This story is a sequel to my story "A silver lining", and takes place one week later. You don't have to read that story for this one to make sense, though.

This story is dedicated to Jeanne, who said that it couldn't just end there.

As usual, nothing belongs to me except the basic idea. And please feel free to let me know what you think.

Obligation

Milton Hardcastle felt lousy. He coughed once, then again, and felt the congestion in his lungs get worse instead of better. At this rate, he would have to see a doctor about the cold he had caught. He couldn't afford to be ill right now. There were cases to research, criminals to hunt down, and more importantly, a report to send to the Parole Board. He'd known, when he transferred McCormick's parole from Dalem to himself, that monthly reports would be required. He just hadn't expected the first month to pass so quickly, and he hadn't even started thinking about what he could say in the report, and what would be better left unsaid. And getting the report right mattered, more so than he'd thought at the beginning, because Mark had turned out to be more than he'd expected in an ex-con.

He coughed again. Summer colds were the worst, he thought, because the weather was already so warm that you somehow felt more miserable than if you caught something in winter. At least, in winter, you expected to catch the latest flu bug. The injustice of his current situation also irritated him immensely. McCormick was the one who'd been caught in the rain the previous week and soaked to the skin, but was the younger man ill? No, if anything, he was healthier than ever, and with so much energy it tired Hardcastle out just to watch him in the garden.

The gardening was coming along well too, now that he understood that Mark actually had no idea what he was doing. The kid was a quick study, though, and Hardcastle had only needed to show him how to do something once, and he could manage on his own. True, the roses still needed pruning, but Hardcastle had always left those to Sarah in any case, and she would be able to tell McCormick whatever he needed to know about that particular chore.

A longer spell of hacking left Hardcastle short of breath and struggling to fill his lungs with air. The unpleasant sensation of not being able to breathe properly made his decision for him, and he picked up the telephone to call Charlie. He knew Charlie would see him at short notice, and he was proved right when he managed to get an appointment for later in the morning. At the very least, he would be able to appreciate the beautiful day while he drove down the coast to see the doctor.

Deciding to run a few errands on the same trip, Hardcastle collected his wallet and a few letters to post, and headed out the door. "McCormick! Where are … " the rest of the customary yell was broken by another bout of coughing, which ended just as the younger man came around the side of the house. Hardcastle thought he caught a fleeting look of concern on the young man's face, before Mark was at his side, taking his arm and trying to steer him back into the house. "I think you should go back inside and sit down, Judge. That doesn't sound very good." Mark took a step towards the door, only to find that Hardcastle wasn't moving along with him. He tugged on the arm he was holding, only to have the judge pull it out of his grasp and head towards the truck.

"Hardcase, what do you think you're doing? You should take it easy until you feel better." Mark's exasperation was clear. "I am taking it easy, kiddo, I'm just going for a little drive, and to run some errands. I'm fine, really." Another coughing spell almost made Hardcastle doubt the wisdom of his actions, but he couldn't expect Charlie to come all the way to Gulls Way to check on a simple cold. Seeing Mark's blatantly disbelieving look, Hardcastle gave in, "Okay, okay. I'm going to see Charlie Friedman." "Who?" was the puzzled response from Mark. "He's the family doctor, has been for years."

Mark only nodded, and then hesitated. "Would you like me to drive you there, Judge?" It was obvious Mark expected the judge to refuse, but Hardcastle surprised him by simply tossing him the keys. Quickly wiping his hands on his worn jeans, Mark led the way to the vehicle. The drive to the doctor's office was a quiet one, with Mark unsure how much he could say before getting on Hardcastle's nerves, as the judge seemed to be deep in thought.

Hardcastle was thinking about the man sitting next to him. He found he'd been doing that a lot in the few weeks since they'd struck their rather unorthodox bargain to become a crime-fighting partnership. At first, he'd only been concerned with what it would take to keep McCormick in line, and how to get the younger man to obey his orders. Since the rain storm last week, though, he'd spent a lot of time mulling over the fact that McCormick seemed to see him as a positive presence in his life. In fact, the younger man had even admitted that the judge was the silver lining in all the bad events from Flip Johnson's death to Cody's arrest in Las Vegas. The thought was humbling to Hardcastle, as he'd never considered himself a source of light in anyone's life, other than Nancy's, perhaps. A glaring spotlight on their deficiencies, maybe, but just the gentle light that got them through another day? He would never have believed it possible. And yet. The kid had let the words slip, and Hardcastle was sure he hadn't been lying. But every time he tried to bring the subject up, McCormick had managed to change the topic of conversation. The kid was extremely good at steering attention away from himself, and Hardcastle had to wonder if it was a natural talent or one that he'd developed in prison to avoid trouble.

Perhaps now was a good time to broach the subject again, as Mark was pretty much a captive audience. "So, kiddo, I've been thinking about what you said last week …" "I said a lot of things last week, Judge. Which ones are you interested in? The ones to Sarah about the food, or the ones I directed at some of your plants? Not to mention that lawn of yours! Tell me, Hardcase, what exactly is in that fertilizer you had me put on the grass? That stuff is growing as if it's only got five minutes left to do all the growing it needs to do in a lifetime." Mark's rambling about the garden was familiar by now, as this was his first line of defence whenever the judge mentioned those words Mark had let slip. Letting the judge know that he considered their deal a good thing was the ideal way to give the older man a permanent upper hand in their relationship. Mark was also embarrassed that he had said anything. He didn't want the judge to think that he saw him as some sort of father figure, or that he was trying to manipulate the judge's affections. He didn't want Hardcastle to feel as if he owed Mark anything, when he'd already done so much.

Hardcastle just let it go. He didn't really feel up to dragging an admission out of McCormick, when it was obvious that the whole subject made Mark uncomfortable. He'd been uneasy about the idea at first, too, and then he'd realised that it felt good to be needed again. He was useful to one person, and somehow that seemed more important than being useful to society as a whole. Other people, whether police or lawyers, could get criminals off the streets, but only he could make Mark's day brighter by simply being there. It was a comforting thought.

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Mark sat outside the doctor's office waiting for Hardcastle's return. In just over three weeks, he'd come to understand that calling the other man stubborn was an understatement. So if the judge had made an appointment of his own free will, he must feel even worse than he was letting on. Mark wasn't sure what he could do to make things any better, but he figured that perhaps he wouldn't complain too much about the gardening until the judge was feeling better. And maybe he would stay away from the lawn mower for a few days. Hardcastle wouldn't need to listen to the endless drone of the mower in the background, while he was trying to rest.

Looking back towards the door, he saw the judge coming out, clutching a piece of paper in his right hand and shaking his head in disbelief. Marching over to the truck, Hardcastle got in and slammed the door shut before he'd even settled in his seat. "So … " Mark's unasked question lingered in the air. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he started the truck and asked "Where to now?" Hardcastle muttered irritably, "The pharmacy. I've got to get this prescription filled." He glowered at the piece of paper in his hand, as if it were personally to blame for all his ills. Noting the look of alarm on Mark's face, Hardcastle explained, "Charlie says I've got bronchitis. I ask you, how can anyone get bronchitis in the middle of summer!"

"I don't know, Judge, but you don't seem to do anything by the book. I guess this just sort of … fits your style." Mark's insight made the judge pause for a second. Letting his amusement show, he directed Mark to the pharmacy he always used. While he waited for the judge to collect his medication, Mark decided that he would need to find out what else the doctor had said, so that he could make sure Hardcastle did as he was supposed to once they got back to the estate. He knew that Hardcastle probably wouldn't tell him the truth, so he found a pretty young assistant to talk to in the pharmacy. The judge would just think he was trying to get a date.

The young lady he'd picked to ask was very helpful, telling him that the judge should rest and not do anything strenuous until the coughing stopped. He definitely shouldn't be working or doing anything physical, which meant that Mark would have to hide the basketball as soon as they got back to the estate. Ideally, she said, Hardcastle should stay in bed for a day or two, until the medication started to work. Mark didn't even consider that idea, as he knew there was no way he could get the judge to stay in bed. He didn't think even Sarah stood a chance with that.

Realising that the judge was finished, and was scowling at him from his position near the counter, Mark said his goodbyes to the young woman, and shot her a blinding smile as he left the building. The answering smile on her face made him think he might have a chance with her, if he could ever get Hardcastle's permission to go on a date.

The trip home was almost as quiet as the one into town. Mark made a few attempts to get the judge to tell him what the doctor had recommended, but Hardcastle either ignored the questions or changed the subject. Admitting that he'd asked the lady at the pharmacy about what Hardcastle should do also wasn't an option for Mark. That left subtlety as the only choice, but Mark had a feeling that Hardcastle would probably see right through any attempts he made. Sighing to himself, Mark decided that his only real option would be to take things as they came.

Parking the truck in the middle of the driveway, Mark started his campaign to get the judge to take things easy. "I think I'll wash the truck, Judge. Why don't you go inside and relax a while. Maybe even take a nap." Hardcastle glared daggers at Mark's patently insincere 'innocent' face, and stomped off towards the house, muttering loudly enough that Mark could hear him. "Now I know what you were talking to that girl in the pharmacy about." Mark smiled at the retreating figure, and marked off one small victory for common sense. Now he just had to find a way to keep the judge under control for at least two more days. His smile faded very quickly.

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The next morning found Mark in the kitchen with Sarah, plotting ways to make the judge obey his doctor's orders. By the time Hardcastle came downstairs, plans had been made. "Hi, Judge. How're you feeling this morning?" Mark's bright question immediately made Hardcastle suspicious. "I'm fine, McCormick." Mark nodded in agreement, saying nothing as the judge suffered through another spell of coughing.

"Sarah's going to show me how to prune the roses this morning, Hardcase, and then I'll be able to do most of the work while she's at the market. We thought you might like to relax out by the pool and keep an eye on me. After all, it's the first time I've ever pruned a rose bush, and without Sarah here to keep me in line, who knows what sort of damage I could do?" Hardcastle found himself nodding in agreement with this, before he realised he'd been neatly manoeuvred into doing nothing for the rest of the day. He grinned in appreciation at the skill with which he been caught. Now he was sure there was more to this kid than met the eye.

But still, he had things to do that couldn't be avoided. As a matter of fact, McCormick's continued freedom on parole depended on Hardcastle submitting his monthly report to the Parole Board. He hadn't mentioned it to the kid, as it would only worry him, but Dalem had made it quite clear that he though McCormick was getting special treatment. He'd also made it clear that he thought Mark wasn't worth the effort that Hardcastle was putting into transferring the parole. Hardcastle knew Dalem would be waiting for the smallest infraction, be it on McCormick's part or Hardcastle's, to point out that the current arrangement would fail. Getting the first parole report to the Board late, regardless of the reason, would be sufficient cause for Dalem to bring up the 'highly irregular' nature of McCormick's parole conditions.

Hardcastle couldn't allow that to happen. In the past month, he'd not only come to like the ex-con, but he thought he was beginning to understand him a little. Letting the kid down wasn't something Hardcastle wanted to do. He'd read Mark's file more than once, but all it made clear to him, was that the kid had been alone for too long, and had been forced to manage on his own way too soon. Stability had been missing from Mark's life for many years, and Hardcastle hoped that he could help provide a happier home for Mark from now on. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to talk to McCormick about stuff like this, but if not, the least he could do was ensure that the young man had a chance at a better life. Altruism hadn't been his main objective when he offered Mark a chance to catch Cody, but it seemed that his heart had made plans of its own.

Settling himself comfortably by the pool, Hardcastle watched as Sarah showed Mark how to prune a rose bush. He'd never picked up that skill particularly well, and he wondered if Mark would find it amusing to know that the person who would be supervising him later actually had no more idea of how to prune a rose bush than Mark had had two weeks ago. Seeing Sarah heading for the house, Hardcastle waved at her and made a show of settling back in his chair. Half an hour later, when he was sure Sarah wouldn't be back for a while, Hardcastle got up and waved at Mark. "Kiddo, I'm going to get something to drink. You want anything?" When Mark shook his head, Hardcastle headed into the house at a leisurely speed. As soon as Mark was out of sight, the judge headed for the den and settled himself at the desk. He figured he should be able to get a fair bit of the report completed before Mark realised that Hardcastle hadn't returned to his seat by the pool.

Two painful hours later, Mark surveyed all the scratches and bloody spots on his hands and arms. Sarah had neglected to tell him how difficult it was to prune a rose bush without catching your skin on the thorns. Looking back towards the pool, he started to ask the judge's opinion on his work, only to realise that he was alone in the yard. Concerned that maybe the judge was feeling worse and hadn't wanted to bother him, Mark quickly headed for the house. Stepping inside, he immediately heard the judge coughing. Following the sound to its source, he stepped into the den and found Hardcastle at his desk, with papers spread around him. "Judge, what do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be taking it easy." Mark exasperation was clear, as he moved to tidy all the papers into a heap. "Don't touch those! Can't you see I'm working here?" Hardcastle tried to intercept Mark before he could get a good look at the papers and see that they were all about him and his parole.

"You're not supposed to be working, Judge, and I can't believe that there's anything so important to do, that you plan to jeopardise your health for it." Mark snatched up the papers from the desk and formed them into one neat pile. As he was about to put them down, he realised that the one on the top of the pile was a parole report, on him. Feeling like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him, Mark sank into the nearest chair. "Okay, Judge, care to tell me what's going on here? Are you planning on getting rid of your unpaid slave labour?" Although the words were spoken in jest, Mark's tone showed his concern.

Hardcastle sighed loudly. This was exactly the situation he'd been hoping to avoid. Mark would automatically expect the worst, given that life hadn't taught him to expect much else. How could he explain to the kid that he'd kept this secret for Mark's benefit and not because there was anything to hide?

Deciding to deal with the most pressing concern first, Hardcastle reassured Mark, "It's nothing like that, kiddo. I just have to make a report to the Parole Board every month about how your parole is going. Just like Dalem would have done." Mark's sceptical look made the judge look away slightly. "Okay, maybe I should have told you what I was planning to do today, but it's nothing really important." "Maybe not to you, Judge, but this is my future on this piece of paper." Mark waved the offending sheet in the air. "Don't you think I deserve to have some sort of a say about what you put in here?" "Well then, hotshot, why don't you just read it!" Hardcastle snapped, and then coughed until he couldn't catch his breath. Instantly, Mark dropped the papers on the floor and ran to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

After giving the glass to the judge, Mark picked the papers up off the floor, and cocked a questioning eye at the judge. Seeing Hardcastle's nod, he sat down to read the report. When he'd finished reading, Mark was flabbergasted. The person in the report didn't seem to be him. This person was obeying orders and being productive, and law-abiding, no less! He thought, even hoped, that he would be able to see himself like this one day in the future, but it seemed that this was how the judge saw him now. And somehow, the judge had managed to make their crime-fighting hobby sound like an accidental event, not something they'd deliberately planned. Though he supposed he could understand that, as he was sure the Parole Board wouldn't approve of him doing that sort of thing on a regular basis.

But still, Mark had to ask. "Judge, is this for real? You really see me like this?" He waved the sheet of paper again. "I'm nothing special, you know. And I'm more trouble than I'm worth." Hardcastle's response was emphatic. "That's where you're wrong, kiddo, you are something special. And you're not really troublesome, more like … over-enthusiastic. And a little short on common sense, sometimes." Mark laughed at that, "I'm not the one sitting here working when I'm ill, so I think we'd better let the matter of common sense slide, don't you?"

"Well, the report had to get done, kiddo. If it's not in by Monday, Dalem will be after us both. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have him banging on the door. He's unpleasant at the best of times, and I wouldn't be much of a silver lining if I let someone like him ruin your life just because he can. It's not like you've done anything to deserve that." Hardcastle's reference to the remark Mark had let slip a week earlier caught Mark's attention. "So, Hardcase, is this what you've been trying to say for the last week? 'Cause I want you to know, I don't expect you to feel like you owe me anything. If it's going to make things awkward between us, then let's just forget that I said anything." The sincerity in the offer was clear, but Hardcastle shook his head.

"I don't want to forget anything kiddo, and don't think I feel like I'm doing this because I feel like I owe you. It's not that. It's just … you made me realise that I do have an obligation to you. I chose you, and that obliges me to do what's best for you." Mark was frantically shaking his head. "But, Judge, this is exactly what I mean. You can't do all this simply because you feel obligated. That's not fair on you!" Hardcastle's smile stopped Mark's little rant before it gained momentum. "But it is fair, kiddo. You've made me feel like I matter to someone again. I matter to you, more than just a parole officer would, if what you said last week is true." At Mark's nod, the judge continued, "And I like the way that feels. So it may be an obligation, of sorts, but it's one I've chosen."

Mark's smile was met with an answering grin. "But if you ever mention this in public, and ruin my reputation as a hard nut to crack, I'll deny I ever said it." The tone was sharp, but Hardcastle's eyes were laughing. And in that moment, Mark realised that this relationship would be the keystone of his future.