Author's Note: A longer chapter. The second of what is to be three parts.

Some of the conversations in this story refer to (past) events that happen in my first Hardcastle and McCormick fanfic, Hidden Scars.

-ck

EARTH-SHATTERING CONFESSIONS

Part II

Mark shifted, mumbling quietly. A sharp pain sliced across his temple, and he gasped, then exhaled slowly.

A comforting hand was placed on his shoulder. "Take it easy. It's all right."

That voice. . . Mark opened his eyes briefly, only to squeeze them shut as another jolt of pain hit. I know that voice.

"Dad?"

Mark heard the soft sigh, and then the response, also soft: "Yeah. It's me."

"What – " Mark moved again, and felt the hand on his shoulder press down a little harder. "Relax. It's okay, Markie. You're gonna be all right."

McCormick wasn't sure if it was the childish nickname or his growing consciousness, but something clicked in his brain, and he began to feel the edges of memory return. He opened his eyes again, squinting up at his father.

"Sonny. "

A brief look of disappointment shadowed the older man's face, and then he smiled. "You back with me? You've been out of it for a while – you hit your head pretty good when you fell."

Mark angled his eyes, trying to look around and get his bearings while moving his head as little as possible. He was lying in between the file cabinets and the washer and dryer, his head slightly elevated on what felt to be a folded-up towel. McCormick tried to remember if there had been clean laundry in the room, or if Sonny had only been able to find linens that were waiting to be washed.

As for Sonny. . . Mark let his eyes wander back to his father, kneeling at his side. Previously casually – but still stylishly – dressed in pressed trousers and open-throat dress shirt, the man looked a little worse for wear. His shirt had pulled partially out of his slacks, the knees of which were smeared with dust. One of the buttons was missing off of Sonny's shirt, and he had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. Even with the sleeves pushed up, Mark didn't miss the blood smeared on the right cuff. There were also blood stains on the small towel in the man's hand.

"Hey – are you bleeding?"

Sonny's face was momentarily blank, and then he looked at where Mark's gaze was pointed. "Oh. Uh, no. I'm not. . . That's your blood."

At the clarification, Mark's hand went immediately to his forehead. Sonny reached out at the same time, forestalling the movement. "Hey, careful. I just got the bleeding stopped. You split the skin above your right eye when you smacked your head. You might need stitches."

Undeterred, McCormick reached up to explore the injury with his other hand – only to find it was wrapped in Sonny's handkerchief, and was somewhat painful. "What happened here?" he asked, flexing his hand lightly.

"Oh, that. Yeah. When you fell, you kind of landed in the broken glass from the bulb." Sonny attempted a contrite smile. "I said I was sorry. I didn't get a chance to clean it up before the quake hit."

"Yeah, well, I dropped the other bulb. Who knows which one cut me up. So I guess that lets you off the hook." Mark blinked slowly, and found his right eye was slightly harder to re-open. Then he repeated, "Quake. Earthquake." After a moment he said, "Was it a bad one?"

"I haven't been in enough to know. That was really only my third, and the first one I was in was pretty mild, and short, too." Sonny shook his head. "This one seemed like it took forever. A few things got knocked around in here, but I don't know about the rest of the house."

"Well, let's go check. Help me up." Mark attempted to pull himself into a sitting position, but was unsuccessful – partially because of a sudden and extreme wave of dizziness, and partially because of Sonny holding him back. "Just stay still," Sonny admonished. "I don't want you passing out again. Anyway, we can't get to the rest of the house." He nodded toward the doorway. "The door's jammed."

Mark groaned, settling back onto his makeshift pillow and again closing his eyes. Once he felt he could open his eyes without too much discomfort, he looked in the direction of the door. "Why is it closed? I don't remember closing it."

Sonny sighed. "Okay, that's my fault, too. I had to close the door to get to the broom." When Mark didn't answer, only staring in disbelief at his father, the older man went on. "I don't think anything's blocking it. Probably the frame shifted in the quake. I can't get it to budge. I think we're stuck here."

McCormick thought for a moment. "Wait. The phone. We can call someone."

The lounge singer leaned back slightly, regarding his injured son. "Mark. I just said we're stuck in here. I can't get to a phone."

"No – " Mark shook his head gingerly. "There's a phone in here." Sonny looked around curiously. "It's over on the shelf," Mark continued. "Probably buried under everything. Just look for the cord. The jack's on the floor."

Sonny rose, dusted off the knees of his pants, and headed for the shelf by the louvered windows. After a short investigation he happily called back, "I see the wire!" Then he was following the wire up to the phone, which was indeed buried under an assortment of items that Mark had tossed around when looking for the light bulbs, as well as things that had fallen during the quake. Sonny lifted the receiver to his ear, and then his face fell. McCormick predicted his next words.

"It's dead."

But Sonny had barely made his depressing revelation when McCormick realized, with perfect clarity, that he knew how they were going to get out of their predicament. "We'll just have to wait for Hardcastle to get back," he said confidently. "It shouldn't be long."

Sonny again looked warily at the younger man. "The judge went up north to that cabin, to do some fishing with his bailiff friend. You remember that, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember that – I didn't hit my head that hard." Mark tried a scornful look, but it just made his face hurt, and he had a feeling he couldn't carry it off. "But as soon as the quake hit, he would have pulled off the road, and the next thing he would have done was find a working phone, so he could call and check on us. And when he realizes our phone lines are down, he'll turn around to head back. You'll see."

Sonny nodded slowly. "Unless there's road blockage or damage, and he can't get through. We don't know how bad the quake was. And maybe it was worse where Milt was. Something could have happened to him. He might not be able to get back here."

McCormick glared up at his father, and this time he had no problem attaining a scornful look.

"Shut up, Sonny."

ooOoo

For two men in such close quarters, the father and son did remarkably well not speaking to each other . . . for about five minutes.

Sonny spoke first. "I didn't mean to get you mad, Mark. I just didn't want you to get your hopes up in case . . . something happened."

McCormick let out a terse breath. "You think I'm not worried about him? I'm not dumb, I know something might have happened." His voice softened. "But he's always there for me. I've always been able to count on him."

"Right. As opposed to me." Sonny had again seated himself next to McCormick, and he was idly toying with the hand towel he had used to tend to Mark's head wound. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

Mark laughed, winced, then swallowed back a moan. "Only because you're stuck here!" He gestured weakly at the door. "If you could have gotten out of here you would have."

"Yeah, to get to a phone and call someone! You were out cold, and I didn't know how bad you might be hurt." Sonny shook his head dejectedly. "You think so poorly of me that you'd expect me to leave you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"For the love of – I'm not going to take off and leave you alone when you're hurt!" Sonny's eyes narrowed, and his face became stony. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked harshly. "I thought, after the whole bar thing last year, that we left things on okay terms. That we understood each other. But you've been a pain in the ass the whole time I've been here."

"You've got a problem with me?" Mark lifted his head from the towel-pillow.

"Yeah, maybe I do! I don't know why you're being like this!"

"Well neither do I!"

After the exclaimed admission, both men stared at each other. Sonny smiled first, and then McCormick grinned back. "Sorry. I guess I have been acting like a jerk. Maybe I just figured that way it wouldn't bother me as much when you left, and I didn't see you again for another year." Mark's grin weakened.

"I've told you before, Mark, it's the lifestyle. It's not like I'm avoiding you. . ." The older man trailed off, his eyes steady on his son's face. Mark returned the gaze, his brow wrinkling slightly. "What? What are you looking at?"

Sonny shook himself lightly, then leaned closer to Mark. "I think it's bleeding again." Refolding the towel, he reached forward and applied direct pressure to the wound. Mark jerked in pain, and then his injured hand struck the nearby file cabinet.

"Ow! Dad!"

"Sorry." Sonny's face still had a look of unease, and he noticeably averted his eyes from Mark's injury.

McCormick looked up at his father, his face mirroring the discomfort of the older man. "Oh, don't tell me blood makes you sick or something. Please don't puke, Sonny. I'm close to puking myself, and if you throw up, I'll throw up."

"Nah, that's not it." Sonny smiled grimly. "No, I was . . . remembering something. No big deal. Forget about it."

Lying on the floor, with a folded up towel pressing onto his forehead and a throbbing headache, Mark was still able to manage a slight raise of one eyebrow and a direct stare. "Sonny. You can't just bring up some vague thing like that and then tell me to forget it. We're gonna be stuck here for who knows how long; we might as well use the time for something constructive."

Sonny sighed, giving a half-shrug, and McCormick pushed a little further. "C'mon. Give. It'll distract me." He tried for his most pathetic look, the one that even Hardcastle had a hard time denying.

Apparently "the look" worked on Sonny, too – or McCormick looked a little more injured and helpless than even he realized. Either way, the older man granted his request.

"All right. I was just reminded of something that happened a while ago, when you were a kid. You were pretty young, four, I think. You probably don't even remember it – "

"When I cracked my head open, and you and mom had to take me to the hospital."

Sonny's eyes widened. "You remember that?"

Mark smiled slightly. "Well, I hadn't. I'd forgotten it. Something triggered it a year back or so. I don't remember everything, but I kind of have the general idea of what happened." His smile faded. "I have a pretty good memory of the fit I threw in the hospital room, that Mom couldn't calm me down."

Sonny was nodding. "That's right. I think you were afraid of the needle or syringe or something."

"Yeah," Mark said softly, almost in a whisper. He frowned, an expression of regret. "I hate to think of what I put Mom through."

"You were a kid. And you were scared." Sonny laid his free hand on Mark's shoulder. "Your mom and I were scared. You'd never really gotten hurt before that. It was . . . unsettling."

Both men were quiet for a time, then McCormick moved suddenly. Sonny's hand, holding the compress against Mark's forehead, slipped off. "Hey – " He started to reprimand Mark against moving, but the younger man interrupted him.

"That's why you left."

"What are you – "

"That's what you basically said in that excuse for a good-bye note in Atlantic City." McCormick sat up half-way. "You were scared. The stuff that came with being a father? You didn't think you could handle it, so you left." Mark's tone held a combination of wonderment and accusation.

Sonny didn't answer. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His expression was a textbook poker face.

"That's gotta be it. That's it, isn't it?" McCormick was breathing rapidly, and he could feel perspiration breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. He suddenly felt queasy and dropped back down, swallowing nervously.

Sonny's expression had abruptly changed from blank to worried. "You're looking kind of green there. Are you gonna get sick?"

"Oh, I hope not." Mark swallowed again, then began to breathe deep and slow in an attempt to settle himself.

"Well, maybe try to not get so worked up, huh, Markie?"

"Stop that!" McCormick forgot about the steady breathing. "Stop calling me that!" He glowered at the older man. "That's all this is to you, being a father. Gifts and fun and nicknames, but when things get tough you cut out. When I really needed you, you couldn't be bothered with me. That's not what a father does! Hell, that's not what a friend does!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to see you hurt or in trouble? That it's too hard to see you like – like this – and not be able to help? Why do you think I didn't visit you when you got shot? What, did you think I didn't care?" He exhaled tensely. "No wonder you're ticked at me."

McCormick thought he actually felt his jaw drop in surprise. "You – knew I got shot? I mean, when it happened?" When Sonny had "dropped in" the previous year with the deed to the night club, Mark's recent injury had been alluded to, although none of three men had felt the need to go into detail. But Mark recalled Sonny claiming both concern – and ignorance. "When did you know? Hardcastle said he couldn't track you down. He said he tried, when I was – when he didn't know if I was going to be all right, but that he couldn't find you."

"He found me."

"But you didn't come."

"No." Sonny looked levelly at his son. "And I'm not surprised he lied to you, said he couldn't find me. Easier to explain than a father who wouldn't come to see his kid in the hospital."

"Why?" Mark asked, the single word a plaintive whisper.

Instead of answering, Sonny continued with his earlier recollection. "When you got hurt when you were a kid, your mom was the one that kept calm and decided we needed to take you to the hospital. I was just the chauffeur. I was ready to leave then, after your mom and you went with the nurse, but I couldn't get a good opening." Sonny stopped, and now he was breathing heavily.

Mark was still subdued. "But – but I remember you singing to me. You helped."

Sonny shrugged, smiling wanly. "So I wasn't all bad?" His breathing slowed.

"No . . . Not all," Mark admitted. "But what happened? What changed things?"

"I don't know if things were ever different to begin with. I mean, enough that me being . . . irresponsible was that much of a change." Sonny frowned. "I don't know what I'm saying. But you're right – all I wanted to do was be the fun guy, the one who could come and go and not have to deal with discipline and injuries and the bills. Your mom did it all, even before I left. I just provided the money, and a little companionship, but I wasn't a commitment kind of guy. Not then, not now." His eyes unfocused slightly, his expression wistful. "But if there ever was someone who made me want to try, it was your mother. I might not have always come through, but there were times when I got close."

McCormick inhaled sharply. "She didn't talk about you much. I mean, when she knew you were in the wind. She kept that picture, but when she died, I couldn't find it. I don't know, maybe she had tossed it by then."

Sonny sighed gloomily. "Yeah. I wouldn't have blamed her."

"Neither do I." Mark said. "You running off with no warning, not even a good-bye, leaving her to raise me by herself with no worthwhile family to help. . . " He looked questioningly at the older man. "I mean, you couldn't even make a phone call? Drop a letter in the mailbox?"

"Who said there was no warning? Maybe I didn't exactly say 'Good-bye forever,' but your mother wasn't stupid. She knew the kind of stuff I was involved in, that there was a possibility I might be forced to leave." He paused. "And when you only get one phone call, you have to be selective. You know how that is."

"Oh, don't throw that at me – " Mark broke off. "Wait. You got arrested? That's why you didn't come back?"

"Well, it was maybe two weeks before. And it was Mickey Thompson who got arrested. When I left you guys, I left Mickey Thompson behind, too. I started over. No gal, no son. And you know what? That was probably a damn good thing. Some of the people I hooked up with, the ones who needed my . . . 'services'. . . If they knew about the two of you, they might have tried something to get me to do some stuff I didn't want to do. You and your mom could have been in danger."

"Oh. I see." McCormick nodded sagely. "It wasn't because you were 'scared of being a father.' You left us to keep us safe."

Sonny smiled. "Yeah, now you're getting it."

"Bull."

The smile dissolved. "What do you mean, 'bull'?"

"I mean, if you really cared about us, if you really wanted to keep us safe, you would have gotten out of the business. You would have gone straight." Mark was suddenly weary. "Why don't you just admit you left us because you were a coward?"

The lounge singer's face blanched. He tossed the bloody hand towel onto Mark's chest and then rose, going over to the door. Grasping the handle in both hands, he braced his feet and pulled, to no avail. Changing his stance and reversing the grip of his hands, he tried again – only to have his hand slip off the doorknob and fly back to smack against the railing behind him. "Damn!" he cried.

McCormick had lifted himself up on an elbow and was watching incredulously. When Sonny went back to try opening the door a third time, Mark swore as well. "Damn it Sonny, stop! It's stuck! You're just going – "

But whatever Sonny was going to do remained a mystery, as Mark lost his battle with the queasiness. He was just able to turn his head to the side before he vomited.

Sonny left the doorway and was at his son's side in seconds, helping to hold him up. "You just couldn't lie still, could you?"

Mark coughed and heaved again; it was several moments before he answered. "Your fault. Gettin' me all upset." He felt ready to collapse. Sonny, sensing the dead weight he was suddenly supporting, eased him back gently. "You done, you think?

McCormick nodded, too exhausted to speak. He lifted a shaking hand to rub at his mouth, then closed his eyes.

-TO BE CONCLUDED-