Author's Note: As far as I know (although I wasn't in the fan fiction scene at the time the 'Zines were available), there hasn't been a fic with Hardcastle's sister as a supporting character. So I'm creating her for this story.

The time period of this story is in between the episodes "The Day the Music Died" and "A Chip Off the Ol' Milt," so mid-April of 1986.

Please review and let me know what you think!

-ck

Disclaimer: I do not own these beloved characters, and I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

FAMILY OBLIGATIONS

by InitialLuv

Chapter One

McCormick lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed the rusted iron contraption to the next tree. Once again he walked around the base of the tree, bending to pick up the larger branches and sticks that had fallen during the previous night's storm. The smaller twigs he left behind – he figured they were small enough to not damage the lawnmower blade, once he got around to mowing. But the big branches needed to be gathered up, and he now had a growing pile of yard waste at the back end of the property.

After cleaning up the last of the branches around the tree, McCormick stood up slowly to stretch, wincing at the pain that started at the small of his back and traveled up to between his shoulder blades. He looked at his watch, decided now was as good a time as any for a break, and loped over to the main house. He let himself in the kitchen door and went straight to the refrigerator, pulling out the pitcher of lemonade. After pouring himself a tall glass, he ambled down the hall toward the judge's study, only to stop and stare in bemusement at the partially closed doors. Hardcastle rarely closed the doors to the den, unless he was –

Yep. As McCormick stood in the hallway, drinking his lemonade, he could hear that Milt was on the phone. The man's voice was low and somewhat sober, which was almost as unusual as the closed study doors. Mark concluded that the phone call was private. He quietly left his place outside the den doors, walking back to the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink. He then returned to his tiresome yardwork.

McCormick had only been back at work for roughly a half hour (three more trees) when he heard a screen door slam, and he looked up to see the judge walking his way. The older man's gait was slow, almost plodding, and Mark stood, watching the odd approach.

The judge stopped at his side, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The storm last night had brought in a cold front with it, and the day was overcast and chilly, even for April in Malibu. As Mark had been working all morning, he'd worked up a sweat, and had earlier gone to the gatehouse to change from a sweatshirt into an old tee-shirt. He grasped the right sleeve of the tee-shirt now, stretching it out and using it to wipe the sweat from his brow and upper lip.

"What's up?"

Milt grimaced at the cavalier way McCormick treated his clothes. "That's why you're supposed to have a handkerchief in your pocket."

"Sorry, I plumb forgot to grab my lace hankie when I got dressed this morning." Mark placed his hands against the small of his back, again wincing at the ache. "Did you come out here to criticize me, or help me?"

"Neither." The judge looked around the estate, his gaze unfocused. "I came to tell you to take a break."

"Already took one about a half hour ago. I'm good. I want to get this done before lunch." When the unaccustomed motivation was not met with Milt's approval, but instead only elicited another scowl, McCormick found himself glaring back at his friend. "Man, you're in a mood," he observed. "Who died?"

The scowl disappeared, replaced with a solemn frown.

"Oh, crap," Mark groaned. "I'm sorry. That's it, isn't it? Who, Judge?" he asked anxiously, names and faces running through his head and making his stomach plummet.

Milt took a deep sigh. "My brother-in-law. Heart attack."

McCormick felt an overwhelming relief that was quickly assuaged by guilt. How could he be feeling glad that – for once – the person that died wasn't someone he cared about, when his friend was so obviously upset? Mark moved closer to the judge, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. Then something occurred to him.

"Your brother-in-law? Who. . ?"

"Roderick Wyngate. But everyone called him Rick."

"Oh!" Things began to get clearer. "Warren's dad? So that's your sister's –"

"Mmm-hmm. Marion's husband."

"Marion." Mark repeated the name, sounding it out. "Marion Hardcastle."

"Marion Wyngate," Milt stressed. "And it's not like you've never heard me talk about her before," he growled, his scowl returning.

Mark shrugged. "Not really, Judge. Neither did Gerry." Mark had met the judge's brother only two months prior, and before that, had not even known the man existed.

"Well, Gerry." Hardcastle made a face, as if all he had to do was speak his brother's name to explain why the man would not have mentioned their sister. After a moment, his face softened and he grudgingly continued. "She was younger than us, though. The baby. When Gerry and I were out roughing it up, she stuck around the house with our mother. We didn't spend too much time together."

"How much younger?"

"Oh, about eight years younger than me, just a little younger than Gerald. But she was a girl, you know? We didn't have much in common with her. And when we were older, when that wasn't an issue, I left to come out here for school, and Gerry, well, he left to do whatever he did." Milt shook his head ruefully. "We don't keep in touch like we should."

McCormick nodded soberly. "So when you were on the phone, that was about your brother-in-law?"

Milt looked up sharply, and Mark quickly held out his hands to ward off any anger. "Hey, I just came in to get a drink. I didn't eavesdrop or anything. I was gonna see if you wanted some lemonade and I saw you were on the phone, so I left you alone. It sounded important."

The glare receded, again replaced by the sad frown. "Yeah. Mary called me, and then I called Warren, to see how she was doing. She was putting up a brave front, told me she was okay, but she didn't sound too good."

Both men sighed simultaneously.

Hardcastle went on. "She hadn't seen her dad since she graduated. Last Christmas she didn't make it home. She's having a hard time with that. They talked on the phone a lot, but — "

"Graduation!" McCormick interrupted as the judge's last comment sparked his memory. "That's right – her parents were here for her law school graduation." McCormick had been planning to go to Warren's commencement ceremony, when E.J. Corlette had called with a last-minute request: he'd asked Mark to test out a car at an exhibition event at Riverside on the same weekend. Mark had been torn between showing his support for Warren and grasping onto the career opportunity (not to mention the money he'd receive for his talent and experience). He'd been surprised when both Warren and Milt had told him to take the racing gig. He'd been especially surprised that Hardcastle had encouraged him to go, as it had meant a weekend in a city over an hour away – without a chaperone. "Yeah, I remember now," Mark continued. "We were looking at the graduation pictures, and you said your sister was sorry she didn't get to meet me."

Hardcastle nodded distractedly at the comment. "Well, she's gonna get to meet you now. You're coming to the funeral."

"I'm . . . what?"

"Yep. We're flying out today, gonna be gone a couple days. So dump this load," Milt gestured at the wheelbarrow, "and then go get cleaned up. I want you packed and ready to go by the time Warren gets here. I'm going to go make some more calls." Then the man was walking back up to the house, leaving a very confused and inconvenienced ex-con behind him.

ooOoo

McCormick deposited the last load of branches and then parked the wheelbarrow back in the shed, but that was as far as his obedience went. Instead of going to the gatehouse to "clean up and pack," he again entered the main house through the kitchen, and began calling for the judge. "Hardcastle? Hey, Hardcase!" Mark wandered down the hallway, glancing in at the empty den. "Judge, where are you?"

"Whattaya want, McCormick?" Milt appeared at the top of the staircase, holding a razor and a hairbrush in one hand — he appeared to have started packing. "C'mon, Warren'll be here in about an hour. Let's get going!"

"About that. . ." Mark climbed the stairs. Hardcastle frowned at him briefly before returning to his bedroom, Mark right behind him. The older man tossed the toiletries into the open suitcase on his bed, then stood to stare at his friend expectantly.

McCormick sucked in a reinforcing breath. "I really don't think I should come to the funeral," he said quickly.

Milt crossed to the closet. "I don't have time for this, McCormick. Go take a shower."

"No, Judge, really." Mark stood near the edge of the bed, idly running his hand over a bed post. "Listen to me. It doesn't make sense. I didn't know your brother-in-law. I don't know your sister. I don't belong there." Inwardly he added, 'I've got finals next month, and can't afford to miss class.'

Milt selected a dark jacket, and pulled it off its hanger. "Why don't you let me worry about whether or not you belong there, okay, sport?"

"Judge. . . " Mark moaned. "Come on, please? It's not like I'm family."

Hardcastle paused in folding the jacket. "The hell you – " He stopped himself before finishing the statement, the word "aren't" hanging in the air. He cleared his throat and started over. "You know Warren."

"Well, yeah. Okay." McCormick nodded reluctantly. "But she's gonna have family there. What does she need me for?"

Hardcastle sighed. He pushed the suitcase over, dropping down tiredly on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, she's gonna have family there. Aunts and uncles, cousins . . . Rick had a lot of sisters and brothers. Seven of 'em."

"Seven? So eight kids? What, were they Amish?"

Despite his better intentions, Milt grinned at the comment. "No, kiddo. He grew up on a farm, and sometimes that's what families did. They had a lot of kids so they'd always have someone around to take care of all the farm chores. Milking and feeding the cows, gathering eggs, working in the fields, all that."

Mark was momentarily distracted from the point he was trying to make. "People actually had more kids to make sure all the chores got done?" he asked. "Why didn't they just blackmail an ex-con?"

This time the wisecrack earned a withering glare. McCormick shrugged. "If you make me go to this funeral, Judge, you're gonna have to deal with a few smart remarks. You know how I get when I'm uncomfortable."

"So now you're going?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't know." He sat down in the chair in the corner. "I do kinda have some plans."

Milt scoffed. "A date, huh? So call and cancel. It's not like you don't have a good excuse. It's a funeral, for Pete's sake. I cancelled the Jazzmasters."

"And I'm sure the neighbors will send thank-you notes for that," Mark said softly.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Mark sighed, then muttered, "I guess I could call." He knew Professor Malcolm wouldn't have a problem with him missing a lecture. In fact, a few of the other students in Malcolm's class had started calling Mark "Teacher's Pet" – a nickname he'd never in his wildest dreams thought he'd be called.

Professor Treater was another issue. Whereas Malcolm understood and appreciated Mark's unusual journey to law school, his other professor saw him as an annoying upstart with little to no future. McCormick was not looking forward to making a phone call to Treater's office.

Although Hardcastle was right, a funeral was a good excuse. And he had a pretty good friend in Treater's class, Vic Blass, who took impeccable notes. Vic would gladly share the notes with him.

Milt studied the conflicting emotions crossing his friend's face, curious as to why breaking a date would elicit such a hard decision.

It's not just a date. The kid's keeping something from you.

Not having time for that possibility, either, Milt delved into the topic at hand. He decided to give the kid a little push toward making the right choice.

"Well, just so you know, Warren wants you to come."

"She – " Mark looked up in surprise. "Why? You said she'll have family – "

"Right. And all the ones her age, her cousins, are all married and have kids. She's the odd one out, the one who moved away to go to college and law school. The one who doesn't fit in. Maybe she'd like a friend there, you know?" Milt looked down, rearranging some of the items in the suitcase. "And. . . maybe I'd like a friend there, too."

Mark smiled. "Yeah?"

Hardcastle didn't return the smile. "Don't be getting a big head or anything! I just don't want to leave you here alone, risk you having another party!"

"Judge, that was one time. What about all the times when I've been a good little boy, and you were the one who got in trouble? I had to come rescue you in D.C., and in Canary Creek, and on the Casper Arrow – "

"You didn't come to 'rescue me' on the train. You got locked in the can."

"And it was a damned good thing I did. You needed Tonto there, Masked Man."

"You're right." Hardcastle looked intently at a suddenly speechless McCormick. "We handle things better together. Maybe that's another reason why I want you to come along to this thing."

Mark found his voice. "How much trouble do you plan on getting into at your brother-in-law's funeral?"

Milt stood abruptly, and made definite shoo-ing motions at the younger man. "Go. Get. Take a shower, get packed. Make sure to pack a dark jacket and pants." Mark grinned slyly, and the expression was not lost on Hardcastle. "And not that kind of dark jacket and pants!" the judge specified.

"Fine." Sobering, Mark stood and began to leave the room. At the doorway he turned back. "Wait. Where are we going?"

"Minnesota."

"Minnesota?" McCormick echoed. "In April? Doesn't it still snow in Minnesota in April?"

Milt allowed a small smile. "Pack a sweater."

Once arriving in Minnesota, the first stop the travelers made was to a rental car agency at the airport. As they waited in line to procure a car, Warren surprised both Hardcastle and McCormick by insisting to take the driving responsibilities. "No offense, Uncle Milt, but you haven't been here in years. There's a new bypass, and a lot of the landmarks you probably remember are gone." She next turned to Mark. "And I know you don't like being a passenger, but you've never been here."

McCormick would have waved off the comment, but as he was loaded down with the bags, he just gave Warren a nod of acceptance. "It's okay. As long as I don't have to sit in the back."

Hardcastle snorted. "I've got bad news for you, kid."

ooOoo

Mark sat silently in the back seat as Warren and Hardcastle conversed softly. Both the young woman and the retired jurist had been uncharacteristically mild and quiet on the plane, and it appeared the awkwardness was carrying over to the car ride to Warren's parents' house. Mark could barely hear the conversation, but it seemed he wasn't missing much – most of the talk was about the changes to the landmarks and the relatives that were most likely going to be at the funeral. Most of the names meant nothing to McCormick. He stared out the window at the still partially-frozen landscape and watched as the city limits progressed into a rural area dotted with farms.

"My mom hasn't heard from Uncle Gerry yet, but your aunts are supposed to be flying in tomorrow morning – "

Mark perked up. "May and Zora? They're coming? That's great!"

Milt turned back to glower at the ex-con, and McCormick suddenly realized what he'd said. "What I meant to say," he amended, "is that it'll be nice to see them, but it's too bad that it has to be under these circumstances."

Warren actually laughed. "My God, Mark, you don't have to try so hard. That's kind of why I wanted you to come. You'll be the only one not mourning and moping all over the place. I think I'm going to need that."

Milt huffed. "Don't encourage him, Warren. I know before the funeral's over he's going to embarrass me."

"Don't need me for that, Judge. I'm sure you can embarrass yourself all by your lonesome."

"Guys!" Warren's voice had a plaintive edge to it. "This, I don't need. You two can't be bickering the whole time. I know that's what you do, but I don't have the energy to handle it right now, okay?"

"Sorry, Warren," Mark said, and at the same time Milt said, "I'm sorry, hon. We'll behave."

It was less than fifteen minutes later when Warren pulled the rental car into a driveway. Mark sat up straighter, looking bemusedly at the large, tan-colored house that was very obviously just a residence and not a farmhouse. "Wait. Judge, I thought you said they lived on a farm."

Hardcastle threw a look back at the young man. "I said Rick grew up on a farm, not that they lived on one."

Warren was opening the door, but she glanced back at Mark as well. "Really, Mark, do I look like I grew up on a farm?"

Milt stared at his niece. "What's wrong with growing up on a farm?"

But Warren didn't answer. An older woman was coming out of the house to meet them, and Warren rushed up to her, arms out. Marion Wyngate folded her daughter into an embrace, and the young woman began to sob softly.

Hardcastle and McCormick had also gotten out of the vehicle. Mark stayed back by the car, while Milt went up to his sister. Quiet words were exchanged, and then the siblings hugged. McCormick viewed the family members from the safety of the car, feeling like he was intruding on the private scene. He tucked his hands under his armpits to warm them, exhaling a sigh and watching his breath steam in the cold air.

Milt and Marion parted, and the judge looked around, finally locating his friend. "McCormick. Get over here."

Mark approached the trio slowly, but sped up some when he saw the impatient glare Milt sent his way. He studied Hardcastle's sister. Several inches shorter than the judge, the woman had light hair with streaks of silver-grey through it, the same cool blue eyes as her brother, and a welcoming smile on her face. She held out both hands, and grasped the young man's hands firmly. "So you're Mark."

"Yes ma'am, I guess I am."

Hardcastle cleared his throat meaningfully, but Marion just smiled. She released Mark's hands and gave her brother a slight cuff on the upper arm. "Oh, leave the boy alone, Milt." She turned back to McCormick. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Thank you for coming."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Wyngate. I'm really sorry about your husband."

"Thank you," Marion repeated. "And please, it's Marion." The woman put an arm around her daughter, and Warren laid her head on her mother's shoulder. Mark eyed the two women, and concluded that Warren had gotten her dark hair and brown eyes from her father. Daddy's girl, he thought. These next few days are going to be hard on her.

Marion turned toward the house, her arm still around Warren. "Let's get inside and out of the cold."

Hardcastle followed the mother and daughter, and McCormick followed him. Before either man could make it inside, though, Milt stopped and turned around to face Mark.

"Remember what Warren said. Best behavior, okay? And cool it with the smart mouth."

"What did I say?" McCormick asked. "I said I was sorry about her husband."

"Hmmph." Hardcastle turned back to the door, but barred the ex-con's entry. "Go get the bags."