'm I to argue with anthropological interest?"

The lieutenant nodded once at that. "Well, sorry."

McCormick shrugged. "Probably go broke keeping her in rum, anyway."

Harper laughed, then asked, "So why didn't you come back into the house, if you're not out here moping?"

"Oh," McCormick seemed surprised by the question. "I dunno." He paused. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Nah, that's not what I meant." He turned to face the other man more directly. "I've actually been wanting to talk to you for a minute, anyway, but I never could seem to catch you alone." And suddenly, as McCormick looked quickly away from him, something clicked. "You've been avoiding me," Harper accused. And when there was no immediate denial, "Why?"

But then McCormick tried to offer resistance. "What're you talkin' about, Frank? We've just been playing cards all night; I'm not avoiding anyone."

"Hah." The detective studied him for several long seconds, then asked, "Just what is it you think I've been wanting to say to you?"

McCormick sighed, jammed his hands into his jacket pockets, and turned to face the older man. "I don't know exactly, Frank. Probably something about how I was lucky there was some kind of disaster going on to distract Hardcastle from the fact that I was trying to burglarize his bedroom, or how I shouldn't always count on the idea that the end will justify the means, or something." He sighed again. "Whatever it is, you're right, so go ahead and read me the riot act and let's get it over with."

Harper stared, mouth slightly agape, trying to figure out just what in the hell McCormick was talking about. "You think this is about the rum?"

"Well, I was gonna steal it," McCormick answered with bland honesty. "From Hardcastle."

Frank shook his head. "You're a dope, Mark. It's been a long time since I've worried about protecting him from you. And besides, I don't know if there was a man in that house who wouldn't have gone scrounging around for a bottle in your situation. I mean, you had a girl who wanted some daiquiris, right?"

Mark grinned, and looked relieved. "Right. So, if it's not a lecture . . ."

Harper gave his head another shake. "I wanted to thank you, though it seems to have lost some impact now."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For—? Oh, you are a dope. For saving my life, whattaya think? Really, you probably saved everybody, though they might've had a fighting chance. But me, I woulda just been laying there when they came to shoot me like a dog. So, thank you."

McCormick glanced quickly at his feet, then turned his eyes back to the stars, anywhere but at Harper, though the small smile on his face made clear this was embarrassment, not evasion.

"Just say 'you're welcome'," Harper instructed lightly, "and it'll all be over."

"You're welcome," McCormick repeated dutifully, the smile spreading.

"That's very good," Frank said approvingly. "You know," he continued, "a couple of years ago, I wouldn't have thought you could be so easily taught. That's quite the evolution." He winked, and clapped the younger man on the back. "I think that Debbie Pledger doesn't know what she's missing out on. Anthropologically speaking, of course."