Exit Wound

Summary: Our past is never buried and dead. Dredd has a lot to teach – and a lot to learn. OneShot- Dredd, Anderson.

Warning: I'm the one responsible for the introspection/relationship fics. Keep that in mind. Also, all I know from the Judge Dredd universe is thanks to some Wikipedia articles, Darth Gilthoron's amazing fic "The Cursed Earth" and to a Q&A-session I chased him through (Thanks again for that!). If you haven't read his story yet, do it- it's perfect.

Set: Story-unrelated, post-movie, movie-verse.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

i. Grey

Despite many rumors that say otherwise it is impossible to remember all their faces.

Many fairytales tell stories of brave judges who forever remember the faces of the people they have killed, be it the innocent or the actual criminals. As it is, Dredd sees no sense in remembering the facial characteristics of people who have broken the law. There are things that are worthy to be memorized – his codex of honor, the face of his brother (I'll be back, remember my words, Joey), the street outlay of Mega-City One – and there are things he does not need, unnecessary ballast on his daily patrols. He does not care for what cannot be changed anymore. Dead is dead and only a dead criminal is a good criminal. It's not that he's completely heartless. He… well, some shrink – mandatory mental evaluation – called it prioritization. Joe Dredd knows his own mind. There are things he needs to remember and things he casts aside, and when he sleeps restlessly it is not because faces of strangers haunt him.

(It's the familiar ones that make him wake up drenched in sweat.)

"Sir."

Dredd froze. He had hoped, stupidly, that she would not notice him. Cassandra Anderson stood in one of the less-frequented corridors of the Hall of Justice, less-frequented because it was a corridor so far away from the Hall's usual busy everyday life that barely someone entered it. Dredd himself had found it to be a shortcut – in a way – to a certain place he went to quite often, but besides the occasional cleaning robot and sometimes a few lost cadets or civilians he had barely ever encountered anyone in it.
The long, high corridor could have been an attraction in itself. It curved around the length of one of the domes of the Hall of Justice that rose into the sky but its position at the back of the building and its rather hidden entrance kept the stream of people at bay. As an observation gallery it was useless because the view onto the busy city was blocked by other parts of the Hall of Justice, amongst them a few barracks and a rather ugly supply warehouse. For those reasons – and for many others – he had not expected to find anyone standing at the huge glass windows, looking outside. Especially not her. Cassandra Anderson's hair was a bit less tousled than when he had seen her the last time, there was no sweat on her face and no bruises and she did not hold her Lawgiver in her tense hands. In her indoor uniform, clean and neat, she looked even smaller than he remembered. Dredd hadn't seen her since the day she had walked away from Peach Trees.

"Anderson." Nodding at her, he tried to pass her quickly and was stopped by her tentative voice.

"Sir, Judge Dredd?"

Not really wanting to stop for a chat of any kind he still held his step, turning around to look at her.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to thank you." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I failed the assessment and you still passed me."

"Don't," he said curtly. "You fought well."

She seemed uncomfortable, her eyes wandering through the corridor, avoiding him, her hands opening and closing before she fisted them at her sides.

"Still. Thank you."

With a final nod, Dredd turned away again and wanted to continue on his way. But from the corner of his eyes he could see her open her mouth and close it again, her fists clenched tighter and her back stiffened even more. She obviously wanted to say something else, was bursting to say it, and Dredd sighed inwardly in resignation. There we go.

"What is it, Anderson?"

"Sir?" She asked, hesitation so clear in her voice he didn't need to be a telepath to sense it. "May I… May I ask you something?" She bit her lip. A thin droplet of blood indicated that she had been repeating the same action often already. "It might seem inappropriate, but I couldn't ask anyone else. You were at Peach Trees, so…" She trailed off, uncertain, and somehow he had a bad feeling about this.

"Ask."

"Do you…" She took a deep breath. "Do you still see them die?"

She was referring to the criminals she had executed, to the drug dealers they had fought and killed. He should have known: a cadet as green as she was wouldn't be able to get over the first kill that quickly.

"Death is part of the job," he told her. "Get used to it."

His voice was harsh, perhaps harsher than he had intended. He watched Anderson flinch in reaction and regretted his bluntness. She was a telepath, did it have any influence on her experience of death? Perhaps she had felt something, had seen something in the dying peoples' brains. It wasn't impossible. From what he had seen she had pretty strong psi abilities, it was one of the reasons the Chief Judge had wanted her to have a second chance.

"Listen, Anderson," he said, trying to sound reasonable and perhaps even understanding. "You will go out there every day. You will see things that will make you wish you could cut your eyes out at the end of the day, and your brain, because all the evil, all the things you see will accumulate there, right there." He lifted his finger, pointed at her head. She did not move, somehow, he had expected her to flinch back. "The world is cruel and ugly. That's the truth. And nobody cares about the rules except for us judges."

She still stood stock-still, her eyes looking past him. She'd been thinking about this pretty long already, obviously. Her voice sounded hard.

"Why don't we just round them up and kill them? They don't deserve better."

"Because we're supposed to be the good guys."

Sighing, Dredd ran his hand through his hair. It was still wet from his shower. How could he say this? There was no good way. People died, it was the harsh reality, and in his line of professions he tended to kill the bad ones so the good people, the normal inhabitants of the city, could survive. It did not mean he enjoyed killing, but he deemed it necessary. Perhaps there lay the difference.

"See it that way. For every murderer, every rapist and drug dealer you kill, you save someone else. Some man who can go home to his wife and child. A child that can grow up to being a good man. There's no justice in this world except for us, Anderson."

Her eyes caught his and he found himself wishing he knew what she was thinking, which paths her mind was taking. But her face was a carefully wiped slate.

"Thank you," she said again, much like the first time that day. "I apologize for keeping you that long." Dredd took a deep breath. He knew it wasn't an answer, not in the way she wished for. But it was more than she would get, and it was something. With a short nod, he continued on his way. Maybe he imagined it, but her shoulders were a tiny bit less tense.

It hit him later that day, when he didn't expect it in any way: from the corridor, the only thing one could see was the sky.

ii. Opposition

He still calls her rookie in his head.

Somewhere in his mind the label is stuck, like an especially stubborn thread of thought. The thought that she might read him and find him referring to her like that is unsettling. The thought that she might read his mind at all is more than that.

Dredd has been on the streets for years. He has seen a lot, has lived through a lot, he has lost people and things and ideals (because yes, those get lost, too, and although it seems a small loss the aftermath can be terrible) and he knows there are few things that can be reduced to one word. Actually, nothing really can be. Family is more than the word implies; revenge is; and Cassandra Anderson is, too. Still, in his mind, she will always be the green, inexperienced rookie he evaluated during the Peach Trees raid. Sometimes he wonders whether she knows. Whether she reads him: his mind, his thoughts, his innermost feelings. If she did, would he know?

(He decides not to dwell on the consequences of what it would mean if he didn't.)

"No."

Her look could be called defiant, had there been the trace of an apology in her face. There was none. Dredd frowned.

"It wasn't a suggestion, Judge Anderson."

"I won't read him forcefully. We had an agreement, he kept it. I won't go against it."

"He promised to help us as long as we helped his family," he reminded her curtly. "His family is dead. The agreement is void."

Her grey eyes glared at him. A few strands of her hair fell into her face, she still hated wearing her helmet. It would get her killed one day. The half-eagle badge had been replaced by the full eagle, her name written across the metallic badge. It was as scratched and worn as his.

"He is a good man. He doesn't deserve to be treated like a criminal."

"And you know this," Dredd growled, "Because you read it in his mind."

"Yes." She met his glare head-on. "Yes, I am disobeying a direct order. I will not read this man's thoughts to serve your purposes."

Was she really arguing with him? Of course, both of them were full judges, but he was her senior and she was assigned to him. He'd ordered her to retrieve possible information from the informant's brain and she refused, flat-out. He felt his jaw clench, hard.

"We need-"

"He knows nothing," she interrupted him and Dredd's patience came to its end. "We should just let him go, there is nothing he can tell us that would help…"

"Judge Anderson," he said, knowing full well his voice was low and dangerous. "This is not your call. You will use your powers on him and you will tell me everything he knows. You know the punishment for insubordination."

Somehow, he was not surprised when she continued glaring and did not move.

"With all due respect, Sir, but I will not do that." Her back was rigid. She was now glaring at his boots but he could still see her features, set in stubborn determination. "I will not violate a perfectly innocent man's right to privacy."

"Even if he had information that would prove to be crucial to us?"

She looked up quickly, eyed him from underneath her lashes. "This is not a life-or-death situation."

"It could turn into one."

"With all due respect, but I do not read anything in his mind that would indicate he was a seriously important figure in this game."

"And if your little informant does know something important, and, the second we let him go, runs and tells someone who blows up an entire block in Mega-City One?"

Her doubts shifted to stubbornness, but she held her ground.

"I won't do it, Sir."

Sighing inwardly, Dredd was glad she had at least waited for their informant to be out of earshot to relieve himself before she started the discussion. With any other rookie or judge his options would have been clear: he would have them on their way back to the Hall of Justice within minutes, their orders telling them to turn in their badges at the gate and return to their rooms, waiting for a hearing. And hell, he should not make a difference: Anderson was a judge like any other. Except she was an asset to the Psi division, and he did not want to think about what they would do to him if he sent them back their precious girl without her badge… His internal train of thoughts derailed as anger boiled up in him again: there should not be a difference, not really. Anderson had challenged his authority and denied his orders, she had to be punished. On the other hand, she was the strongest telepath he'd ever seen and so far her intuition had proven to be uncanny. If he was honest, he liked her guts. It took a lot to stand up to one's superior, and she had just demonstrated it. He just didn't want it to be him she stood up to. Damn rookie.

"Work on your timing," he growled.

The relief spreading over her entire face was idiotic, like a girl that had been given the best present ever, whatever it was children played with nowadays. It made her look younger, if anything, and a lot more naïve and blue-eyed than he knew she was.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, her shoulders straightening as she stood to attention.

"It will be your task to gather the information we need instead," he told her gruffly.

"Yes, Sir."

A detailed report and files of three possible suspects were on his desk within four days. Dredd glared at them and sighed.

iii. Age

He just can't understand her.

She seems so young sometimes that he feels outright old, as if he had seen the world for a very long time, for longer than he actually has. Now and then he forgets that she has been through a lot, as well, that her life has not been easy despite its comparable shortness. And then again she seems old. Older than him. It does not show in her face or her hands or her agility. It shows in her eyes: she stares right through him on some days. He has not yet found a pattern in it but he suspects there is one. On those days she seems to be only half-real, half-anchored into reality. As if her mind was somewhere else. It shows in her face: a wisdom and knowledge far too vast for a rookie like her to have, experience beyond her actual horizon.

It shows in her eyes when she executes criminals – there was hesitation in them once which is gone now. It has been replaced by wariness. Somehow Dredd thinks it shouldn't be that way – but then, she is far from innocent. Justice, pure and raw, is merciless. (Dura lex sed lex.) In their useless attempt to save mankind the judges might fail. But there has to be something that is more than everything, and he can see it shining from her eyes. It is there even when the weight presses down on her shoulders, when it makes her face freeze into a mask and stiffens her back into a rigid, tense cross. She might be young compared to him but just like him she has seen and lived things that made her grow up fast. It does not mean she is like him, because she isn't.

(Or perhaps she is, in tiny, horribly painful ways.)

"I'm going out."

Dredd had thought travelling with her would be more of a nuisance than it turned out to be. Cassandra Anderson was a good travel companion, silent on most days, alert and calm. They had not encountered too-great obstacles – a few raiders than had not known what they had brought onto themselves when they tried to rob two judges in disguise and the likes – and had reached their destination. More importantly, the package had reached its destination. Tomorrow they would be on their way back to Mega-City One. Although the few days had not been too stressful, Dredd found himself looking forward to the silence of his own small apartment.

Now Anderson sat on the edge of her bed in the stuffy little room they were sharing, in the civilian clothes she had been wearing for the past six days, and was lacing up her boots. Dredd watched her carefully from his side of the room: her hair was long and straight, dyed to a dark red-brown and braided, she wore a red top and a leather jacket and dark, slightly washed-out jeans. She looked far from the rookie he had assessed and almost failed, barely had any resemblance to the judge he had worked with once or twice since she had joined the Hall of Justice. She did not look like herself at all, except for her face. Those eyes were Cassandra Anderson's, and the nose, and the lips that seemed fuller than he remembered. She looked exactly like the type of women that would be addressed by men on the street: the thought hit him with an unpleasant jolt. What the fuck, Joe? He had seen her like that for the past few days, why did it disturb him now? Her neckline was a little bit too low, the jeans too tight, had she had those curves the whole time?

Hopefully blissfully unaware of his thoughts she finished lacing her boots and stood, her hair falling back strangely gracefully. Frowning, she threw a look at him.

"I don't suppose you want to come."

"I don't care for such events," he said and turned away abruptly. In his back, he could almost feel her shrugging.

"Fine. See you later."

Her steps receded and the door closed behind her and he stayed where he was, cursing in his mind. He did not care for street fairs. In fact, he disliked them immensely. There were too many people on the street on such events, too many thieves, drug dealers and robbers mixing and mingling with innocent, helpless people. Did Anderson know how many women got raped on such nights? How many children went missing? She had to know the statistics. And it was not only the crowds of criminals that appalled him. It was the noise, the closeness, the rowdy gaudiness of those events. Dredd liked his life quiet and calm. Why should he forsake it for a few hours of noise, assaulting scents, bad food and too-many people?

Voices drifted through the half-open window, lights sparkled on the ceiling. Dredd crossed his arms behind his head and clenched his teeth.

There was no need to worry about her. Anderson was a trained judge, there was nobody who would catch her unaware, nothing she could not deal with. But not even a seasoned judge would hold her ground against seven or ten assaulters, or against a good, old automatic. She had taken a weapon, had she? God knew they had carried enough to stock a small army, since they had to leave behind their all-too revealing Lawgivers. He remembered vividly what she had done to the pedophile they had encountered two days ago. Still, had he not arrived just in time, the sweet little partner he had been assigned for the mission might have been cut into ribbons already. And where the hell had the sweet just come from and, more importantly, the partner? Groaning in frustration, Dredd ground his palms into his eyes and forced himself to abandon every thought of her. She had not even expected him to come. She knew him well enough to realize he just wanted some peace and sleep before they went back. It was not as if she had deliberately left to make him follow or so. She would be alright, dammit.

But…

With a colorful curse he stood, pulled on his boots, grabbed his jacket and strode out of the room.

Anderson didn't seem surprised at all when he walked up behind her. Instead, she smiled and handed him a napkin with something indistinguishable on it; it smelled vaguely edible. Then she walked on, continued looking left and right, and left him to his own devices. In lack of anything else to do he followed her, chewing on the sweet thing she had handed him, watching her closely.

It was an amazing experience.

Anderson's face seemed to light up as soon as she saw something she recognized – or perhaps never had seen before, how would he be able to tell. She seemed years younger as she laughed at a woman who scrambled backwards in surprise at a life-sized, three-dimensional image of an animal that suddenly popped up from a bottle. She watched in awe as a group of artists did breathtaking summersaults and flips in the air, she clapped at a wolf-like animal that was able to count (here he suspected a trick, but the world ran on tricks, so who cared?). She smiled at a masked man who handed her a rose and bowed, and she blushed, and Dredd wondered at the feeling that crept up in his chest. It was as if he was watching a child, innocent and pure, enjoying the wonders of the world around it. Only it was Cassandra Anderson he was watching, a woman who had not been a child since long and who knew how the world worked. How was it possible that there was such a side hidden within her, who had seen all the sadness and cruelty the world exerted on its inhabitants and humans showed towards another?

He still asked himself the question much later, when she was asleep in her bed, the blanket drawn all the way up to her face. She looked so very peaceful, and again, so young. He found himself wanting to protect her innocence.

The next day, on their way back, they ran into a gang of drug dealers just outside the now-silent street fair tents and stalls and he was reminded of the fact that she was a judge in all her rights. The lights and the scents of the past night still hung in the air like a dying memory as she wrenched the answer to her question from the leader's mind, she trembled as she returned to her own body. Walking away, leaving him to give the verdict, her back was stiff and tense again. Dredd thought about following her and was surprised by the depth of his feelings: but his apology would not change anything, and it was not his apology she wanted, anyway.

iv. Soldiers/Memories

Soldiers don't choose their fights.

Dredd still fights his instincts, sometimes. It's not fair Anderson is allowed to follow hers blindly when he has to clamp his own down rigidly sometimes. But there is a difference between convicting and executing, and it is mostly written in blood.

Once, a long, long time ago, Joe Dredd was a rookie, too.

He remembers hours and hours of training, track runs, weapons' training, law. Cold nights on even colder ground, sleepless, sleep-deprived, days without food and only little water, rainy days, sunny days, snow and ice. The memory is there – but even clearer is the memory of someone at his side, always, always, and Joey Dredd knows life is only half as bad as it seems when you can share its burdens with someone who understand you. Rico is his other half, his perfect second part. They complement each other flawlessly. Joey does not care for the differences – his brother is better than him when it comes to the overall academy grades, and a bit better in arms and combat training – but since they are practically one person, what does it matter?

It does.

Rico Dredd is convicted to life-long service on the prison moon of Saturn and Joey Dredd dies. Josef Dredd is the one who continues on, broken, bruised and betrayed, and if he could rip out his past he would. Only the past is never dead and buried. Only ever people can be and maybe denial will be enough to survive.

(It isn't. It never is.)

"Move!"

There had to be a reason why the Chief Judge kept pairing him up with Anderson but if there was one he hadn't seen it yet. The next time he barged into her was on a high-security clearance mission that he hadn't wanted to take at first but got stuck with, and suddenly she was there, all over him and in the middle of the mess. Dredd glared.

"What?"

"My orders are to take someone into custody," she told him calmly. "New intel. Your target has an advisor who's rumored to be a mutie. If he can do what they say, you'll need me as backup. Check your messages."

Of course, there was a message from Hershey, telling him just what Anderson had told him before. What the hell? Since when did he need backup? From a girl as green as a sick drunk, all the more?

"What has Psi Division to do with this?" He growled. Anderson shrugged.

"Goodman wants him alive."

"I can handle it."

"I'm just following orders."

What meant, in short, go fuck yourself, Dredd. Suddenly he got a glimpse at how much time actually had passed since he had assessed her on the streets. But then, she'd always been like this, hadn't she? He relented.

"Fine. Just don't get in my way."

Sometimes the streets of Mega-City One were helpful, grid-like and clearly laid, but that day they were a tactical nightmare. The mutie – the perp Dredd had come to take care off had been disposed of quickly – led them through one hell of a chase. Narrow streets, stinking and dark, back-alleys and dead ends. The mutant was aided by a small gang of other mutants. It wouldn't have been so bad had they not carefully remained out of range of Anderson's telepathic abilities, so she was no help in that department. The only advantage they had was the fact that Dredd managed to disable their automatic weapons with an electromagnetic pulse but it would only be a matter of time until they found other ones.

What Anderson was, though, was a partner. He wouldn't have thought it possible.

The end of the chase was quick and messy. Dredd, having gone for a short reconnaissance trip, turned the corner to where Anderson was waiting and saw their target advance on her, face-on and straight forward, a jagged-edged knife in his one hand. He didn't even try to conceal his attack, so blunt anyone could have shot him from close range. And yet Anderson simply stood there, eyes wide and terrified, her Lawgiver slack in her grasp.

"Move!" Dredd shouted and broke into a run. Aiming his Lawgiver he realized he had no stun ammunition left and he didn't want to risk killing him by accidentally placing a lethal shot on a moving object. Cursing, pumping strength into his legs, he shot towards them on an intercept vector, barreled into the mutant and used his superior body weight to pin him to the ground. The mutie, who had been focused on Anderson completely, snarled something and Dredd punched him, then immediately searched for the knife – and then he looked a second time and saw the hate-filled face of his brother stare back at him. Dredd froze for a millisecond – enough for his opponent to shout in triumph and free his hand with the knife. Rico's hand came down and Dredd jerked, the knife slashed across his shoulder from the back but didn't penetrate deeply.

"My dear little brother," Rico sneered. "Still all righteous and good? Or have you finally encountered the piece of you that is exactly like me?" He grinned and spat out blood and a tooth. "Or do you still believe you're doing something for the greater good?" Laughter. "You enjoyed it too, you and I both know it. Now you're just pretending you believe in what you do, day after day."

"Shut up," Dredd growled and punched him in the face a second time. Rico's features distorted with the force of his hit but he laughed, blood running down his face, his eyes wide.

"Joey, Joey. Same as always."

"Give me that." He grabbed for the knife the mutant still held, only got the blade and still held tight. His gloves withstood the sharpened edge until he had fought if from Rico's grasp. Then he wrestled the mutant around, cuffed his hands and pulled him up by his hair. The mutant was still laughing.

"I'll give you that, Judge Dredd," he said. "Your mind is one of the most interesting places I've ever been, except perhaps for hers." He nodded to the side where Anderson was watching them, her Lawgiver trained on the mutant. She'd obviously caught herself again and in her eyes Dredd could read an overwhelming hate. It almost made him shrink back, even though it was not directed at him. "It's too bad," the man continued, "but I fear our short meeting must come to an end now. It was good to get to know you, Judges Dredd, Anderson." He bobbed a mock-bow at Anderson whose eyes turned to slits in her face. The frown Dredd had learned to read as concentration returned onto her face: she was trying to read the man's mind.

Dredd grabbed the man's hands and hair and pushed him towards the street. "Stop talking."

He supposed Anderson was following him but when he reached the street, she was still standing in the alley, her brow furrowed and her eyes empty. He couldn't well leave her, so he turned and ground out her name. "Anderson."

"Something's not right," she said absentmindedly. Then her eyes widened. "No!"

She barreled into him with a strength that came from momentum, her body taut and hard with tension. Dredd slammed into the next wall with shattering force, Anderson still flat against him, stones and rubble crashing down all around them. And where seconds before the mutant had stood, a raging flame pillar exploded into the night air. The heat was so great Dredd's skin tingled even meters away. Anderson, small as she was, still was in front of him, so she caught the greatest blast of heat. A moan escaped her, muffled by his uniform. She did not move. When his eyes had recovered and he had regained most of his senses, Dredd carefully rolled her to the side, made sure she was still breathing and took stock of the situation. There was a crater on the street with still-burning remains of what once had been a human being in it – he somewhat doubted it had been a normal human – and despite the time of day people were flocking around the scene, spilling from the ruins and run-down buildings all around them, alerted by the roar and the light of the fire. Dredd inspected the smoldering corpse: no danger there. Dammit. So much to bringing back the mutie alive.

Behind him, Anderson rolled onto her stomach and groaned. Her hair was singed in places and the back of her uniform looked pretty scorched. It seemed to have protected her from the greatest blast, though. She hoisted herself to her feet and regarded the scene before them, then cursed silently as she came to the same conclusions as Dredd had before.

"Shit."

"Probably." Dredd already spoke into his comm. "Control, Dredd. Requesting a clean-up team and crowd control." He gave their coordinates and more information before he turned around to regard Anderson. "That was no normal case of spontaneous ignition."

She shook her head. "It wasn't a bomb, either."

"Hm." Dredd glared at a specifically curious woman who had dared to sneak closer to them. She shrank back, terrified. "Too bad he's toast."

"That's the good news," Anderson said. "He's not."

"What?"

"It wasn't the one we were looking for. Seems the mutie has abilities nobody knew of."

"Like what?"

"You saw it."

Dredd vividly remembered the face of his brother staring at him from a stranger's body. He'd known about him, too. That was one hell of a mutie if he could access his memories like that… The feeling made his skin crawl. Suddenly, Dredd wished for a shower.

"And the bad news?"

"He can project himself. I realized when he left this one's body, shortly before the explosion. I felt his intentions, then."

So that's how she'd been able to see what was going to happen. She must have only had seconds to react. Dredd felt his respect for her abilities rise to another level. When he looked up her face did not show pride or after-battle elation, though. Instead, it had turned into a mask of despair.

"What?" He asked gruffly.

"This wouldn't have happened had I reacted the second he attacked me," she said miserably. "He caught me by surprise."

Dredd looked at her closely. She held his gaze, still shaken but calm, unhappy but ready to face the consequences. Still the same, Joey. Somewhere in his mind, a voice just like his brother's laughed at him derisively.

"Mistakes happen. Do it better the next time."

Again: a smile, so full of relief and happiness it was ridiculous.

"I will, Sir."

What, he wondered, what exactly had Anderson seen in the mutant's face?

v. Journey

He's gotten used to her – why has he gotten used to her? And when? Like an especially stubborn case of ancient flu she comes right back to him whenever he thinks she's gone for good. It is like she is walking in front of him, despite her youth and her lack of experience. Sometimes he wonders where she's heading. Will he still be able to see her from where he is? He's spent years to become the way he is, to protect himself from the world around him. It holds more pain and death than happiness, he knows that, but he also knows the small specs of kindness he encounters day by day are worth the protection he is determined to give. Still, there haven't been many people he's allowed a glimpse behind his mask.

Cassandra Anderson doesn't break down his walls.

She walks right through them.