Author's Note: Gosh, it seems I've been away forever. If you'll allow me a slight plug, I'll tell you that I've been rather busy with the STAR for Brian Keith campaign, which you can read all about at www.starforbrian .com. If you'll allow me a slightly larger plug, I'll also tell you that we are working hard to raise funds for the star, and we've got a CD full of new fic to offer in gratitude for donations. If you're interested, please do drop by the site.

But, back to this fic.When I posted chapter one, I thought I was done, but that turned out not to be the case, because Frank maintains a friendship with two very different people. This chapter takes a look at the same span of time as the first, though from the vantage point of slightly different events. These conversations follow An Innocent Man, "The Black Widow", "Homecoming", and "You and the Horse You Rode In On". It simmered for a while, before, during, and after writing, so I thank my betas for helping with the process.

Mostly, though, it's for L.M., because she wanted the flip side.

The friends sat on the patio, enjoying the cool night breeze and the cold beer.

"You sure we shouldn't help him out in there?" Frank Harper asked, jerking his head toward the house.

But Hardcastle just shook his head with a grin. "Don't wanna spoil him. He's gotta learn the ropes."

"You could be right about that," the detective answered, grinning in return. "He strikes me as the kind that might need a short leash."

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? I thought you liked the kid?"

"Yeah," Frank answered slowly, "I do."

Confused, the judge examined the other man more closely and finally asked the question he'd been wondering about since early in the evening. "What was going on with the two of you when you showed up tonight?"

Hardcastle's immediate misgivings at seeing the two of them together had been quickly pushed aside when he realized nothing really seemed out of the ordinary; they were getting along fine. And besides actually wanting to trust the kid, he'd taken comfort in the knowledge that if anything were truly wrong, Harper would certainly tell him, even if McCormick wouldn't.

"Nothing, really, we were just talking a little bit out in the gatehouse."

"Why?" Hardcastle asked, feeling some of the alarm creep back. "Frank, is he in some kinda trouble?"

"Nah, I just wanted to talk to him. But he did seem a little worried to find me standing at his door." Harper grinned again. "Too much time spent with a guilty conscience, probably."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure, Milt. Trust me, I'd tell you if I thought the kid was up to something. And I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here having dinner with him instead of hauling his butt downtown." He paused, and then added, "At least I'd try to haul him downtown. Seems to me you stopped me last time."

"Well, he hadn't done anything wrong."

"As it turned out," Harper admitted. "Though at the time, I thought your faith was a little premature."

Hardcastle was slowly starting to understand. "And what about now? Still premature, you think?"

Harper shrugged and took a drink of his beer. "I dunno," he finally replied, "maybe. I think he wants to do the right thing here; I don't know if he's gonna be able. There's a lot of history to get past."

The final piece clicked into place for the judge. "You went over there to threaten him," he accused.

The lieutenant shrugged again, not fazed by the sudden glare from the older man. "Well, I think Mark had the decency to refer to it as putting him on notice, but I'm pretty sure he understood."

"I don't really think that was necessary," Hardcastle told him, though it was hard to be too mad at someone who clearly had his best interests at heart.

"Probably not. But like I told him, I'm the cautious type. In this case, I figure one of us has to be, and you seem to already be out of the running."

Hardcastle swiped a hand across his face. "You are confusing the hell out of me. Aren't you the one who wanted me to bring him back here after all that burglary business was cleared up?"

"Yep."

"But now you think it was a mistake?"

"No. I just think it's a long time between now and the end of his parole. A lot could go wrong. Hell, he wasn't out six months before he ran into you again."

Hardcastle didn't have much to say to that, and Harper continued. "But, maybe if you two are just upfront with each other, everything will be fine. I told you; I really do think he wants this to work. I think he might just need a little help."

And, staring at the sincere face of his old friend, Hardcastle finally thought he understood the man's hesitation. Hell, it probably wasn't that much different than the confusion he was dealing with himself. He had intended to keep the ex-con at arm's length for at least six months, and he was surprised by how quickly he'd found himself believing in the young man, and welcoming his presence. That hadn't been part of the plan, and he wasn't completely comfortable with the idea himself. But he figured from the outside looking in, he might look more than just a little bit foolhardy.

"So," he said after a moment, "your advice then is to trust him, but keep an eye on him?"

"Hell, no," Harper contradicted. "He doesn't need you to be unsure. No, my advice to you is just to trust him." He winked at the jurist. "And let me keep an eye on him."

Hardcastle laughed. "Now that sounds like a plan I can live with."

"You know I woulda treated you to a real lunch," Hardcastle said as they squirted the mustard onto their hot dogs.

"I appreciate the thought, Milt," Harper told him as they moved away from the cart to claim an empty bench in front of the police station. "But no time today. Surely you haven't forgotten the life of a cop?"

Hardcastle smiled and shook his head.

"So what are you doing down here today?" the lieutenant asked.

"Had to tie up a few loose ends with the Filapiano case."

Harper shook his head once, sadly. "That thing's probably gonna get nasty before it's all said and done. I can't believe we had a cop who was okay with the idea of gettin' people killed just to make a case." He smiled at Hardcastle's muffled 'hmph'. Not everyone in the department was on the best of terms with the retired judge, and Harper had heard more than once about the man's disdain for Filapiano.

"So where's McCormick?" Frank went on conversationally. He didn't miss the shadow that passed quickly over the older man's face.

"Oh, they were finished up with him," Hardcastle answered dismissively. "And we had a plumber coming by today, so he stayed to deal with that. He's supposed to be doing some maintenance on the 'Vette and cleaning out the garage while he's waiting, though I don't really expect either one will be done when I get home."

Harper took a moment to study his friend. The tone had implied trouble on the home front, though he was aware of no specific incidents. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure."

It had sounded casual enough, but Harper thought Hardcastle was devoting far too much attention to folding the wrapper around his lunch. "That's what I thought."

The judge didn't look up from his dog, but he nodded slowly. "He went a little crazy this time, Frank."

"I heard he did a pretty good job."

"Well . . ."

"So what's the problem?"

Harper waited until the older man had made quite a show of finishing the last bite, then prompted again, "What happened?"

"Sometimes he seems to forget who's boss," Milt said, finally looking back at the detective.

"Yeah, I've noticed that a time or two," Harper grinned. "Though I've also noticed you usually put up with a lot of his guff. What's different this time?"

"Do you know what he did?" Hardcastle demanded.

Frank just shook his head with a small smile, not pointing out that if he knew, he wouldn't be asking.

"It started when he got all hot and bothered over a pretty face." And the judge explained how Mark had managed to maneuver himself into the lead position on the Tina Grey case, starting with basketball and ending with the rescue of his damsel in distress.

"And then he came home," he concluded, "all smiles and full of himself. He doesn't seem to get the idea that he probably racked up about half a dozen parole violations with that little stunt."

"Especially the weapons possession," Harper agreed, though he wasn't convinced they'd reached the real root of Hardcastle's problem. He decided to test the waters.

"So, you want me to run him in?"

Hardcastle jerked backward on the bench. "What? Hell, no; that's not what I meant."

Frank nodded, and was a little bit surprised at the twinge of relief that swept through him. "Okay. Then this isn't really about parole violations. What's the problem?"

Milt appeared to be giving that a lot of thought as he shifted around uncomfortably. His answer finally came as a quiet confession, which almost seemed to surprise himself.

"He almost got himself killed, Frank. Another five minutes, maybe not even that; that's how close we cut it. And do you know why? Because I couldn't be the boss. Because I let him get to me with some kinda combination of strong-arm and sweet talk. Because even after he left me at the museum and went tearing off on his wild escapade, and even after he made me wait around wondering where he was and what in the hell was going on, even then I didn't shut him down." Hardcastle's face was the picture of regret.

"I should've brought the hammer down right then . . . made sure he didn't forget again that he serves at my pleasure. Hell, what I really shoulda done is put him on the first bus back to Quentin. And, honestly, Frank, I'm not sure I can give you one single reason that I didn't."

Harper thought about that for a moment, then decided to start with the obvious. "He did help you make your case. I thought that's what you wanted him for?"

"Well, yeah . . ."

"And, seriously, you can't honestly have believed that you were gonna manage to set up some kinda dictatorship. You didn't really think he'd go for that for very long?"

"Hey," Hardcastle answered indignantly, "I thought you were the guy that thought he needed to be kept on a short leash."

"I suppose," Harper hedged, "but maybe it's time to loosen it up just a little bit."

Hardcastle was staring in disbelief. "Are you listening to me, Frank? The leash was just so loose the kid shoulda been brought up on charges. And he almost died."

"Well," Harper said thoughtfully, "maybe there's a happy medium, something you can both live with that still keeps him out of trouble—and in one piece." He smiled slightly. "And even you aren't so stubborn that you can't budge just a little bit."

"Oh yeah?" the jurist grouched. "What if he goes off on another tangent again?"

"What if he doesn't?" Frank countered. "And besides, if you don't let him go just a little bit, how're you ever going to know that you can?"

And with those final words, Harper returned his attention to his own hot dog, leaving Hardcastle to contemplate new boundaries of trust.

"What's he doin'?" Hardcastle asked, as Harper gazed out the front window.

"Ah . . ." the detective hesitated. "Waxing the 'Vette?"

The judge snorted. "Again? He just did that yesterday."

Harper turned with a grin and moved to drop into an armchair. "That must be why he doesn't actually seem to be using the wax. But he's puttin' on a pretty decent show."

"He's hovering. Been doin' that ever since we got back from Clarence."

Frank's eyebrow climbed slightly. "Hovering? Wouldn't it make more sense to come inside?"

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "That might be too obvious." He paused, then added, "Besides, I mighta yelled at him yesterday, for bein' underfoot. That's when he went out and did the 'Vette."

Harper grinned slightly and shook his own head. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Well . . ." Hardcastle hesitated again. Trying to understand the kid's moody behavior was hard enough; trying to explain it out loud might be more than he could manage. He began slowly.

"Well, I told you about what happened down there."

Frank nodded. "Yeah," he said sympathetically, "sounded like a bad deal, what with them being your friends, and all."

"Friends," Hardcastle repeated scornfully. "I don't think friends lie to you about stuff, and I'm sure they don't try and kill you just to keep their secrets." He pulled a hand across his face, then looked directly at Harper.

"But I think maybe they do grieve when they think you're dead, and they might even hatch up cockamamie plans to bring your killers to justice, even if it's dangerous to them."

"Mark." The detective's quiet response didn't carry a hint of uncertainty.

"When I found him out there in that cabin, Frank, he was so glad to see me. I mean really. Happier than I've ever seen him." The judge couldn't quite hide his surprise.

"Well why wouldn't he be?" Harper sounded more than a little surprised, himself. "The kid thought you were dead, Milt."

"And then," Hardcastle continued, "what Christy told me—Christy, that's my friend, Bucky's, daughter—she told me that Mark intended to go after the others, even if he ended up back in prison forever. God, Frank, what was he thinking? That's the kind of craziness he pulled after . . . after his friend, Flip, died."

Frank didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow encouragingly.

"I mean, he's done some crazy stuff before; a coupla months ago when he followed me to D.C. And back in San Rio." The judge shook his head slowly. "But I never realized . . ."

Hardcastle let the thought trail off for a moment, then finally added, "I sent him to prison, Frank."

"You were doing your job, Milt. And besides, that was a long time ago."

"Hah. To hear the kid tell it, you'd think it was yesterday."

"He whines out of habit, you know."

"So you're tellin' me you don't think he blames me anymore?"

"Ah . . ." It was Harper's turn to hesitate. He pushed himself out of the chair and wandered back to the window. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "What I'm telling you," he said slowly, "is that I think he's come to grips with it. Whatever he may have felt before, it's different now."

Hardcastle wasn't entirely convinced. "I never expected . . . I mean, I never thought it'd be this way. I figured he'd hate me forever."

Frank nodded. "I don't think anyone could really have expected it, Milt. I doubt anyone would've expected that that the ex-con you sent up would be out there in the drive, doing his best to look busy just so he doesn't have to let you too far out of his sight, but he's out there, just the same." He turned to lean against the sill and look back at his friend before continuing. "But let me ask you something: do you feel the same about him as you did six months ago?"

Hardcastle gave that a moment's serious consideration, then backed away from the idea. "I still think he's a smart-mouthed pain in the butt, if that's what you mean."

Harper smiled slightly, and didn't speak, but Hardcastle thought maybe the mild look of skepticism said enough.

"But," the judge added finally, "I guess he is a pretty good kid." He smiled himself as the detective's expression moved to mildly pleased. "And I guess I oughta tell him he can come back inside now."

Harper wandered casually down the basement steps, and was glad the judge wasn't pretending to be busy.

"Has he calmed down yet?" Hardcastle asked.

"Have you?"

The older man waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine."

Harper crossed the small distance and straddled a chair to face Hardcastle. "Well, you seemed a little on edge to me." He paused, then added pointedly, "And Mark isn't sure what he's done wrong."

"Huh. What're you, the go-between? Anyway, it shouldn't be a mystery; he doesn't listen to what he's told."

"He isn't a child," Harper pointed out reasonably.

"Then he shouldn't act like one. He doesn't have that many chores to be responsible for, ya know. It shouldn't be that hard to get 'em taken care of."

"It was potato salad, Milt." Frank was still reasonable, but he'd determined that Hardcastle wasn't going to sidestep this conversation.

"Well—"

"And he's on his way now to get it now," Harper interrupted, "so what're you going to bitch about next?"

Hardcastle tossed aside a file folder he wasn't reading. "You're always on his side," he said petulantly.

The detective couldn't hide the grin. "It's not about taking sides."

"Yeah, well, the way he runs that mouth of his, he wins over a lot of people."

"People like you, I thought."

"Hmph. Don't be trying to get inside my head, Frank."

"Then don't make me. Why don't you just tell me what the hell is going on?"

The judge pulled a hand across his face as he sighed. "Oh, I don't know," he admitted. "I think it started with the Waverly case. It was kind of weird." He seemed to consider for a moment, then amended, "Actually, I guess it started right before David Waverly." He fixed the younger man with a stern gaze. "Did he tell you he got mad and left?"

Harper nodded slowly. "He also told me he didn't think you were too sorry to see him go."

That seemed to surprise the judge. "He said that?"

Frank nodded again. "But he didn't tell me exactly why he left." He hadn't voiced an accusation, but Hardcastle seemed to hear it, anyway.

"Ah, yeah, I think that mighta been my fault. Though I don't really think I was ridin' him any harder than I ever do. It's just that . . ."

Harper waited a few seconds, then supplied, "Just that sometimes that's hard enough?"

"Maybe," Hardcastle agreed solemnly. "I think he was feeling . . . um . . . underrated, maybe. Unimportant." He shook his head. "He should know better by now."

Harper was surprised by the unexpectedly candid response. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. He pointed out the obvious. "Maybe you shouldn't expect him to know something you've never told him."

But when Hardcastle glanced away and didn't respond, Harper realized he might be asking for too much. "Okay," the lieutenant backpedaled just a bit, "maybe you could tell me. This isn't really about potato salad, or probably any of his other chores, either, so why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Hardcastle still didn't offer an immediate reply, but instead turned his attention to shuffling through a stack of folders on the tabletop. "He's pretty good at this stuff, Frank," he said after a moment, indicating the folders and all that they represented. "Even better than I'd hoped." He turned back to the officer.

"You know, when I brought him here, I told him I thought I needed a criminal to catch criminals, and that's really the way I saw it. Oh, I thought he was different than the really bad guys, sure, but he was still mostly just a con. And other than giving him a chance to straighten up a little bit, I never intended it to be more than that."

"But then he turned out to be a pretty good kid, huh?" Frank asked in mock sympathy. "Ruined all your plans."

"Wise guy," Hardcastle accused. "You've been spending too much time with McCormick. Anyway, yeah, he turned out to be a pretty good kid. And you know what else he turned out to be? Someone that doesn't belong behind bars. That's why I let him go when he wanted to go. What was I supposed to do? Send him back to Quentin?" He pinched at the bridge of his nose and gave another small sigh. "Two years, Frank. The kid's got almost another two years left on his tail, and I'm supposed to be the guy in charge, but that seems pretty questionable right about now. I've lost my leverage."

Harper leaned back and gave the older man a mildly disapproving look. "You think this is about leverage?"

Slapping his hand down on the tabletop, Hardcastle snapped, "I don't know what the hell this is about, Frank. You talked to him; maybe you could tell me."

The burst of anger didn't hide an honestly confused plea for help, but Harper wanted his friend to work this out for himself. "You do know what this is about," he said with quiet insistence.

It took almost a full minute, with the Hardcastle glare never letting up, but Harper didn't give in. Finally, the judge drew in a long, steadying breath.

"I didn't want him to go," he said softly, almost hesitantly, "but I couldn't force him to stay." His eyes sought out the other man's. "And what am I gonna do next time?"

Harper spoke just as quietly, and with straightforward logic. "Did you try just asking him to stay?"

Hardcastle seemed genuinely baffled by the concept. "Weren't you listening? I'm supposed to be the guy in charge."

The detective gave his head a single shake, and looked across at his friend solemnly. "You're more in charge than you realize, Milt. And, honestly, you don't really even have to ask him to stay. He wants to stay. But you are gonna have to stop giving him a reason to leave." He looked up as they heard movement overhead. "And tonight would be a good time to turn over your new leaf."

The judge raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "You mean I have to be nice?" He didn't seem thrilled with the idea, but Harper considered it a good sign that he also didn't seem completely unwilling.

Frank grinned as he rose from his chair. "Nah. He wouldn't know what to do with 'nice'. It'd probably just scare him off." He motioned the older man to his feet. "But maybe if you'll just remember that you really do want him around, it'll be easier to make sure he knows it, too."

"Yeah, okay," Hardcastle agreed, as he preceded Harper up the stairs, "you're probably right." He glanced back at Frank. "But I still think you're on his side."

Harper just laughed. "Impartial observer," he answered.

"Hah. That's your story, huh?" But as they stepped onto the landing and moved toward the sounds in the kitchen, Hardcastle raised his voice and directed his grumble in another direction.

"McCormick, I hope you got the mustard potato salad; you know I hate that German kind."

Harper placed a hand to his forehead and sighed as he listened to the good-natured bickering now coming from the other room. "That's my story," he muttered. "And I'm stickin' to it."