Watched Dredd the other day and I like Karl Urban so this came to mind. I know literally nothing about the comics, so...just keep that in mind.

It had been three months since Peach Trees, and Anderson had yet to see his face. She thought about it often, more often than was appropriate.

They'd been working together more often than not, something about their skill sets complementing each other. Somehow, they'd gotten themselves stranded, cut off from command, with a laundry list of perps on their tails. This time, though, Dredd actually listened to her suggestion to evade until their comms came back online. She wondered at that, and the idea of entering his thoughts crossed her mind briefly. She'd have given nearly anything to know what he was thinking at that moment, when he'd gruffly said, "Okay," to her suggestion. She thought his eyes may have lingered on her then, for a moment too long, but how could she have known? His helmet was always in the way.

Ditching her suit was a little more difficult than she'd anticipated. With it went all of the protection and safety she'd been hiding behind all these months. She felt vulnerable and weak, and she hated herself for it. She had to call to mind all the sentences she'd carried out without ever needing that armor. Then, she heard Dredd's heavy footsteps coming back down the hall and felt safe again. Their partnership had taught her more in a few months than she'd learned in her many years of training. He'd taught her one thing she never thought she'd be able to learn, though they'd tried to drill it into her: trust.

Anderson pulled a short leather jacket on over a grey tanktop, which rode just at the top of her jeans that sat low on her hips. She exited the changing room of the mall, which had been abandoned in the firefight. Dredd was standing there, waiting for her. She could hardly recognize him in plain clothes. He wore his standard issue boots under faded jeans, with a dark grey T-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. His helmet was gone. Anderson wanted to be able to memorize the scars that marked his arms with raised, white tallies, but her eyes were drawn to his face.

She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this. She sometimes wondered if he even had a face, or if he was just a robot from the nose up. Sometimes she imagined he'd shaved his head, and his skull would be covered in burns or scars, something that made him not want to remove his helmet. But nothing prepared her for the thick, messy brown locks and dark brown eyes that stared back at her.

Such was her surprise and, if she was being honest, delight, that her control slipped for a moment. Though he didn't show it, he must have been a bit surprised too, because the impenetrable walls he'd put up once he'd found out about her ability vanished for a split second. A wave of want and affection hit her so strongly she nearly had to take a step back to reorient herself. Just as quickly, it was pulled back, and Anderson was left reeling, confused and really, really turned on.

"Oh," she breathed. Dredd was stoic as always, his lips tight in a frown. An eyebrow lifted.

"Oh?" he repeated, his voice a little less rough than usual. She thought he might be bemused at her shock at his appearance, and perhaps a little pleased.

Anderson shook her head to clear it. "I mean, um, let's go, sir," she managed to say sharply, breathless as she was, and strode out past him, taking care to brush lightly against his shoulder. She thought she heard him growl deeply as he followed.