Ch 5 Steaks

Mark McCormick placed a pillow on the hassock and then eased himself down into the chair. He lifted his leg slowly and settled his knee on the pillow, then leaned back and closed his eyes. It had been 2 weeks since his knee surgery, and elevation and ice were the only things that truly helped it after the therapy sessions, but he'd forgotten to stop at the fridge and get a bag of ice on his way in. He would have to do without it until he felt like getting up.

"Here you go kiddo," Hardcastle said from the door, tossing a filled ice bag onto the bed within easy reach.

Mark opened his eyes and looked at the bag, then up at the empty doorway. The judge was already gone, off to start supper he supposed.

He set the ice bag on top of his knee and shook his head. Hardcastle was probably the crustiest and strictest person McCormick had ever met. And yet, he was also one of the kindest and gentlest too. He felt very lucky to have gotten to know him. He'd often wondered how he had gotten so lucky, and he'd never actually come up with a reason. They were good together, that's for sure. A good team in catching criminals, and good friends too. They had supported each other through thick and thin, but even though he'd helped the judge out a lot, and had even saved his life a few times, in comparison to what Hardcastle had done for him, it seemed insignificant. He gazed out the window toward the ocean and sighed, he definitely had a lot to be thankful for.

He must have dozed, because the next thing he heard was the call to supper. He pulled the quilt off as he stood up, embarrassed to realize that Hardcastle had spread it over him while he was asleep.

"Come and get it!" Milt repeated as he carried the steaks in on a big platter and set it down in the middle of the kitchen table. He glanced toward the maid's quarters, though he now referred to it in his mind as Mark's room, and was gratified to see the kid making his way down the hall slowly, but with relatively little difficulty.

"Smell's great!" Mark commented as he sat down. He smiled as he started helping himself. Hardcastle sat back and watched Mark fill his plate with an amused expression that some might have mistaken for contentment.

"What's the occasion?" Mark asked, "you finally get those Lakers tickets?"

"Nah, I just felt like celebrating the fact that you're gettin better. Maybe someday you'll be able to get out of here, eh?" Milt said offhandedly.

The doubt came crashing down hard. It was a moment before Mark could answer.

"Yeah," Mark answered uncertainly. He started to cut the steak, but he wasn't thinking about the food any longer, his brain was in overdrive. He'd been living in Hardcastle's house, since leaving the hospital, 3 weeks now, and the outpatient knee surgery 2 weeks ago. It wasn't surprising that the judge would want him out; would want the house back to normal. He only hoped that he'd still be able to stay in the Gatehouse.

He could probably handle the stairs in the Gatehouse now, he should start trying the stairs tomorrow. He'd thought about it before, but being in the main house had been so nice that he hadn't wanted to think about moving out yet. It was comforting really, no stairs to worry about, and the bathroom was close, but mostly, it was comforting because he knew the judge was always nearby.

He'd also thought about the chores, but had managed to convince himself that there would be no consequences for his not doing the chores. Now, as he sat quietly, thinking about the judge's remark about him moving out, he realized that talk about the chores couldn't be far behind. The only problem was that he couldn't do the chores yet. Sure, he might be able to do some of them, but for most of them he'd need two good arms and two good legs and he just wasn't healed enough for that yet.

"Hey, McCormick?" Hardcastle's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You okay? What's wrong?"

When there was no response, he spoke again. "Hey, why aren't ya talkin?"

Mark glanced down at the tabletop, afraid to meet Hardcastle's gaze.

"If something's bothering you, spit it out!" Milt's annoyance came through in his tone of voice. He hoped the kid wasn't saying he didn't want to stay here any longer. He wasn't ready to go back to the Gatehouse yet and this was the best Milt could do for him. He leaned back in the chair across the table from his friend and waited.

"I guess we shouldn't pretend any more, huh?" Mark began after a long pause.

"What're you talking about? Pretend what?"

"You're a by-the-book kind of guy."

"Nothing gets by you McCormick," Hardcastle teased, but when the other man didn't respond with an insult, he became serious. "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Our agreement is that I help you get the bad guys, and in between cases, I work on the estate."

"So?"

"So I can't work, and I probably won't be able to for," he paused, "you'll get the report soon enough. He'll re-evaluate me in another month. Even then…" Marks voice broke and he cleared his throat.

"I just need to know… when do you want me to leave?"

"LEAVE?" Milt stood up as he shouted angrily, this was beyond belief. "I don't want you to leave!"

"You can't expect the next guy to want to share the Gatehouse, and I can't stay here forever, so, eventually I'll have to find an apartment. I just wanna know when." Mark stared down at the table.

Hardcastle spoke forcefully. "There's not gonna be anyone else kiddo. The Gatehouse is yours for as long as you want it."

"What about our agreement? You were just talking about me getting out of here some day."

"That? That was nothing….can't I make a simple comment in my own house without you thinking I want to kick you out? All I want you to do is get better!"

"It didn't sound like that to me," McCormick whispered. "You don't have to backpedal now judge, I understand, anybody would want things back to normal."

"Is that what you really think of me? After everything?" Hardcastle raised his voice, "you really are an idiot, aren't you!"

"You're the donkey who does everything 'by the book'. I'm just trying to cope." Mark paused and then continued, "I know I'm already past the one month rule, and I appreciate it judge, really, you've been great. But I have no right to take advantage of you any more."

"The one month rule? What the heck is that?"

Mark stared at him, "I don't blame you for it judge, it's okay."

"What is it you're not blaming me for?" Milt shouted, "you better come clean with me hotshot!"

"I saw Judge Gault today, outside of the Center. He told me about your one month rule."

Silence.

"That lying, conniving, scum! Why would you believe anything he says?"

Mark's shocked expression cut into Milt's heart.

"He lied?"

"Course he lied you idiot!"

"But he's a judge… John said 2 months until I could do yard work, and 3 until … Gault lied?" Mark looked up at the judge.

"So you finally got an answer from John about going back to work?" Milt asked thoughtfully. That explained a lot. "It's gonna be awhile huh? Did you think I'd be mad?"

"Uuuuh, well, maybe…. just a little," Mark admitted.

"Well I am mad, but not at you! One month rule? Give me a break! And of course I want you out of here," he continued, "I want you to get better that's all!"

Hardcastle paused and forced himself to calm down, "I want you here with me, for as long as it takes, and not in the Gatehouse until we're both sure you can handle it. That's all I want."

Mark smiled in relief. How could he have doubted the man in front of him.

Then Milt started again, "after all we've been through together, how could you possibly have thought that I'd just… toss you out? Even you're not that stupid!"

"Are you really sure judge? I know how much trouble this is, and I am a lot better now..."

"Oh will you just stop it before I put you back in the hospital!" Milt yelled, raising his fist. "Honestly, do I have to spell it out for you?"

Mark shrugged, not sure how to respond.

"You're my family McCormick! Okay? Ya got that? And I'm not gonna kick you out! I'm just gonna take care of you. Period. Okay?"

Mark's voice wouldn't work, his throat felt closed up. "Okay," he whispered finally, relief so evident in his voice. Then he smiled and gave a short laugh, "okay."

Hardcastle sat back down, a little embarrassed after his outburst.

"I just don't see how two people who are so smart can have so much trouble communicating," Hardcastle offered.

"We could always blame Judge Gault," Mark offered.

"Yeah. We should blame him, sure, but we should also think of a way to get even." Milt answered and they both began to smile as the wheels started to turn.