Inspired by an alphabet challenge in another fandom, here is my first H&McC fic. Follow Mark's morning as he moves from A to Z.

I do not own the any of the characters from Hardcastle and McCormick, and I am making no money from this little story.

By e-pony

Another day begins at Gulls' Way, Mark McCormick thought wearily as he glanced at the alarm clock buzzing loudly on his bedside table. Breakfast dishes and buffing floors, lawn mowing and landscaping, pool cleaning and polishing the Vette lay ahead – all part of his normal duties on the estate of Milton C. Hardcastle, retired judge and full-time donkey (according to one rather biased ex-con). Chasing down the bad guys while playing Tonto… well, that was just one of the unofficial "perks" of the job.

Dropping to the floor, Mark counted out his morning push-ups. Excitement tended to gather around the judge, and it was best to be in shape to handle it. For instance, a round of chores could easily evolve into a round of gunfire, with ricocheting bullets tearing up squares of fresh-laid sod or shattering windowpanes replaced only days earlier, following some similar incident.

Grudgingly, Mark had to admit that though backbreaking – and sometimes outright dangerous – life at Gulls' Way was never dull. Hardcastle pursued his self-appointed Lone Ranger responsibilities with single-minded dedication and genuine noble-minded intent. Injuries barely slowed the man down. Justice – "real honest-to-God, by-the-book justice" – that was his goal, and for the past two months, Mark had been riding shotgun… although without a trusty double-barrel by his side.

"Kemosabe lead-um, and me just follow-um," the young ex-con grumbled out loud.

Lone Ranger protocol dictated the existence of one morally upright hero and one faithful sidekick to watch his back. Mark had no illusions about his place in the scheme of things. Not only had he been purposefully singled out by the jurist to fill the role of Tonto, but "Hardcase" also never let him forget for a moment who was in charge.

"Oven needs cleaning, McCormick," the older man would bark out early on a weekday morning, "and do it right this time!"

"Prune the roses this afternoon, when you're done with the lawn, McCormick," was another commonplace command.

Quick and quiet compliance, though always demanded, was seldom forthcoming on the ex-con's part; yet despite that, things were different now than they had been when he'd first arrived at the estate. Respect was something Mark could give the judge these days – that and his loyalty. Strange, how fast some things change….

Time had proved Hardcastle to be honest and trustworthy, tough but fair – all-American hero material all right. Under the older man's gruff exterior, Mark was also beginning to suspect, beat a somewhat less-than-gruff heart.

Vehicle maintenance and yard work were more appealing than pounding out license plates for a living. Watching a hero's – no, a friend's – back was much better than constantly watching your own in prison, too. X-ray vision was one superpower the young man could have used during his time in Quentin.

Yeah, it's another day at Gulls' Way, Mark mused happily as he finished his morning routine.

Zipping up his jacket, he headed out the gatehouse door – toward the main house, a busy day of chores and the side of a tough-talking, straight-shooting lawman who wasn't a "lone" ranger anymore.

The End