Note: I was too young to watch the series when it was on and just recently discovered it. This is my first attempt at a Hardcastle & McCormick story...might be my last...ha, ha!

Mark sat in front of his food and pushed it around with his fork not feeling very hungry. It had been a long day that included a cattle prod, filling endless holes with sand in the ungodly heat…and betraying his best friend.

They sat in silence at the dinner table for a while until Mark McCormick broke the silence. "Hey, judge, what's wrong?"

"Huh? What're you talking about, McCormick."

"Something's wrong...you aren't braying at me like you usually do."

"Braying?" Hardcastle raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah."

"I don't bray...donkeys bray."

"Mmm hmm...exactly," Mark smirked.

"There's nothing wrong with me, McCormick."

"Then why have you been staring at me for the past ten minutes."

"I haven't been staring." At least the judge didn't think he had been; he was so deep in thought about the beach and the memories of Nancy it had brought back.

"I mean I know it's hard to keep your eyes off such a handsome specimen as myself and all, but..." Mark's voice trailed off; all his attempts at humor and lightening the situation had been shot down up until this part and now he just felt awkward.

"But nothing. Now eat your dinner."

"You're annoyed with me, aren't you?"

"No more than usual."

Mark leaned forward in his seat slightly. "Look…um…I'm really sorry, Judge. I didn't want to give you up…really. You know that…right?"

Hardcastle didn't answer and instead stood. "It's getting late. Let's clean this up and get some rest."

It was all the answer Mark needed. "I'll take care of it. You go on up to bed."

"You sure?"

Mark nodded.

"Okay. Think I will, kid. G'nite."

"Night, judge."

Mark watched the retreating back and when it was out of view he allowed himself to let go of the act and collapsed against the table and let his head rest in his arms. Hardcastle's words kept repeating in is head:

"Well, sure, if you can't fight your own battles it's okay to pull your friends into something so you don't get hurt."

"I didn't expect you to hair out on me."

He had tried to laugh it off at the time, but now that the adrenaline had worn off so had the humor. The judge didn't seem to care that he had been taken by Nazis and tortured with a cattle prod...never even asked if he was okay.

He could still feel the electrical jolt, hear his own screams and smell his burning flesh. The hidden wounds that littered his chest throbbed and he felt dizzy and weak.

But the table wouldn't clear itself and the last thing he needed was to do another thing to annoy the judge, so he forced himself up and got to work.

Hardcastle lie in bed reviewing the events of the day. He had been scared when Mark had gone missing and he found those shell casings on the beach. But then when he saw the younger man coming in through the window, the initial relief gave way to an overwhelming desire to get the bad guys. So great, that he didn't even think to ask him if he was okay.

And later on the beach while they were refilling the gaping holes that marred his beloved Nancy's beach, he did what he always did…he covered up his feelings by teasing and arguing playfully with McCormick.

By dinner, he knew he hadn't been much company, but he it had been an emotional week for him and he felt drained. He didn't even remember much of the conversation as he had been in his own world and all but ignored his friend. And when Mark tried to talk to him he was abrupt and practically ran from the table.

'I'll talk to the kid in the morning,' the jurist thought before rolling over and turning out the light.

Morning came all too soon for Mark when he was woken by the rapid-fire pounding on the door.

"McCormick!"

Mark forced his eyes open and let out a groan. It felt like just moments ago that he had finished cleaning the dishes and dragged himself to the gatehouse. From there he barely managed to climb the stairs and kick off his shoes before falling into his bed and passing out.

"McCormick. Open the door or I'm comin' in!"

He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam and he gripped the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over. He closed his eyes waiting for the room to stay still. To his disdain it was still spinning when he heard the door open and the judge came charging up the stairs.

Trying to pull himself together he sat up straighter and plastered a grin on his face. "Mornin' Hardcase."

"Morning? It's closer to noon." Hardcastle crossed his arms. "Maybe I oughtta get myself one of those cattle prods…that seems to get you jumping."

Mark couldn't believe the judge had said that. "That's low…even for you."

"Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed." Hardcastle paused before adding, "although technically somebody hasn't bothered to get up yet."

"Unbelievable," Mark muttered under his breath.

Hardcastle rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon, McCormick. Lighten up…where's your sense of humor, kid?"

"Must have lost it yesterday," he stood on shaky legs to look the judge in the eye, "Nazi's aren't exactly the joking type."

The judge picked up one of the sneakers that Mark had kicked off the night prior. "Well let's see if you can find it in the sand today while you finish filling in those holes."

"Ju-udge," Mark whined.

"Let's go hotshot." Hardcastle lobbed the shoe toward McCormick. "Catch."

But Mark was too slow and the size 12 Nike hit him squarely in the chest. All the color drained from his already pale complexion. He doubled over and sank down to his knees.

The judge hustled over and knelt down next to his fallen friend. "Hey...hey...what's the matter?" There was no answer as Mark had his eyes closed and was gritting his teeth. "Just try and breathe, kid."

"I'm...I'm okay."

"Jesus, McCormick...you're not okay."

"Hurts," Mark's breath caught in his throat, "hurts a bit."

"What hurts?" When he didn't get an answer he asked, "you think you can stand so we can get you back onto the bed?"

Mark nodded, though he had his doubts.

Wordlessly, Hardcastle reached out and assisted the now shaking and sweating man off the floor eased him down onto the mattress until he was lying flat.

"Thanks."

"You can thank me by tellin' me what in the hell is wrong with you." The judge's tone was rough, but the concern was clear.

"You were right about the cattle prod…had me jumping." He refrained from adding, 'and screaming'; he had already admitted more than he would have liked to.

Hardcastle blanched, his blue eyes opening wide.

"Damn, Hardcase," Mark sighed wearily. "I know you're old and all…and the memory may be on the fritz…but I told you this yesterday."

"You said he had a cattle prod…you didn't say he used it."

"Repeatedly." Sadness flashed across his face. "Why else did you think I gave them your name? I might have lasted longer, but I couldn't let them hurt Razz."

Hardcastle hung his head unable to form any words.

"I do believe the great Milton C. Hardcastle has been rendered speechless for the first time."

"Be serious, McCormick."

"What happened to 'lighten up'?"

"That was before I knew." The judge stopped and exhaled loudly. "How could I have been so blind?"

"First the memory goes…then eyesight…"

"McCormick!" he chastised. But the jurist knew the curly headed man was trying to distract him from the real issue at hand.

"Sorry."

"And, damnit...don't apologize." The judge saw Mark jump slightly and he lowered his voice. "Look, kid, none of this is your fault. Now, how are you feeling? And don't tell me 'fine'."

Mark didn't answer right away; he closed his eyes for a moment trying to take stock. "Tired…and hot. I think some of the burns might be getting infected."

"Burns?"

"Your hearing going now too?

"Cute, McCormick." The judge stepped forward and placed a hand to the ailing man's forehead. "You're running a fever. I better take a look at those…um…burns."

The judge waited for Mark to nod his approval before carefully lifting up his shirt. He winced in sympathy and the swollen and angry looking red welts. "I think we need to get you to a doctor."

Mark shook his head. "No…please. Don't need a doctor."

"Your wounds need to be tended to. They're not lookin' too good…and either are you."

"Please, judge," Mark pleaded. "I don't wanna have to explain. Can't you do it?"

The older man ran a hand over his face contemplating what to do. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly; he wasn't sure how he would explain the situation either. "Let me run back to the house and get a few supplies. Don't move."

"Don't worry…wasn't planning on it."

It was hard to tell who was suffering more a short while later as the burns were cleaned and an antiseptic ointment applied.

Mark had a white-knuckled grip on the sides of the mattress. His eyes were tightly shut and his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back any sounds.

The judge's hands shook as he tended to his friend as gently as possible, knowing full well that he was inflicting more pain upon him. He could see Mark struggling not to cry out, but a few moans and whimpers escaped and tore at his heart.

"I'm almost done, kiddo. Hang in there."

Mark acknowledged the statement by briefly opening his eyes only to snap them shut again with a hiss as the judge hit a particularly sensitive location. He must have blacked out for a few moments because the next thing he remembered, Hardcastle was calling his name and placing a cool cloth on his forehead.

"McCormick...c'mon kid...open those eyes." Hardcastle sighed with relief when he saw two glazed eyes flutter open. "You with me, kid?"

"Yeah...all three of you. As if one weren't enough."

The judge began to reach for the phone next to the bed. "That's it...I'm callin' Charlie."

Mark reached out and grabbed onto Hardcastle's arm. "Wait...I'm okay. Just gimme a minute." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "A little woozy is all."

"I don't like it..."

Mark snorted. "Like that's a surprise."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark reopened his eyes but kept them focused downward as he softly said, "Look, judge, it's no secret that you don't like a whole lot of things that I do."

"Where'd you get a hair-brained idea like that from?" Mark was about to respond, but was cut off as Hardcastle held up a hand and added, "don't answer that. I think you and me need to have a little talk, McCormick. Actually, I'll talk, you listen."

The judge stood and began to pace back and forth. "Sure there are things I don't like about you. Your hair is too long...you steal the sports page out of my newspaper...you listen to all that goofy music...you..."

"Great pep talk, Kemosabe," Mark interrupted. "But would you mind standing still? I'm dizzy enough as it is."

"Sorry." The judge stopped and shrugged apologetically before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What I'm trying to say is that while there are lots of things I don't like about'cha...and I'm sure there a few things you don't like about me..."

"Boy, are there ever," Mark muttered.

Clearing his throat loudly, Hardcastle continued. "The point is...well...that I like you." He shifted uncomfortably. "There...I said it…I like you."

Mark smiled slightly. "Thanks, judge. You're not so bad either." He winked. "For a donkey."

The levity of the moment was broken as Mark felt another wave of dizziness and reached out an arm for something to hold onto.

"I'm here, Mark. Just squeeze my hand."

The rare use of his first name coupled with the compassion radiating out of the judges' blue eyes proved too much. Mark felt a lump form in his throat as he fought back the tears.

Hardcastle could see that Mark was struggling to keep his composure…to not let any signs of weakness show. "Let it out, kid. You don't hafta be strong anymore."

"Not strong…gave you up. I let you down." The tears began to flow.

"No…no you didn't. You have nothing to prove to me, Mark."

Hardcastle held Mark's hand and kept a gentle patter of words going while sobs wracked his battered body. It was the first time he had seen the younger man cry and it took all he had not to break down with him.

Gradually the tears subsided and they lapsed into silence, but neither man was ready to let go of the other.

Finally a smile worked its way back onto Mark's face. "If they could see me now."

"Who?"

"The guys in San Q." Arching an eyebrow he asked, "tell me…do you hold the hands of many men you put away?"

"No, you must be special."

"I bet you say that to all your convicted felons." Mark teased, before sobering. "Well…thanks…um…for being there for me."

"Anytime, kiddo…anytime."

Both men blushed; tomorrow they were sure to feel a bit of embarrassment, but for today it was nice.

The jurist could see Mark's eyelids growing heavy. "Why don't you get some more rest?"

Mark nodded sleepily. "I have a question…when do I get to tell you what I don't like about you?"

"A few days from now when you're fit to finish filling up those holes."

"Okay," he yawned and shut his eyes. "Right now I can't think of anything not to like anyway."

Hardcastle beamed. "Now yer cookin'!"

The End