A View From the Cage, a hardcastle and mccormick fanfic

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.

Author's Note: Sometimes, the muse does not cooperate. Sometimes, it's a matter of just putting fingers to keys and getting back to basics. So it was that when I needed a bit of a kick-start to get some writing done, I went in search of a starter sentence. I found one (at , I believe), and turned that starter sentence into a starter paragraph, and then two paragraphs. Then that opening segment became the launching pad for the exercise, exploring two different scenarios branching from the same beginning. Then, LML said such things were better in threes, so I added one other bit, arranged the bits into something close to a logical progression, and here we are.

If you also find yourself held hostage by your muse, I will share the challenge I've posted over at the Gull's Way Yahoo board: use this starter sentence to explore your own scenario. Or, if you're not in love with the sentence, simply build your story around the idea of being trapped. Any length story will do, and I'd love to see a bunch of them.

As always, thanks to LML and Owl, and I hope the latter will accept my apologies for disregarding the whole transitive/intransitive verb lesson.

A View From the Cage

Cheride

~Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better. -Albert Camus~

Trapped. A rat in a maze, a tiger in a cage, every cliché he could think of—he was trapped. He tried not to let his mind drift to the most obvious comparison: a prisoner in a cell. That one was still a little too close to the surface to simply be bandied about like—he stopped himself before he could get off on another litany of metaphors. It was going to take more than his usual snappy repartee to get out of this.

Over-confidence—damn fool cockiness, he could hear Hardcastle correcting—that was the problem. For reasons he would never be able to understand, he always expected to come out on top. Life had certainly taught him the folly of that line of thinking on more than one occasion, but he still couldn't quite let it go. On the other hand, maybe what those life lessons had really taught him was that he always survived, and he did it by counting on himself.

But how was that capable independence going to serve him now? He'd hitched himself to the most ludicrous partner in the history of partnerships, and the longer he had for the adrenalin to wear off and reality to sink in, the more he began to wonder just how Hardcastle had managed to get him to walk into this trap so completely.

Not that he'd had much choice . . . no choice at all, really. Trap or not, putting Martin Cody behind bars had seemed a reasonable trade-off, so he'd accepted the judge's offer mostly willingly. But now, barely a week later, he was beginning to realize that he had no idea just what 'indefinitely' might entail. He was pretty sure, though, that coming out on top was going to take a lot of work this time around.

McCormick paused at the thought, turning it over in his mind, examining it from every angle. It might be helpful, he concluded, if he had a good idea what constituted "on top". He thought Hardcastle's plans basically included breaking him down; turning him into something the older man could consider a model citizen. Well, that, and the whole fast gun thing. After only two cases, it was pretty clear that "fast gun" meant "target", and if the number of file folders in the basement could be used as a guide, the judge had a lot of people who wanted to shoot at him. And anyone standing next to him. Yeah, it was definitely going to take more than snappy repartee to get through this in one piece.

So maybe coming out on top would be easy to define after all: don't become the well-behaved poster boy for Reformed Ex-Convicts of America; don't die.

McCormick rolled his eyes and let a sigh escape as he realized that wasn't the answer he'd been searching for. What he had hoped to find lurking in the corners of his mind was some sort of way out; some sort of justification—and some sort of plan—for giving old Hardcastle the slip; he wanted a way to get his life back. But maybe counting on himself hadn't served him so well, after all, because he couldn't find a single bit of twisted logic that would let him repay the judge with betrayal. No, he'd been right from the first.

He was trapped.

00000

Slowly, surely, he raised his eyes to meet those watching him. He couldn't show fear, not now, not when so much was hanging in the balance.

"All in," he said calmly, and pushed the stack of chips to the center of the table.

It took a couple of seconds, but then the spell was broken. Charlie was the first to fold, and then the others were shaking their heads and throwing their own cards down in disgust. As he'd figured, the judge held out the longest, watching him carefully, weighing the odds. But the man wouldn't risk it—wouldn't bet against the streak that had led to the large pile of chips now in play. And while Hardcastle made up his own mind, McCormick simply waited, confident. Or cocky. Didn't matter really, because he knew how this was going to end. Finally, with a muttered curse, Hardcastle motioned the pot toward the younger man.

McCormick flashed a small celebratory grin, but he didn't let it spread too far. No sense rubbing their noses in defeat, especially when the night was young. He still hoped to take more money from these folks.

Then you better wise up, he admonished himself as he raked the pile of chips his way. Confidence can only take you so far.

But sometimes, that was just far enough. His grin grew just a little as he tossed his pair of threes casually into the card pile, suddenly feeling free as a bird, light as a feather, on top of the world . . .

00000

But now, wedged behind a barricade of crates that would never be able to stop bullets, McCormick was beginning to think that going it alone today had not been the best idea. But he had been certain Hardcastle was wrong this time; certain that he—not the judge—knew where the bad guys would be hiding out. Sometimes being right wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

The plan had been simple enough: scope out the warehouses with ties to Caston, figure out which one he and his goon squad were using as a safe house, then make a quick call to tell Hardcastle to bring in the cavalry. Oh, and gloat just a little. That had been part of the plan, too, though he thought now that might've been the over-confidence again.

He heard footsteps coming in his direction and scrunched himself down further into the shadows. It had been a while since he'd heard any gunfire, and even most of the shouting had died down, but he didn't fool himself that he was safe. He wouldn't be safe until he got off this pier, and he was willing to admit that would be easier to do if he had some help. Not that he wished Hardcastle was here, he thought quickly—no sense wishing they had both ended up hiding behind a box waiting to die.

Footsteps again, closer now, almost on top of him. He tensed, ready to lunge and use his barricade as a weapon in one final, desperate attempt to deny the inevitable. He wouldn't come out on top this time, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

And then, just before he shoved the crates onto his would-be killer . . . "You might want to think twice about that, sport."

The killer froze, and before McCormick could even wrap his mind around it all, there were even more footsteps, quickly followed by the sound of locking handcuffs. He took a deep breath before standing up slowly to see the judge holstering his weapon as a uniformed officer led the goon away.

"I thought you were going to the apartment complex," Mark greeted.

"I did. I thought you were not coming here."

McCormick shrugged as he stepped from behind the crates. "Well—"

"Well, nothing," Hardcastle interrupted. "You didn't even have sense enough to bring a cop along? I'm telling you, kiddo, that damn fool cockiness of yours is gonna get you into real trouble one of these days."

McCormick fought back a smile as the judge continued his lecture—a lecture born of relief, no doubt. He listened silently as they made their way toward the group of squad cars, and he thought maybe-just maybe- being free meant having someone else to count on.