Title: Firing Line, Part 2 Series: Dredd 2012
Type: Fanfiction Pairing: Dredd/Anderson Rating: 15
Summary: After destroying the slow-mo manufacturing plant in Peach Trees, Judge Joseph Dredd has the chance to present Cassandra Anderson with her badge. Both street judges need healing; physically and emotionally… but where do they start?
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters or anything from the universe of Dredd. I am just taking the characters and playing with them a while – promising to restore them whole and unblemished! Thanks to the makers of Judge Dredd films and comics for creating these toys for me to enjoy. Please don't take any of my playing as having any bearing on the comics or films. Enjoy.
()()()()()()()()
It was all about the badge.
Perhaps, to most, it was a chunk of metal… but to Anderson, it was a statement; a way of life.
It was the law; it was an ideal, a way to live without fear and raise children of the future in security… away from the uglier aspects of humanity. It was a promise to serve and protect.
Two things she failed to do in Peach Trees when she judged a man for protecting his family.
That's why she couldn't understand how the man stood before her was offering her a pass… he wanted her to be a Street Judge after the disastrous assessment in Peach Trees. Anderson wasn't even sure how many had been killed during their show-down with the MaMa clan… and her mentor was saying she had what it took to serve the public… It wasn't processing in her head…
"What's so hard to understand?" Dredd asked, as she blinked again and wondered if she was hallucinating somehow… she had been in a drug-filled environment… she was wounded and currently sitting bolt-up-right on a medical gurney… perhaps she had passed out and this was a dream…
"You passed, Rookie," Dredd continued, the muscles in his jaw contorting into what she guessed was a smile… for him, anyway, "You're a Street Judge… it's down to you whether that's a good thing or not."
The feeling of unreality took a twist into the bizarre as Cassandra felt her sixth sense spike and knew the man stood before her was feeling pride…
Pride?
How?
People had died. Innocent civilians… She hadn't passed. She had refused the badge. Why wasn't he letting it go?
It was at times like this she could bring herself to reach out and probe other people's minds. But the whole point of being gifted with the psychic ability was to remember it was a skill and a blessing that should only be used for good reason and not to pry into the thoughts of others.
That's what the tutors in the psi-division had taught her. And she agreed… but she couldn't help picking up on the swirling mash of emotion bubbling beneath the surface of her mentor… How Dredd kept such a controlled cap on his feelings she didn't know. And she didn't have the right to dig into his mind to discover the secrets behind his resolve.
"You… passed me?" She asked, slowly. Was this another test? How well she could take rejection? "Even though I lost my weapon and I was taken captive."
Looking off to the side, the Senior Judge before her seemed to squirm, "There were extenuating circumstances."
Even though she knew she shouldn't, Casandra opened up her senses and let herself feel the surface of what the man before her controlled every day… the sense of loss, of pain, of hate of those who cause pain to others… she concentrated to get past that, digging further into the ice to find strength and loyalty and a deep sense of pride. There it was again; pride. In his work and in her…
This pillar of a man had complete confidence in her.
She was shocked.
Out of nowhere, he asked, "What are you thinking?"
What was she thinking? What was she feeling? She had thought, on many occasions, she would die this day… or worse. But the greater part of her knew this man wouldn't let it happen. She couldn't fathom what he saw in her that made him count her worthy of the weight carried by a Street Judge.
"I was told that you were amongst the meanest Judges on the street," she said, still trying to un-plait the emotions now swirling around her head. "I was told you very rarely give a pass to a rookie…"
Embarrassment spiked the air and she watched the Senior Judge shift almost imperceptibly… "You got what it takes, Anderson. Call it my gut instinct."
The guy was intense; so much was going on beneath his façade that she found she couldn't quite breathe. A psychic could spend a life time trying to unravel the man… and she couldn't deal with it all right at that moment.
So she looked away… but she still needed to know… "I heard about what you've been through… and I felt how it's changed you…"
Cassandra felt the air in the room change, growing cool and uncomfortable, but she had to say it… "Perhaps I don't think I can be a Judge because I don't know if I'm ready to be like that…" she admitted, frightened by the idea, "So cold and so alone…"
She watched the man before her take the comment like a blow; his shoulders curling slightly before he straightened and looked about the small medical room. Then, almost conspiratorially, he said, "It wasn't always like this, Anderson. I was a recruit, just like you. I had friends and a life… at least, I think I did…"
She found her mouth hanging open at the confession… what was he trying to say? That someone can naturally grow so distant? "But you are so…" she scrunched her young face, scrambling for words, "…you. And those other guys in Peach Trees… they sold us out. For money…"
The comment made his back straighten and he spat, "They were traitors…"
"Yes," she understood their motives… she felt it when she came face-to-face with one of the group who was intent on killing her… "So are my options to become like you or to end up like them? That's not why I wanted to be a judge."
She couldn't believe they were the only two choices for her.
But before she had the chance to thoroughly internalise the conundrum, Cassandra was brought back to reality with the cool feeling of leather-clad fingers on her cheek.
What was he doing? Trying to look into her eyes? Trying to reassure her?
She tried to ignore the scent of leather and spiced aftershave and compose herself; but her body reacted before she could stop it, a rush of heat blazed across her cheeks…
"You aren't like them…" he was saying and she was grateful for his voice… it gave something solid to focus on… "You aren't like me, kid."
It wouldn't have been such a bad thing to be like Dredd. He was honest, to a fault. He was loyal and compassionate, though he tried not to let that show… at moments like this, it shone through…
"You want to help," he was still talking. "Your decisions are made from that. Don't let anything make you forget the reasons you had for putting on that uniform…"
She wasn't sure what to say. All she knew is that the man before her really felt like she could offer something… more. She didn't have to be a psychic to figure out that much.
Not for the first time that day, Cassandra truly looked at him. She could see the uniform and the helmet were the greater part of him. She could sense there was so much more and wondered if he had forgotten that about himself.
And then he moved forward and she, unwilling or unaware, didn't move to counter the kiss he delivered to her forehead.
The snap of emotions that ran from his skin to hers was a jolt of ice and she braced herself on the bed… the man was so intense… she had never met someone so placid looking who warred internally the way this Senior Judge did.
But the movement she made away from the ice-burn of Dredds feelings tore something very real and tangible in her side… Cassandra gasped – her senses spiking to feel the man's self-loathing… he thought he disgusted people? He thought she was frightened of him…
"I'm alright," she managed to say, pressing into the pain and hoping he wouldn't blame himself. "It's alright, sir…"
But she wasn't alright. Even she could see the blood beginning to flow once more as her superior mashed his hand to her injury.
"Damn," he breathed, but the pressure felt good… "Where are the damned medics?"
Wasn't that obvious? "I told them to see to the civilians."
She was just adjusting to the turbulence she found at the touch of the mans gloved hand when he drew back… she hissed…
He hadn't really been listening to her, but the helmet turned her was and he asked, "You did what?"
It was nothing he wouldn't do! He never thought of himself about those he served and she felt irritation spike, "They are the priority."
"You're a Judge…" Dredd countered; sounding very much like a parent admonishing a child, "You are the priority."
Cassandra angered at his hypocrisy… she was no better than him… "No. They are my priority; protect and serve... And I'm not that bad. You can patch me up again, sir. Just like you did before…"
There was a moment as she wondered if she had pushed a little too far… then Dredd turned back to the injury, muttering beneath his breath…
"Take that damned jacket off then," he ordered, grudgingly, "We aren't out in the streets now."
Trying not to let the discomfort show, Cassandra shucked out of the garment and let it fall… in the warmth of the medical room, she was glad to be free of the constriction… She didn't know if he was aware, but Dredds hands were already out and guiding her back on the gurney as he cleansed and treated the gun shot…
There was an awkward silence as she watched him work… something about him seemed so sad…
"This shouldn't have happened, you know." Dredd admitted, giving her a painkiller.
The drug was almost instantaneous; easing the sting and making her bones and muscles heavy… she shrugged, "Part of the job." She had expected to be injured in the line of duty… so it wasn't an issue.
A thought occurred and she craned to see what he was doing as the painful movement of his fingers morphed into a tickle on her flesh…
"Hold still," he ordered and then softened, "I didn't mean you getting shot… you should expect that. It's part of the job. You should see the scars over my body from the bullets I've taken over the years…"
"Ok," she blinked; did she say that out-loud? The man was hot… compact and muscular… and her superior officer! How powerful were those pain drugs?
Cassandra hoped he hadn't heard…
Dredd didn't move, "What was that, Rookie?"
Damn.
"Sorry sir," she cursed herself, "inappropriate humour." She needed to keep her guard up!
The man before her went back to his work, "As I was saying… you shouldn't have had a case like Peach Trees and the MaMa clan on your assessment."
What was he going on about? "I chose the assignment, sir."
Dredd shook his head, "Bad luck."
What?! "On the contrary, Sir," she countered, wanting to make her point very clear, "I was lucky. I had you."
She knew he was dismissing the comment as more ramblings of a rookie doped up on pain-med and she angered again, "You were looking out for me…"
A derisive snort sounded as he looked up to her, "If I was looking out for you, Anderson, you wouldn't have been taken hostage…"
The man was impossible! "If you hadn't been looking out for me, I know I would be dead now."
Dredd was still again and Cassandra wondered how they had gone from having some space between them to her sitting upright, almost nose-to-nose with the other Judges helmet…
Seriously; did he ever take the thing off?
Then he did something unexpected; he took off his gloves and pressed his hand to her bare side…
The rush of emotion, usually capped by the barrier of leather gloves crashed over her like a tidal wave… she didn't know if she had managed to stay upright… but trying to thread-out just one feeling within the man seemed impossible… he was a maelstrom!
She tried to compose herself as he continued to work on her wound and found the most immediate thoughts at the surface were surrounding her and how he regretted taking her out to face what they had… she also touched a smaller, less acknowledged, part of the man who had noticed how young and fresh she was. From that vein there were attached feelings of envy, the need to protect her and attraction…
She hardly noticed when his hands on her had stilled…
The amazing part was that he hadn't experienced any of the feeling that had, almost physically, moved her… he was unaware as his attention came back to regarding her…
Or perhaps he had… the man moved back slightly…
There was one way to find out; he had never been anything but up-front with her…
"I don't think you realise… that skin-to-skin contact increases the psychic connection, sir."
She felt the thoughts in the man darken back into a familiar self-loathing… she couldn't stop it… he wore the emotions like a jacket… and she let him back away from her…
"That's all you think you have to offer, isn't it?" Cassandra heard herself say in a mournful whisper, "It isn't, you know."
She hadn't thought it was a revelation worthy of panic… but that's what she got as the man was suddenly across the room from her before she had noticed him move.
Was it so dangerous a topic? Nobody could really think so little of themselves that they felt the need to burry themselves in a façade of coldness and control…
Then her attention was caught on her senior officers side… "Oh my God… Sir… you're bleeding…"
Shit! He'd been shot in Peach Trees… how selfish of her not to think to ask if he was alright…
"I'll be fine, Rookie," Dredd slurred.
Cassandra ignored the pull of her own side and threw herself beneath the mans arm as he swayed…
"Lost more blood than this…" he continued to protest…
She huffed, hauling his weight with effort, "With all due respect, sir… shut up."
Dredd growled and she bit down the excitement she felt at hearing the noise… control yourself Cassy!
He struggled slightly as they reached the medical bed… so she played her only card to earn his cooperation… "I still haven't accepted the pass yet…" she explained, "so I am still, technically on assessment and this is my last order…"
His hands stilled hers as she reached to undo his jacket… "That's stretching it pretty thin, Judge Anderson."
Cassandra couldn't help but let their fingers intertwine… he was so close… and she knew the man before her had a pride he couldn't free himself from. He couldn't be vulnerable to anyone; it wasn't the persona he had carefully cultivated over the years… and allowing her to assist him was taking so much away from his resolve…
His hand fell away from hers and she shook herself… one thing at a time Cassy…
Cassandra guided the heavy leather off the soft skin of her senior officer and tried not to think too much on the light scars that criss-crossed his skin… the patterns glinted of pains he was clearly trying to bury and she knew the scars he owned were not simply skin-deep.
She rolled the blood-soaked vest off him, trying to maneauver the material with as little motion as possible… "This might be easier if you took that helmet off."
He moved his head in a negative, "It stays on."
Really?
She sighed, finally turning attention to the wound. Her delicate hand covered the out-wound and she paled, "It went straight through you…"
"Armour piercing," he explained, trying to shake the drowsiness away, "flesh isn't too much of a problem for a round like that."
Cassandra felt her stomach flip… she wasn't sure she could do this… "We should get a medic…"
"They weren't good enough for you, Anderson," he huffed.
Was that a joke?
But Dredd looked to her again, "I'm sure you can handle it."
She was glad of his faith… misguided as it seemed.
"I only know basic aid, sir," she warned.
"I'll talk you through it," he said, brooking no argument and pushing himself up on the gurney. "First of all, get a fist of that yellow foam…"
He always seemed so certain of everything. The man made a decision and stuck by it… so she would have to do the same… though thinking of where to begin was causing her a problem as she assessed the size of the hole in her mentors side; bigger than her hand… she paled.
"And yes," he hissed, gripping a corner of the foam, "it goes all the way through… but you need to get it out to clean the wound."
She shook her head, "Won't that cause added trauma?"
"I can handle the pain," he said.
She didn't doubt the man's endurance… she was concerned about her own at feeling his pain…
"May black-out due to the blood loss… but I'll be back with you in no time."
What?
"Just a joke, kid."
Yeah – hilarious, she angered again, reaching for the sealant, "Don't call me kid."
And then she yanked at the chemical bond that held her colleagues insides in and tried not to think about the sound it made as it hit the tiled floor.
A poker of pain singed at the edges of her mind as she folded forward, finding Dredds hands on her shoulders as she reached for his chest. The motion was meant to calm him as she soothed with platitudes and apologies… instead, she found him shaking…
"Sir…" she asked, wondering if shock had set in… had she done something wrong?
"It's ok, Anderson," he trembled, "move fast and get it done."
Adrenaline firing, she tipped the wall of a man backward and tugged his clothing free to better access the wound… it looked bad… far worse than her own. How was the guy even alive? What was he made of?
She reached for the first aid kit…
"You're doing great, kid…" he murmured, concerning her more than if he had remained silent.
"Sir…" she asked, "I'm almost done cleaning the wound…" God, he looked awful, "don't you pass out on me."
"Might not be able to agree to that one, Rookie…" he slurred.
Shit! She reached for the sealant… it expanded and filled the space as she smoothed it over.
"Sir…" she called again… but he was out, cold.
Training took over; she checked his pulse and breathing… he was strong… he was going to be fine…
She bit her lip… might be best to remove the helmet…
It wasn't necessary, she argued with herself, he was stable and he'd really hate it if she took the thing off without permission…
Then again, she thought, he never had to know…