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

Another look at what might've happened after the famous dressing room scene. Thanks, Suzanne, for the challenge.

Solitary Harmony

by

Cheride

A combination of frustration and adrenaline had carried him quickly back down the corridor and out of the lounge, then through the casino and to the bottom of the exterior steps, and Hardcastle had simply followed along, staying close at hand, offering silent moral support. But out on the sidewalk, McCormick stopped suddenly, bringing the judge to an immediate halt, as well. Then he turned and looked up at the marquee.

"Most people," he began, his words filled with bitterness, "would probably be proud to see their father's name up in lights."

"Maybe," Hardcastle allowed.

The young man shook his head, then turned back to face his friend. "This was a mistake."

"Ah, you don't know that yet, kiddo. Let's see how dinner goes tomorrow."

"I told you I didn't want to do that," McCormick objected. "I don't know why you agreed to meet him."

"I agreed," Hardcastle answered calmly, "because you were upset and not thinkin' straight."

"Not thinkin' straight? Because I didn't want to have dinner with a guy who's obviously doin' just fine without the son he abandoned? Seems perfectly reasonable to me, Judge." The bitterness in the tone had given way slightly to something more wounded.

Hardcastle offered a gentle smile. "I know it seemed that way, but I think you have to cut the guy a little slack for being surprised. What is it you thought would happen, anyway?"

McCormick paused for a moment, his brow wrinkled quizzically. "I'm not sure," he admitted finally. "I mean, I didn't expect to walk in and find some kinda shrine to me and my mom or anything. Didn't think he'd recognize me on sight and start slobbering all over his long lost son." He managed a slight grin with the last part, but it didn't hold. "But I didn't expect what I got, either."

"Yeah," the judge nodded slowly, "that's usually the way things go. You walk into something not knowing what to expect, and life still manages to surprise you." He gave a rueful grin. "Just imagine how I felt, after flying across the country without a clue."

Mark gave a brief laugh, but sobered quickly. "I do appreciate you coming, Judge," he said sincerely.

But Hardcastle waved it off. "Ah, you were right; friends do favors for friends."

A smile spread slowly across McCormick's face, and he turned to look back up at the glittering lights. "I bet he was surprised," he said softly. "Probably hadn't thought about us for a long time. I dunno. But he did invite us for dinner. That can't be all bad, right?"

"Right," the older man confirmed. Then he reached out to clap his young friend's shoulder. "Come on," he encouraged. "I know this little greasy spoon diner that makes a great meatloaf. You'll like it."

McCormick nodded and stepped down to the curb, reaching out to flag a cab. "That does sound pretty good," he agreed amiably.

"Yeah, and while we're at it, maybe you can tell me a little more about those 'mostly legal' activities that led us here."

The young man just laughed as they climbed into the backseat and drove into the Atlantic City night together.

And in the building behind them, the man with his name in lights had gone back to signing autographs. But on the table next to the stack of eight by ten glossies was a wallet, its few bills and wrinkled receipts scattered to reveal a very different kind of photo, lined with age and handling. A lovely, dark-haired woman smiled up from the picture, her hand resting lovingly on the shoulder of a happily grinning little boy, and they watched over him as he wrote his name one more time, alone.