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: One more bit for the current challenge.

Ties that Bind

by

Cheride

McCormick set the mixer aside then pulled a large spoon purposefully through the potatoes. After several passes, he lifted the spoon to his lips and took an experimental bite. "Perfect," he declared, tossing the utensil over into the sink.

"No lumps, huh?" Hardcastle inquired.

"Not a one," the younger man smiled. "I know the home-style, chunky kind have their fans, but I'm a definite proponent of the thoroughly whipped, creamy variety."

The judge laughed. "I thought you'd get over that eventually, but as long as you're willing to do the whipping, I'm not complaining."

"Yeah, me doin' the work has always been a sure-fire way to stop your complaining," McCormick answered lightly.

"Sure," Hardcastle grinned at him. Then he pointed toward the counter, and the perfectly golden bird waiting there. "But don't you think that thing has been breathing long enough? We wait much longer to eat, and I am gonna start complainin' even if you are doing the work."

Mark grinned back at him. "Okay, I'm carving it up right now." He handed over the bowl of potatoes. "Why don't you take these to the table and then things'll be just about done. I'll bring the turkey and—" he broke off as the entirely unexpected sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Arching an eyebrow inquisitively he asked, "You expecting someone?"

"'Course not," the jurist answered with a shake of his head. "We agreed no company this year, right?"

"Well who the heck just drops in on Thanksgiving day?" McCormick said peevishly. "Kinda rude, don'tcha think?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "Maybe it's Mrs. Mulaney," he suggested.

McCormick brightened. "Ooh, maybe it is. She hasn't brought us any of those spice cookies yet this year." He grabbed up the carving knife and stepped over to the main course. "You go get the door, and I'll take care of this. Oh, and, Judge?" he added as Hardcastle started toward the doorway. "If it is Mrs. Mulaney, I wouldn't mind if she stayed. I think her daughter and grandkids might not've made it out this year."

Smiling to himself, Hardcastle strode down the hall as the bell rang again. He knew McCormick had really been looking forward to a quiet holiday—a well-earned breather from his first full-time semester of school. But he wasn't surprised at all that the kid would change his mind in a second to welcome a lonely neighbor. But as he opened the door on the third bell ring, his smile faded, and he was very definitely surprised.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he blurted.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Judge." Standing on the porch in a decently tailored charcoal suit with a well-pressed, pale green shirt and a paisley silk tie, Hardcastle had to admit that Sonny Daye looked pretty well put together for a transient, uninvited visitor. It almost made the sardonic tone and slight scowl on the visitor's face seem out of place.

Hardcastle shook his head slightly, took a breath, and tried to rephrase his question. "Yeah, happy Thanksgiving, Sonny. What can I do for you? I'm kind of in the middle of something." He gestured with the bowl he still carried.

For once, Sonny seemed to get the hint, and he offered a nervous smile. "Oh, uh, yeah sure. Sorry to interrupt. I was just wonderin' if you knew where I could find Mark?"

The judge pondered the other man for a moment. He might've considered lying, if he hadn't been almost as surprised by the question as he was by the man himself. "Where do you think you'd find him?" he countered in exasperation. "He's here."

That seemed to surprise Daye. "Here?" he repeated. "Really? I woulda figured his parole would be up by now."

"It is," Hardcastle confirmed, though he offered no other information.

"Oh."

And as he watched Sonny's face fall, Hardcastle decided he'd been an ungracious host long enough. "Why don't you come in, Sonny?" he invited, stepping back out of the way. He closed the door again, then pointed toward the den. "Go ahead and have a seat in there and I'll tell McCormick you're here."

Daye cast a knowing glance at the older man. "Figure you need to give him a little bit of a warning, huh?"

"One of us oughta consider his feelings," the judge said shortly. He pointed again. "So sit. Wait."

Daye just nodded and stepped down into the den as Hardcastle started back toward the kitchen.

"So who was it?" McCormick asked, looking up from the turkey he was piling onto a platter. "And I thought you were putting those in the dining room?"

Hardcastle looked down at the potatoes. "Oh, yeah. I was. I am. Just thought they might need a little warming up first."

"Oh, they're fine, Judge. It hasn't even been ten minutes yet, and I just poured the gravy, so it's good and hot. Let's just sit down and eat."

"Hold on, kiddo." Hardcastle placed the serving bowl on the counter top and stopped the younger man before he could turn away. He sucked in a deep breath. "About the door . . ."

"Not Mrs. Mulaney, huh? Too bad. Those cookies woulda made a nice dessert." McCormick's face screwed up in curiosity. "Then who was it?"

"Ah . . . Sonny."

Mark barked out a sudden laugh. "Hah, that's good, Judge. If this is your way of trying to sneak all those spice cookies for yourself—"

"It was Sonny, kid," Hardcastle broke in quietly. He faced his friend directly. "He's waiting in the den."

For several long seconds McCormick stood quietly, motionless, then he finally shuffled slowly to the table, dragged out a chair and sank into it. Then he looked back at Hardcastle. "What's he want?" he asked tonelessly.

"Don't know," the judge answered with a small shrug. "Looking for you is all he said."

McCormick rubbed at his temple. "Dammit," he said fervently, though he didn't raise his voice above a harsh whisper. "His timing really sucks, you know that?"

Hardcastle shrugged again. "I dunno. The holidays and all, a guy wants to spend time with his family."

"Holidays, huh? Well there've been a whole bunch of 'em that he managed to fight off that inclination; you'd think he coulda managed one more."

The jurist stared at the man who would willingly open his home to a lonely neighbor and waited for some of that charity to be extended to the man's own father, though there was a part of him that would certainly understand if McCormick couldn't take that step. And, though he'd never admit it to anyone—and certainly not to McCormick—there was a very small part of him that hoped he wouldn't.

But as he watched, McCormick seemed to reach some sort of decision—or at least determined that the decision would have to be faced. With a sigh, the young man pushed himself to his feet and took a step toward the door, but then he stopped and twisted back to look at Hardcastle.

"I'm not saying I will," he began, "but just in case . . . would you mind if . . .?" He seemed unable to even put the thought into words.

"Of course not," Hardcastle replied with a small smile. "Whatever you want to do." He shooed the kid toward the door. "Go talk to your dad. I'll cover the turkey and start warming the rest of the stuff up a bit."

McCormick gave him a smile—halfway between gratitude and apology—and continued from the room.

As he strode down the hall, McCormick grimaced to himself and tried to force down his annoyance. He had recently discovered that full-time law school was almost more hectic than part-time classes squeezed in between crime fighting, and—after cramming all his required reading into the earlier part of the week—he'd been looking forward to a quiet holiday break. It had certainly never entered his mind that Sonny might pop up unexpectedly to interfere with those plans, but he supposed that nothing Sonny did should surprise him at this point.

But as he stepped through the double-doors and saw the man in question standing silently, hands jammed into pockets and staring pensively out the window, he couldn't deny that he was surprised. And still annoyed, despite his best intentions. "Sonny, what the hell are you doing here?" he blurted.

Sonny turned slowly to face his son, and his expression held a bit of annoyance, too, but he quickly wiped that away and replaced it with a warm smile. "Hiya, Mark." He crossed the space separating them and pulled the young man into a one-sided embrace. "How ya doin', kid?"

Mastering his frustration, McCormick answered as he stepped back, "I'm fine, Sonny. I just wasn't expecting to see you. Haven't heard from you in a while."

"I sent you a post card from San Diego," Daye said defensively.

"And I got it," Mark said blandly. "In April."

Sonny's eyes widened slightly. "Has it really been that long?"

McCormick thought the mild embarrassment in the tone was genuine, and bit back the retort that would've had him pointing out that seven months wasn't really all that long in the grand scheme of things. Nothing like twenty-five years.

But he held his tongue because after his father's last visit earlier this year, McCormick had come to an undeniable truth: Sonny wasn't really malicious, just thoughtless, and any anger directed toward him seemed to somehow bounce back and leave Mark feeling worse than ever. Best just to let it go and make whatever peace he could.

"You still working those casinos down south?" he ventured.

"Yep." Daye let his eyes wander the room for a second, then asked, "How are things going with the bar? Did you get all that straightened out?"

"Hah. That stuff won't be straightened out for years."

"Well, maybe it'll give you something to do in your old age."

"Maybe," Mark replied noncommittally, and then they lapsed into silence again. It occurred to the young man then that making peace was an uncomfortable thing.

"So what are you doing here, Sonny?" McCormick finally asked again, though not unkindly.

"Can't a guy decide to spend Thanksgiving with his son?" Daye asked him. "Nothing so wrong with that, is there?"

McCormick shook his head slowly. "No, Sonny, nothing wrong with that, except that a little advance notice would've been nice, that's all."

"Well . . ." Sonny's hands were back in his pockets and he was suddenly studying his feet. "I kinda thought it might be a nice surprise." He gave a half shrug, still not looking up. "I thought you might be alone."

Before Mark could force a reply past his astonishment, Sonny was speaking again, his words coming in a rush.

"I mean, I figured your parole was up by now, and sometimes when guys are out and finally completely on their own, things get a little strange and sometimes it's hard to get back to normal and—"

"Sonny," McCormick finally broke in, "that's okay. I get it." He gave his father a genuine smile. "And I appreciate it. Really. But things are okay here." He cast a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen. "And it hasn't really been just about the parole for a long time now."

Sonny looked just a little bit disheartened. "Yeah, I guess I shoulda figured that, after he came all the way to Jersey and then helped with the bar and all. More than your typical PO would do."

"You got that right," McCormick grinned. He sobered quickly. "But you're welcome to stay, Sonny; we've got plenty and we're glad to have you."

But Daye was already shaking his head. "Nah, I don't want to butt in; seems like things are pretty well settled here. And besides, there's this pretty little brunette I met down at the casino; said I should look her up next time I was up here."

McCormick looked at him skeptically. "A brunette, huh? What about spending the holiday with family?"

Sonny's story was coming together faster. "Well, I was actually going to ask you if you'd mind if she joined us this evening, but now I guess we can just be a couple." He gave an ingratiating smile.

McCormick wondered just how much he should try and convince the man to stay when it hadn't been his idea to invite him in the first place. He thought maybe at least a bit more effort might be appropriate, so he took a breath and said, "You could bring her, too, if you want. It's Thanksgiving, Sonny; the more the merrier."

But Sonny wasn't biting, and McCormick felt just a twinge of guilt about that. "Nah, I don't think that'd work out too well. No sense making everyone uncomfortable."

That level of insight shouldn't go unrewarded, McCormick decided. "I can understand that, so what about later tonight? Where are you staying? With the brunette?"

At that, Sonny gave a decidedly ungentlemanly grin. "She hasn't said so…yet."

McCormick grinned back at him. "What about the rest of the weekend?"

"I've got a show Saturday night."

"Then that leaves tomorrow, right? Why don't you come back over then; the three of us'll sit around and eat cold turkey sandwiches and watch some football. You can crash here, then head back to San Diego Saturday. Whattaya say?" Suddenly, Mark found himself thinking that sounded like a good idea, and he hoped Sonny would say yes.

It took a few seconds, but finally Sonny seemed to decide it was a good idea, too. "Yeah, that'd be great, kid. I'll bring the beer."

It seemed to be with mutual relief that they started together up the steps. McCormick opened the front door, then gave his father an affectionate pat on the back. "You have a good time."

"You, too," Sonny said with a smile.

"And if she doesn't say yes, you can come back here tonight, okay?"

"Okay." He winked playfully. "But your old man usually does all right with the ladies."

"No doubt," McCormick laughed. "I just wanted you to know the invitation was open." And to his surprise, he realized his words were totally true.

Then with an engaging smile and a promise of "see you tomorrow", Sonny Daye briskly descended the porch steps and slid into the waiting Cadillac, waving one last time as he disappeared down the drive.

McCormick closed the door behind him wearing a small smile of his own, and headed back toward the kitchen. The room was empty so he strolled on into the dining room, and there he found Hardcastle, lifting the foil off the turkey platter with one hand and motioning him to a chair with the other.

"Everything's ready," the judge told him. "Let's eat before it gets cold again." He looked around briefly. "Sonny joining us?"

"Nah." Mark took his seat and stabbed a slice of white meat.

"So what'd he want?" Hardcastle asked as he began filling his own plate.

"Oh, you were right; it was the holiday with the family thing. Nothing major."

"Well that is kinda major, kiddo, and if that's what he had in mind, why didn't he hang around?"

Mark shrugged and began to butter a roll. "He said he'd come over tomorrow. But today…" he paused, looking around appreciatively. "Today I think he mighta realized that 'family' isn't always so easy to define."