I've always wondered how Mark knew all about gardening, seeing as how he grew up in a city apartment. And how he and the judge managed to get on so well right at the beginning of their relationship, standard bickering aside. So here's my take on how they took their first steps to becoming the people we know and love. As per usual, nothing belongs to me.
A silver lining
The morning dawned sullen and unforgiving, a perfect companion to Mark's state of mind. Wondering for a moment what had woken him, he suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of someone playing basketball. Getting out of bed and looking out the window, he spotted Hardcastle out on the court. Looking at the clock, he muttered, "Is there some reason you can't sleep till a normal hour, like the rest of the world?" It wasn't an observation he intended to make in front of the judge, however, as he thought his position was probably precarious enough without giving the man outside any more reasons to send him back to prison.
He still wasn't sure exactly why he wasn't sitting back in his previous accommodations, although he supposed the judge might actually mean what he said about going after criminals who had walked out of court on legal technicalities. Still, it was a leap of faith he wasn't sure he was ready to make. One word from the judge, even one telephone call, would be enough to send him back to jail. And how was he to know what would set the man off? Hardcastle certainly seemed volatile to Mark. The man had shot a Picasso without a second thought. Mark didn't know much about art, but he knew enough to realise that shooting a valuable painting wasn't normal behaviour. Granted, the judge had been defending him, but he'd nearly managed to shoot Mark in the process. Not the most comforting thought, especially considering that he was now in the judge's custody for an 'indefinite' period. At this rate, his premature death would probably end the arrangement in the near future.
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Hardcastle tossed the basketball through the hoop for one more perfect, scoring shot. He knew McCormick was awake, as he'd seen movement near the upstairs window of the gatehouse. He figured another ten minutes of bouncing the ball around should garner some sort of reaction. The kid didn't seem to suffer from an over-abundance of self-control, if his recent actions were anything to go by, and the irritation factor should get him out onto the court in ten minutes or less. On consideration though, Hardcastle could almost understand McCormick's anger. When you're all but alone in the world, and then you lose the only person you can rely on, being angry was a perfectly reasonable response. Stealing a car, on the other hand, was not such a reasonable response.
He was glad that Flip Johnson's murderer was in prison. It was always satisfying when a criminal got what he deserved, according to the letter of the law. Hardcastle's retirement project was a direct response to his own anger at criminals making a mockery of justice. Hopefully, McCormick would be a more successful choice of associate than JJ Beale. Sarah still made stinging comments about how bad Hardcastle's judgement had been in that case. Her views on McCormick weren't much better, and the judge wasn't entirely sure that she was wrong about the ex-con.
One thing in Mark's favour, at least, was the fact that he was at the estate at all. Letting him drive back from Las Vegas alone had been a huge risk. Most people would have taken the opportunity to disappear and renege on their side of the strange deal Hardcastle had offered. That McCormick was still here was a pleasant surprise, and a hopeful omen for the future. Perhaps there was more to this ex-con than Hardcastle had thought.
Hearing the scrape of a shoe on the ground behind him, Hardcastle spun around and launched the basketball straight at McCormick. "It's about time you were up and about. I'm not running a holiday resort here, you know." The judge's sharp tone made Mark flinch.
"I know that. Trust me, you've made that very clear." Mark's anger rose to the surface with startling speed. Grabbing the ball, he started down the court to dunk it in the net. Slamming the ball through the hoop, he turned on the judge again, "I'm just the hired help, aren't I? Well then, maybe you should tell me what exactly it is that you'd like me to do!" Dropping the ball on the court, he stalked away from the judge as fast as he could.
Stunned into silence, Hardcastle could only watch him go. He'd never meant to make the ex-con feel like that. He'd wanted to make it clear that he was in charge, and that McCormick would have to follow his lead on things. Obviously, the younger man saw things differently. The judge knew he would have to deal with McCormick's attitude immediately, or his project would fail before it even got started. "McCormick! Get back here. You don't get to walk away from me."
Mark stopped in his tracks, but just couldn't force himself to turn around and go back to face the judge. He'd known this was a bad idea from the beginning, but he'd been so desperate to get Flip's killer and stay out of prison, that he would've agreed to anything. And now, it seemed, he was about to screw things up on the very first day. It was the story of his life. When the judge said nothing more, Mark gave in and turned around. If he was going to be sent back to jail, he intended to at least see the trouble coming and face it head on. His mother had taught him that it was always better to face your troubles and deal with them, rather than letting things fester.
Hardcastle was still standing on the court holding the basketball Mark had dropped. His expression puzzled Mark. The judge seemed almost saddened by Mark's outburst, rather than angry. After a moment's silence, Hardcastle tossed Mark the ball, and waved him back onto the court. "We've got a game to finish before breakfast, hotshot. Show me what you're made of." Mark's confusion only deepened over the next hour as the two men played a hard game. The judge hadn't mentioned the earlier outburst once, and actually seemed pleased when Mark managed to get past him and score. Finally admitting defeat, Mark flopped down onto the grass. "Enough, Judge, I give up. You win." Accepting his victory with a snicker, Hardcastle looked down at the younger man, "I guess they don't make them like they used to. C'mon, McCormick, time for breakfast." Offering the younger man a hand up off the grass, Hardcastle led the way to the kitchen.
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After breakfast, Mark's jaw dropped at the list of chores Hardcastle rattled off. "First off, everything in the garden is going to be your responsibility. Now that the weather's cleared, you can start on mowing the lawn. Then there's the hedges that need trimming, the pool needs cleaning, then the garden beds need mulching, and Sarah can tell you what to do about pruning the rose bushes …" Hardcastle's litany trailed off at the look of panic on Mark's face. "What's the matter, McCormick, did you think you wouldn't have to work for your keep?" Hardcastle's testy question finally penetrated the fog of shock surrounding Mark, but the response wasn't something the judge expected.
Mark bolted out the door into the yard. He knew he'd never be able to do anything on the list the judge had just run through, so what was the point in hanging around and hoping for the best? He'd just head on back to the gatehouse and pack his stuff. Maybe he could convince the judge to transfer his case back to Dalem. Then if he could just find a halfway decent job, he should be able to scrape through the rest of his parole. He just couldn't contemplate not being able to step outside when he wanted to, or look up at the sky without seeing barbed wire and security gates. If hopping whenever Dalem shouted was what it took to keep his relative freedom intact, then that was what Mark would do.
Hardcastle was stunned at the response he'd caused. What on earth could be wrong with McCormick being expected to do some honest work around the estate? He'd expected anger, sure, as he'd been the one to send McCormick to prison in the first place. Spending your parole doing physical work for the judge who sentenced you wasn't likely to build a friendly relationship. Not to mention, the ex-con had just lost a very close friend, one he'd regarded as a family member, and for the completely senseless reason of corporate greed as well. Anger was a logical response and one the judge was prepared to tolerate, at least for a while. Laziness, on the other hand, was something to be dealt with severely. Hardcastle was prepared to make some allowances for McCormick's personal situation, but he would insist on the younger man pulling his weight. And he was determined to set the record straight without further delay.
Marching over to the gatehouse and stepping in with no warning, Hardcastle was surprised to see Mark sitting disconsolately on the sofa, with his head in his hands. Not quite sure what was going on, the judge simply sat down opposite the young man, and launched into the little speech he'd been preparing on the way across the lawn. "Now, look here, McCormick, I didn't have to take you in, you know. You agreed to this deal, and I expect you to keep your end of it. I won't tolerate you sitting around here as though you've got it made!"
Mark's laugh was short and sharp, bordering on hysteria. "You won't tolerate … What about what I can tolerate? Ever think about that, Judge?" Mark's tone was sharp and mocking. "I'm expected to settle in, nice and comfortable, be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, and jump when you snap your fingers. What about my life, and what I need?"
"Well, then, hotshot, how about you tell me what you need? I'm not a mind reader, you know, and if you don't tell me what's going on in that head of yours, this whole deal won't work. And I may not know much about what you need, but I'm pretty sure going back to prison isn't on your list. And without this arrangement of ours, that's exactly where you'll end up." Hardcastle hoped that laying the situation out bluntly would get McCormick to re-consider his attitude. Underneath that hope, deep in some part of his heart where he didn't look very often, Hardcastle hoped that McCormick would be different. This ex-con wasn't like all the others, and Hardcastle hoped that their arrangement would prove him right. But nothing would be proved if he couldn't get the stubborn young man to talk to him.
"What I need … Judge, I need my friend back, I need the guy I used to talk to about life and stuff, and … you know, I just need things the way they used to be. And before you say it, I know that's not possible, so just leave me alone to deal with it. My mom always said that every cloud has a silver lining, but if there's one anywhere in all this, I don't know what it is. Please, just leave me alone. Please" The last word slipped out quietly, unwillingly. The quiet desperation in that final word struck Hardcastle particularly hard. He'd felt exactly the same when Nancy died, and when he'd heard the news about his son. Maybe he and McCormick weren't so different after all.
Hardcastle's mother had always been a firm believer in the principle that hard work was good for whatever ailed you, and the judge had found this to be true in most cases. "Well, c'mon outside then. A little hard work in the sunshine will make everything seem better. And while you get started on the chores, I'm going to do a little digging in my files to see what's next for us to investigate." Hardcastle's glee at this thought almost brought a smile to Mark's face. But the original problem still remained.
"I can't do that, Hardcastle. I would if I could. I don't want to screw this up, really I don't. And I'm not just being lazy. Don't you understand, I don't know how to do any of that stuff you said! The pool, maybe, how hard can picking leaves out of water with a net be? But gardening? Judge, I grew up in an apartment in a city; I've never even had a garden. The next thing you know, I'll be killing some important, precious plant, and you'll ship me back to prison for screwing up!" Hardcastle couldn't stop himself from laughing, but his amusement was short-lived. He hadn't realised how insecure the ex-con was feeling about everything.
"Okay, then, why didn't you just say so, McCormick. I'm not completely unreasonable, you know." Mark's snort muffled a comment which sounded suspiciously like, "Who says?" Deciding to ignore this sign of returning equilibrium, Hardcastle tentatively offered "How about I show you how you do everything, and then you take it from there? I'm sure you'll get the hang of the mower in no time. After all, it's got an engine and we both know you're obsessed with engines." The feeble attempt at humour seemed to have taken the edge off McCormick's fears. His slight nod was enough to set the judge on the path to explaining how to mow a lawn the way he liked it done.
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The next two weeks passed slowly, and Mark began to feel more confident that he might one day be able to get through everything the judge seemed to think he should be doing. He made a point of complaining about everything he had to do in the garden, especially mowing the lawn. After all, it would never do to let the old donkey think he could have everything his way, all the time. Mowing the lawn had become the bane of Mark's existence. This particular chore seemed never-ending, and Mark was convinced that the grass had taken a personal dislike to him, and grew as fast as it could in revenge for him mowing it in the first place. In spite of his complaints, though, he rather enjoyed the work. He'd always been bored in prison, where there was nothing to do but count the bars on the windows and the coils of barbed wire on the walls, and two years of boredom were enough for any man. At least, at Gulls Way, he always had something to do. And best of all, he got to be outside in the sunshine, breathing free air, and able to go where he pleased on the grounds. He'd been thrilled to find that 'anywhere' included Hardcastle's private beach.
The beach was also a wonderful place to sit and think, and he'd found that Hardcastle didn't seem to mind if he went down there at the end of the day to stare out over the ocean. He'd grown up without ever seeing an ocean and had to admit that he found it oddly soothing to watch. It was always moving and changing, and yet, it never really changed at all. Perhaps his relationship with Flip had been like that, and the really important part of it would never change either. Flip would always be his friend; he just couldn't talk to him in person for the foreseeable future. And with that realisation, he'd felt some of his anger about Flip's death slipping away. Maybe even some of his anger towards the judge as well. Their relationship had certainly become easier over the last few days, especially after the judge had let Mark go to the nursery by himself, saying only that he knew Mark would be back, so why not?
Concentrating on weeding one of the rose beds at the back of the garden, Mark didn't notice the change in the sky over the ocean. Without warning, a peal of thunder echoed around him and the heavens opened to dump hundreds of litres of water right on his head. Soaked to the skin in seconds, Mark couldn't believe how cold the rain was. He gathered up his tools and ran for the gatehouse as fast as he could. "McCormick!" the judge's yell could barely be heard above the sound of the storm. Mark looked up and saw the judge waving him towards the main house, which was closer. Changing direction, Mark made it to the house a few seconds later, to find Hardcastle waiting with a towel. "C'mon, kiddo, dry off before you catch a chill. Sarah's gone to make some tea to warm you up." Grabbing the towel, Mark quickly mopped his face and then wrapped it around his shoulders. "Thanks, Judge. I didn't think the rain would be so cold, or so sudden."
"It'll be good for the plants, and the lawn." Hardcastle smiled at Mark's groan of disgust. "Just think, the up side is that you won't have to water anything tomorrow." Mark had to smile at that. "That's not exactly the kind of silver lining I had in mind for these particular clouds, judge. A silver lining is supposed to be something that benefits me, not something that gives more ammunition to that lawn of yours that already hates me." Hardcastle couldn't stop the laughter at that. Getting up to take the tea from Sarah, he offered the first cup to Mark, who was now shivering in his wet clothes. "Sarah, could you find something else for Mark to wear, please. He needs to get out of those wet clothes." Mark's head shot up at this open gesture of concern for his well-being and he suddenly realised something profound.
"What?" Hardcastle's puzzled question slipped out uncensored when he saw the dawning look of enlightenment on Mark's face. "I've just found the silver lining in Flip's death, Judge." The words were out before Mark could consider the wisdom of sharing his sudden insight with Hardcastle. In answer to the judge's upraised eyebrow, Mark blushed and murmured quietly, "You."