Author's Note: Action takes place midway through the episode entitled "Jock's Will," beginning the evening Ray gets the call from Miss Ellie to come home for the reading of Jock's will.

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this, I wouldn't hardly be writing fanfiction about it.

At 10:00 p.m., when Ray and Donna retired upstairs to the guest room, Mickey had still not returned to the house.

"I'd be surprised if he turns up again before we leave on Thursday," Donna told her husband.

Ray exhaled a short breath that was neither a chuckle nor a snort. "You hope he won't, you mean."

Donna considered. She thought it was sorrow she heard underlying her husband's tone, rather than anger, so she told him the truth. "Yeah," she agreed, but her smile was sympathetic. "Ray, I know you meant well, but Mickey isn't a child. He's a grown man, and I think it's already too late."

"I thought I could help him," Ray sighed.

"I know, honey," his wife consoled him. "But remember, just because you lead a horse to water, it doesn't mean he's gonna drink."

It was nearly eleven when a knock sounded on the door.

"What in the world-?" Donna began, sitting up in the darkness.

"Aunt Lil?" Ray called from his place under the covers.

The door opened a crack, and a soft voice that did not belong to Aunt Lil came in a stage whisper, "No, it's me. Can I come in?"

Donna blinked against the brightness as her husband's cousin turned on the light and shut the door behind him. She pulled the covers up protectively around herself. What was wrong with the kid to accost them in their bedroom like this?

Ray regarded the young man noncommittally. "Does this mean you've made up your mind?"

Mickey frowned worriedly, but his expression was devoid of mockery, just as it had been at old Amos' graveside. He swallowed. "It's not a question of me making up my mind," he corrected. "We have to ask the judge for permission. Can you meet me at the gas station at nine o'clock?"

"Mr. Trotter, will you close the door?"

Ray watched with interest as his young cousin silently obeyed, then returned to his place in the midst of the group assembled in the judge's chambers. In attendance were the judge, Mickey, Ray himself, the gas station owner Tim Reilly, a lady from the prosecutor's office whose name Ray had not caught, and a stenographer.

"We are assembled this morning because Mr. Trotter has requested permission to leave the jurisdiction in order to move to Texas to work with his cousin at Southfork Ranch. This will naturally affect the conditions of the restitution arrangement currently in place.

"I take it, Mr. Trotter, that since you have brought us here, it is in fact your desire to accompany Mr. Krebbs to Texas and to work for him there?"

Ray's eyes swung to his cousin for his reaction. Mickey had not so far actually told Ray he wanted to go.

"Yes, sir," Mickey answered now. His face was expressionless, but his cousin was interested to note that the young man's manner was once again totally devoid of mockery, and his eyes glittered with the wet sheen they'd held when Ray had grabbed him on the lawn and told him he wanted to hear a lot of 'Yes, sirs' out of him.

The judge nodded and continued, "In which case the restitution payments would be made from Southfork Ranch to Mr. Reilly."

It had surprised Ray to learn that it was for the owner of stolen car that Mickey worked, although he could see that in a way it made sense. A boy who was able to hotwire a car could be useful in a garage. He smiled slightly, thinking of what Donna would say. 'Trusting souls.'

"Would you object to that, Mr. Reilly?"

Ray woke up to what was happening, and interjected, "I can pay off the boy's debt right now if that's what's n—"

"Ray," Mickey broke in, actually offended by the suggestion, Ray was surprised to see. "It's my problem, there's need for you to—"

"Gentlemen!" the judge shouted, banging the decorative gavel he'd grabbed from its stand on his desk. "While I realize we are not in the courtroom, this is a quasi-official proceeding of some little importance to Mr. Trotter's future—"

Ray and Mickey had ceased speaking and now looked at the judge with identical looks of chagrin.

"—so I suggest that both of you should refrain from speaking out of turn. Is that understood?"

The cousins nodded in unison, and the judge waited for the echo of their soft 'Yes, sir's to die away before continuing. "Mr. Krebbs, I appreciate your willingness to take responsibility for your cousin, but the intent of the restitution arrangement is to ensure that Mr. Trotter will atone for his misdeeds himself, through his own efforts. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ray answered.

"What the court would ask of you is that you forward the agreed upon restitution payments to Mr. Reilly, as Mr. Trotter earns them, and that you forward to this court a record of payment, as well as periodic reports as to Mr. Trotter's progress and behavior while in your employ."

His behavior? Ray glanced again at his cousin. Mickey met his eyes, but Ray did not know how to interpret their expression.

"Is that acceptable to you, Mr. Krebbs?" the judge prompted.

Ray nodded. "It is, sir."

"Mr. Reilly?"

The gas station owner looked troubled. "Will he have enough to live on? He won't be staying at his mother's house if he's in Texas."

It surprised Ray that the man cared. He saw the judge's eyes on him, so he answered, "He'll receive room and board at the ranch."

The judge turned back to Reilly.

Reilly looked at Mickey. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

For a moment, Mickey looked frustrated, "How can I possibly kn—" He broke off abruptly and stared at the polished wooden floor a moment, biting his lip. It was an old floor, some of the boards cracked, and in need of replacement. When he looked up again, his mask was back in place. "Yes. Yes, it is. What I want." While the echo of his voice faded out, there was no other sound in the room save for the clicking of the stenographer's machine.

"Then I've no objection," Tim Reilly agreed, quietly.

"How about from the prosecutor's office?" the judge queried.

"No objection," the prosecutor lady said easily.

The judge turned back to Mickey. "Mr. Trotter, do you remember what I said you in court when this arrangement was first put in place?"

There was a pause. "Yes, sir."

"I will tell you again anyway. Don't make me regret having given you this chance."

Ray was astonished by the look of sincerity in his cousin's eyes. Either the boy held the judge in great respect, or he was the greatest actor this side of Hollywood. "You won't regret it, sir. I promise."

"In that case," the judge concluded formally, "Permission to leave the jurisdiction is granted."