Before the Thunder Rolled

by cheride

Early on, Mark posed the question, 'Why you always breathing on me, Judge' How does Milton Hardcastle 'breathe?

Before the Thunder Rolled- cheride

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+

---

Author's Notes: This was originally published by Agent with Style, in Hotshoes, volume 2, and I appreciate the opportunity.

---

March, 1983

Mark McCormick stood outside the massive gates, absorbing the bright morning sunshine. He smiled, thinking that the air was cleaner and the sky bluer than it had been just twenty yards behind him. It had been an impossibly long two years.

Lost in his personal thanksgiving, he didn't hear the young woman calling out to him as she approached. When she reached his side and gently touched his arm, McCormick was transported back to the world he had just left behind. He whirled around defensively, instinctively pushing her away as he turned.

"Mark!" she cried out in alarm as she saw the cold emptiness that had settled on his face.

"Barbara!" McCormick returned to reality and pulled her into a warm hug. "God, I am so sorry," he whispered into her ear. "I would never hurt you."

"I know that," Barbara Johnson answered, immediately offering reassurance to the young man. "I'm fine; don't worry."

McCormick pulled back, but didn't completely release her. He offered a weak smile. "Not much of a welcome, is it? I guess you kind of startled me."

Barbara patted his hand. "I don't break that easy, Mark. C'mon, the car's this way."

McCormick grabbed his duffle bag from the ground at his feet and followed her to the parking lot. "I really appreciate you coming to get me, Barbara."

"I'm glad to do it. And Dad wished he could come, too. You know, I think he's almost as excited about your parole as you are."

McCormick grinned. "He's a good friend." He slid into the front seat and looked over at her. "Both of you have been great, Barbara. You know, you're really the only ones who haven't just forgotten about me while I've been here."

She smiled at him affectionately as she put the car into gear. "We love you, Mark. You're family. It'll be great to have you at the house for a while until you get settled into your own place.

"By the way…Dad's planning a party for you this weekend. It's supposed to be a surprise, but I wanted you to be prepared."

McCormick grinned again. "Thanks for the heads up; I'll be sure not to make other plans. I'll remember to act surprised, though. But for now, why don't you fill me in on everything that's going on with you guys?"

They talked non-stop all the way back to Los Angeles.

March, 1983

The Next Day

McCormick stood outside the office door, collecting his thoughts. He wanted this first meeting with his parole officer to go well; otherwise, it might be a very long three years. He straightened his tie one last time and opened the door.

He paused for just a second as he saw the blonde beauty sitting behind the receptionist desk, then resumed his movement into the office. "Hello," he said, his tone and warm smile clearly conveying that he had much more he wanted to say.

The receptionist looked up from her typing and returned the smile. "Hello, yourself."

"My name's Mark McCormick. I have an appointment with Mr. Dalem." He picked up the nameplate on her desk. "And you must be Melinda Randolph."

"Very observant," she replied. "Are you that attentive with everything you do?"

He put the nameplate carefully back in place and met her sparkling blue eyes, forcing himself to say the words that came automatically to his mind. "Absolutely. Maybe someday I could prove that to you?" He held his breath, waiting for her response. His prison counselor had told him repeatedly that in order to be successful on the outside, he needed to be free of two things: anger and shame. He had been honest with the shrink and confessed that the anger would probably be around a long time, but he had promised to start right away on shame. After all, he knew he didn't have anything to be ashamed of, not really. And besides…Melinda was gorgeous.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then finally scribbled something onto a piece of paper and handed it across the desk. "How about Saturday?"

He took the paper, allowing his fingers to brush across hers softly. "I'm supposed to be at a party, but I'd love for you to be my guest. Then maybe later we could go out."

"A welcome home party?" she asked knowingly, but without judgment.

"Something like that," McCormick answered with a smile. "It's supposed to be a surprise."

"I'd love to celebrate with you, Mark, if you think your family won't mind."

"It's not a family kind of thing," he assured her, feeling more comfortable with each moment. "Just friends…old and new."

"Then it's a date." She smiled and reached for the phone. "I'll let Mr. Dalem know you're here." She spoke quietly into the phone for a moment, then replaced it on the cradle. "He'll see you now."

"Thanks, Melinda." McCormick buttoned his coat and started for the inner office door. He gave a single knock and opened the door, surprised to see someone already sitting in the visitor chair in the office.

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Dalem, I didn't realize you had someone…"

Dalem rose from his seat. "No, come on in. I think you know Judge Hardcastle?"

McCormick forced himself to continue into the office as the familiar figure turned to face him. "Yes," he said coldly, "Judge Hardcastle and I have met." He stopped in front of the government issue desk and extended his hand. "Mark McCormick, Mr. Dalem; it's good to meet you." He pointedly ignored Hardcastle.

Dalem gave a perfunctory shake, then motioned McCormick into an empty chair. "Sit down, McCormick; we've got a lot to cover."

McCormick sat, trying to focus on Dalem rather than the man sitting in the chair next to him. He was beginning to think he should've paid more attention to the shrink during those anger management sessions. If he wanted to make this meeting go as well as he'd hoped, he would have to control his temper, which meant he really needed to avoid Hardcastle.

Unfortunately, the jurist seemed to have other ideas. "So, McCormick, made it out in just two years, huh? You must've learned how to behave yourself."

"I learned a lot of things, Hardcastle."

The judge grinned. "I bet you did, a smart guy like you."

McCormick pursed his lips and forced himself not to reply. He turned his attention back to his newly appointed parole officer. "So how does this all work, Mr. Dalem?"

"Well, you've got another stack of papers to fill out that we'll keep in your file, you're going to answer a lot of questions for me, and I'm going to tell you a lot of rules. The most important thing you're going to take away from today's meeting, however, is the absolute certainty that if you cross the line again in the next three years, your ass is mine."

With his full attention focused on Dalem, McCormick didn't notice the look of mild disapproval that crossed Hardcastle's face, but the judge was really the least of his concerns at the moment. He swallowed hard, and answered. "I'm not going to be crossing any lines, Mr. Dalem. You're looking at a model parolee."

McCormick jumped slightly when Hardcastle clapped his hands together strongly. "That's good to hear, McCormick," the judge said cheerfully. "I just wanted to drop in to say hello, and let you know that I like to keep an eye on some of my old cases, make sure people are keeping their noses clean. So Mr. Dalem here won't be the only one watching over you for the next few years, hotshot."

McCormick glanced over at the grinning face and wondered just what kind of hell he had walked into. "I'm honored, Hardcase," he muttered. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Hardcastle chuckled as he rose and started for the door. "Good luck to both of you; I'll be seeing you around." McCormick watched him leave with relief, and said a silent, passionate prayer that he would not see Hardcastle again in his lifetime.

May, 1983

Milton Hardcastle stared solemnly at the dark Louisiana highway stretching ahead. Suddenly, Los Angeles seemed a lifetime away. How could he have been so wrong? He glanced over at the car's driver. "I appreciate your help with this one, Frank," he said through the darkness.

Frank Harper pulled his eyes from the road for a moment and cast a concerned look at his friend. "I wish I could've done more," he said sincerely.

"Nah, there's nothing more that could be done. I'm the one who messed this up." He shook his head slowly. "I really thought he would work out, ya know? It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time."

"Milt, J.J. Beal is a criminal; he takes advantage of people for a living. You tried to do a good thing for him, and you shouldn't be ashamed of that. Now, I won't lie to you…like most people, I think your project is just a little crazy, but that doesn't mean I think you should give up on it. Don't beat yourself up just because Beal was too stupid to recognize the chance he was given. If anyone could ever hope to make something like this work, it would be you. You'll get it right next time."

The judge leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the past few days settle on him. He wore a grateful smile on his face as he replied, "Thanks, Frank. But I think I'll be putting my project on hold for at least a while. I'm gonna spend a lot of time picking my next assistant…if there even is a next one. But I'll tell you what I know for sure: if I do try again, the next one will be different. I think I've had my fill of young, wise-ass cons."

June, 1983

McCormick gave the wrench one final turn and seemed satisfied with the results. "Okay, Larry," he called, "bust it off." He listened closely as the engine roared to life. He grinned as he realized it sounded perfect. He slammed the hood closed and shouted over the noise. "Okay, shut it down."

Larry killed the engine and climbed out of the car. "It sounds good, Mark," he said with a smile. "The boss will be pleased."

"Yeah," McCormick replied. "Maybe someday soon he'll be pleased enough to get me a ride instead of just wrenching around under the hood."

"Hey, be patient; it'll happen. Everyone knows you're too good to be stuck in pit row for very long. Besides, I thought you and Johnnie Johnson were gonna hook up together again?"

McCormick smiled as they walked out of the bay area. "Yeah, I hope so. He's a good friend, and I would love to work with him again. He's working on something big right now, and…" McCormick's words trailed off as he saw the stocky figure approaching them. "God, not again," he muttered.

Larry looked at his friend sympathetically. "Isn't that the crazy judge we saw at the theater that one night?"

McCormick nodded silently.

"Jeez, Skid, he is really on your ass. You want me to hang around?"

"Nah, Larry, go ahead. I'll meet you for lunch when he's through with me…if I still have an appetite."

Larry laughed, and continued toward the cafeteria while McCormick planted his feet and waited for Hardcastle to reach him.

"Hardcase," McCormick began as soon as the judge was within earshot, "what in the hell is your problem? You cannot keep coming to my job and harassing me. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Seems I've heard that before, McCormick," Hardcastle replied blandly. "And, just to be clear, I can come to your place of employment as often as I see fit. You are a parolee of the state of California correctional system, and I am an officer of the court in that same great state. In a nutshell, that means that I can visit you anytime and anywhere, and there really isn't a whole hell of a lot you can do about it."

McCormick shook his head wearily and rolled his eyes. "What do you want?" he asked, knowing further arguments would only prolong the visit.

The judge faked an injured expression. "I don't want anything, McCormick, I just dropped in to make sure everything was okay. I went to the garage first, but I was surprised to find out you didn't work there anymore. You know, hotshot, I thought since we were getting along okay, you'd keep me in the loop about your life changes."

"Look, Hardcastle," McCormick answered, rapidly losing patience, "Dalem's my PO, not you. He's the only one who needs to know where I'm working, and I told him. But now that you've tracked me down and convinced yourself that I am doing what I said I was doing, could we wrap this up so I can get to lunch? I'm starving, and I don't have all day."

"Yeah, we're through here, kid. Go get your lunch."

McCormick turned immediately and walked away without further comment, grateful that he had managed to get through one more conversation without decking the crazy old guy. He never looked back to see the small, considering smile on the face of the jurist who thought he'd had his fill of young, wise-ass ex-cons.

August, 1983

Hardcastle waited in the darkness, fuming. He had seen McCormick in the bar, and he had seen the people he'd been with. Ordinarily, he had no problem barging into any of McCormick's gatherings and making his presence known, however briefly. But only a fool would barge into a group of drunk, hyped up, once and future felons without some kind of back-up, especially when there was no real need. So, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he had chosen to wait for McCormick at his apartment, and his temper was being fueled by each passing moment. By the time he heard McCormick jogging jauntily up the sidewalk toward the apartment, Hardcastle was ready to explode.

"A little late, isn't it, kiddo?" the judge asked as he stepped out from behind the wall that had been concealing him.

McCormick jumped and whirled around to face the voice. "Hardcastle! What are you doing? It's the middle of the damn night!"

"You don't have to tell me that," the judge replied coldly. "I'm the one who's been sitting here waiting for you."

"Well, no one invited you, that's for damn sure. What's up with you, anyway? I heard you were retiring. When are you gonna get out of my life?"

Hardcastle smiled grimly. "I'm still on the bench for another few weeks, McCormick, so don't go getting your hopes up. Besides, since we're getting to be such good friends, I'll probably be around even after I retire. Someone needs to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"Yeah, well, now that I've made it home all safe and sound for tonight, why don't you go back to whatever it is you do when you're not busting my chops?"

Without waiting for a reply, McCormick turned back to unlocking his door, intent on slipping inside quickly and banishing the crazy judge from his life. He didn't count on Hardcastle placing a hand on the opening door, and pushing himself inside the apartment. Nor had he foreseen the judge slamming the door behind them, effectively locking them together in the small area.

"What in the hell are you doing?" McCormick demanded. "You don't have any right to be here, so get the hell out!"

"I think we've had this conversation, McCormick," Hardcastle returned angrily. "Anytime, anywhere, remember?"

"Hardcastle…" McCormick took a step menacingly toward the judge, "I have had just about enough of you…"

"Shut up, McCormick!" Hardcastle shouted suddenly, surprising the young man into silence. The judge glared into the angry blue eyes for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing tonight anyway, McCormick?" he finally demanded.

"What did I—? What the hell? I'm not doing anything, Hardcastle; you're the one who seems to have gone around the bend."

"I'm talking about earlier tonight, wiseguy," Hardcastle explained harshly, his patience already worn thin by the hours of waiting.

"What?" McCormick was having a difficult time following the conversation.

"Try to keep up, McCormick. Unless you're too drunk—or too stoned."

In spite of his rising temper, McCormick laughed at the accusation, and the laughter served to dispel much of his anger. "I'm not drunk, Judge," he said, "and I don't do drugs. But it is pretty late, and you did take me by surprise, lurking out there in the dark."

Hardcastle appeared taken aback by the change in demeanor, but seemed determined to capitalize on it anyway. He tried the most fundamental question. "The people you were with tonight, kid, are they friends of yours?"

McCormick stared for a moment, then shrugged in resignation, not even bothering to ask how the judge had known what he had done that evening, or who he had done it with. "More like acquaintances, Hardcase. Friends of friends, that sort of thing. We were just having a few laughs."

"Laughs?" Hardcastle didn't seem convinced. "With Joey Hahn and his boys?"

McCormick hid his surprise that Hardcastle actually had a name to go with the face he had obviously seen earlier. "Even Joey laughs, Hardcastle," he said. Some of his anger was returning; it was time for Hardcastle to leave.

"Yeah, but in his case, hotshot, it's usually chemically induced. Why do you want to be hanging around people that could get you sent up on a drug beef? That's not really all that bright."

McCormick shook his head. "What I do and who I do it with is none of your business, Hardcastle. Joey and the others weren't doing their drugs while I was there, which is the only thing that concerns me."

"They were high as kites, and you know it!"

McCormick shrugged. "I don't tell other people how to run their lives, Hardcase. A concept that is clearly difficult for you to grasp. Now, why don't you get the hell out of here so I can get some sleep?" McCormick began to push past Hardcastle to reach the door, but the judge stepped aside, grabbed the back of McCormick's shirt collar and shoved, allowing his force to combine with the younger man's own forward momentum and pin him quickly against the wall.

McCormick willed himself not to resist. He wasn't sure how much time you got for assaulting a judge, but he was sure it was more than he wanted. "Okay, Hardcastle," he snapped, "you've made your point; you're the boss. Now, you want to get off of me?"

Hardcastle jerked him forward, spun him roughly around, then slammed his back against the wall, still holding him in place. "I haven't come close to making my point," he growled.

"Don't you get the fact yet that you don't have too many rights while you're out on a pass? Just how much of a roust do you think it would've taken to get your ass hauled out of that bar tonight? Do you really think your friends weren't holding? And do you really think that not a single one of them would've thought about sliding their stash into your pocket if a few badges happened to show up and start poking around? And exactly how far do you think your little innocent act is gonna carry you if you get busted for drugs? Unless you're starting to miss some of the old cell block gang, McCormick, you'd better start being a lot more choosy about the company you keep." With those final words, Hardcastle released his grip, took a single step back from McCormick, and seemed fully prepared for the kid to start swinging.

But the only movement McCormick made was to straighten his shirt. He stayed against the wall, staring at Hardcastle, searching for a response. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew immediately that the judge was correct, and the realization hit him hard. He had thought he was being pretty careful since he'd been out, but tonight had been stupid. And there was something he didn't understand. "So why not roust us yourself, Hardcase? Or call in some cops to do it?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "I told you, kid; I'm trying to make sure you keep your nose clean, not find a way to get it dirty." He ignored McCormick's disbelieving snort. "I watched you guys long enough to see that there was no blatant drug use going on in the bar. And here in a minute you're going to empty all your pockets for me so I can be certain I haven't misjudged you completely. But beyond that, I'll settle for hoping you remember what I said."

"I'm not likely to forget this little visit, Judge," McCormick said snidely. No way he was telling this old coot that he had actually managed to make some sense for once.

"All right, sport…pockets," Hardcastle reminded him.

McCormick rolled his eyes, but he crossed the room and started pulling items from his pockets, placing them on the coffee table. "Absolutely unbelievable," he muttered under his breath. "Middle of the freakin' night and we're playing good cop/bad cop without the good cop. Don't know what I ever did…everywhere I go…waiting out in the dark like some kind of psycho …can't believe he thinks I'm using…might as well drag my ass down to the lab for blood tests…"

"That can be arranged, kiddo," Hardcastle finally interrupted the mumbled tirade. "I've got nothing better to do."

"No. Thank you," McCormick objected quickly, his face flushing, "that won't be necessary." He quickly continued emptying his pockets.

"Awfully quick with that answer, McCormick," the judge said with sudden suspicion. "Afraid of what the lab might find?"

McCormick looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I might be worried about a couple of things right about now, Hardcase, but I assure you, that ain't one of 'em." He placed the last scrap of paper on the table and stepped away. "There; that's everything."

"So what are you worried about, then?" Hardcastle asked conversationally as he looked through McCormick's pile of belongings.

McCormick thought the question was completely rhetorical until he saw the judge looking at him expectantly. He shook his head, and sighed deeply. "For one thing, I'm beginning to think that the sun's gonna be up long before I ever hit my bed," he complained.

Hardcastle grinned. "What else?"

McCormick met the judge's eyes. "I'm just a little concerned that if you don't get out of my face in the next five minutes, I'm gonna forget you're a judge and haul off and slug you."

Hardcastle laughed at the threat. "Really? And you're afraid of what I might do then?"

"Of course I am," McCormick replied vehemently. "But only legally, not physically."

"Oh? Think you could take me, do you?" Hardcastle asked mildly.

It was McCormick's turn to laugh. "Hardcase, I could kick your ass even if I was as stoned as you think I am. But I'd have to be to even think about trying it, so don't worry; you're safe for the moment.

"You just keep playing all the mind games you want, and push as many of my buttons as you think you can find. You're not gonna get to me. I am not going back inside, not even for the pleasure of mopping the floor with you."

The judge was still grinning when he started for the door. "Glad to know you're so committed to the idea of freedom, hotshot. Maybe you've got half a chance of making this work after all." He had vanished out the door before McCormick had a chance to reply.

As the ex-con locked the door, he wondered—not for the first time—just what it was that Hardcastle wanted with him, anyway. Why was he playing these games? And how much longer would it be until he found a reason to put him back inside? He shook his head and promised himself he would be more careful in the future. He absolutely could not afford to make a mistake with Hardcastle watching him so closely.

September, 1983

Friday

Mark McCormick lay on his bed, lost in thought. This afternoon had been great. Flip's car was fantastic, and he was going to have the chance to drive it on the circuit. Things were finally starting to go his way, and he felt an excitement he hadn't known for a long, long time.

But then he remembered the rest of the afternoon. He had come so close to blowing his parole today, and all because of a lousy watch. You would think, with so much riding on his punctuality, he would make damn sure the thing had a decent battery in it. He sighed, knowing those few minutes had almost cost him the next two and a half years of his life. That had been careless, and he just could not afford careless right now.

Thank God for Melinda. If she hadn't been willing to help him, Dalem would never have been convinced he was wrong about the time. McCormick allowed himself a small grin. He knew he shouldn't be proud of deceiving his PO, but stopping to make that tape of the Time recording was one of his brighter moments, if he did say so himself. Of course he was late, but McCormick could play innocent with the best of them, and it hadn't been hard to maneuver the conversation with Dalem into the 'I can prove it to you' stage. When he dialed the phone in the office, all he had to do was hand the receiver to Dalem and wait for Melinda to push play, and he was off the hook. Yep, Melinda had really saved his butt.

He hadn't been surprised to learn that Dalem had already called Hardcastle; between the two of them, they seemed determined to find a way to put him back behind bars. The real corker of the day, though, was the crazy judge trying to come off like some kind of guardian angel. 'I'm looking out for you.' Hah! It had been all he could do to keep from laughing in the old man's face. Hardcastle might be able to fool Dalem with that line of crap—and maybe he even fooled himself—but McCormick wasn't buying it. The guy was after something…he'd been sure of it since that first day in Dalem's office. Whether Hardcastle was simply looking for an excuse to send him back to prison or something else entirely, McCormick didn't know. But he did know it didn't really matter. This was not a game Hardcastle would win.

September, 1983

Wednesday

Milton Hardcastle stared at the file laying open on his desk. The blue eyes that stared back from the mug shot were filled with fear trying to hide behind anger, but there was no trace of the humor that so often tried to cover it all. He had looked at this file about a hundred times since last Friday afternoon, reading and re-reading every detail, wanting to be certain McCormick was the right one for the job.

Friday had been a mild concern: missing a parole appointment would've been a bad omen. But the kid had made it, and Hardcastle had been relieved. With only a week to go until his retirement, the judge didn't want to start looking for someone else for his project now.

But while Friday had caused him a few moments of worry, the phone call from Dalem fifteen minutes ago had just about stopped his heart. What in the hell was the kid thinking? Not even on the streets six months, and he was back inside already. What was the attraction to other people's cars?

Hardcastle shook his head and wondered what he had missed. While he had definitely had some reservations about McCormick's ability to stick completely to the letter of the law, he would've sworn the kid was through with the felonies, GTA or otherwise. Oh, well, at least he had learned sooner rather than later this time around. He reached out to close the manila folder and file it away for good, but he hesitated, and grabbed the phone instead.

When the familiar voice came on the line, he blurted his question, not bothering with pleasantries. "Frank, what can you tell me about the McCormick case?"

The lieutenant's smile was evident in his voice. "Been expecting to hear from you, Milt. Your project is taking another slight detour, I guess."

"Frank…"

"Oh, all right. Listen, we're still trying to put the final pieces in place, and your boy isn't talking, but it's open and shut. One of my guys is an eye-witness."

"Damn." Hardcastle wasn't sure what he had been hoping for, but that sure as hell hadn't been it.

"There is one other thing you should know though, Milt," Harper said suddenly. "My guy, the eye-witness? The only reason he's around to be a witness is because McCormick stopped to pull him out of a burning car. The guy was trapped, would've been a goner. The kid saved his life."

"Damn," Hardcastle said again. Just what was he supposed to do with that kind of information? "Okay, Frank, thanks. I'll talk to you later."

He hung up the phone and stared at the mug shot for another long moment, considering his options. Maybe—just maybe—it wasn't too late. He pulled the phone to his ear again and punched the extension for the docket clerk.

"Wendy, Milt Hardcastle. Listen, there's a kid over in the cooler right now who'll be coming across your desk today, Mark McCormick. I want him on my calendar this afternoon."

The clerk immediately objected. "Judge Hardcastle, we've already had this conversation, and I've locked down your docket. If everything goes according to plan, you should be delivering your final verdict by three o'clock this afternoon, and you're going to spend the next two days wrapping up loose ends so you don't leave too big a hole for the next guy to fill."

Hardcastle grinned. "Don't try to butter me up, Wendy. I want this kid in my courtroom and I want it this afternoon. Don't worry; it's open and shut, no more than a few hours, so I won't ruin your carefully laid plans. I promise; Mark McCormick will be my last case."

Wendy certainly knew better than to argue with that particular tone. "Yes, Your Honor, I'll take care of it."

Hardcastle was grinning as he hung up the phone. No, it absolutely was not too late; he was sure of it. Naturally, he still had arrangements to make. And, of course, McCormick would still have to be convinced. But it was not too late. This time, it was going to work.

He smiled slightly as he took one last look at the picture in the file. "You and me, kid, we're gonna change the world."