Chapter Text
Jim is having a rough time. Thanks to the last transporter malfunction, he landed on an obscure world where happiness, justice and hope are all pipe dreams. He learned that the hard way as it's his custom, and he's been lucky to avoid the 'law' despite his several transgressions to it. He doubts any of the Judges of Mega-City One would understand why he's forced to behave like nothing but a criminal. He needs pieces to build some semblance of transporter pad and he has no identity here, let alone money to pay for the parts it requires.
He dreams of home every night he manages to catch a few hours of sleep, dreams of the Enterprise and almost can see himself back where he belongs; back on his ship, with his crew, trying to forget everything about an universe where Earth has no salvation, where nothing but the worst of humanity prevails and they fight against it only to have what little is left of good crushed under the weight of that huge responsibility. Nobody should ever be forced to become judge, jury and executioner all at once. He's met enough chick judges to understand that, although it took him almost half the time he's been here to truly get it, to stop fighting a war that is not his own.
The first time they meet, Jim is just an innocent patron in a bar. He stands aside with all the frustration he feels for the life in that place bottled up and does nothing. It leaves a heavy, sour taste on his tongue but it's what he needs to do and he knows it. There's no time or room for him to play the hero. He can't go back home if he's dead.
That's when he sees him. He'd recognize that face anywhere, even if it's just half of it. For a moment, he's blinded by relief and joy and the hope he thought he wasn't going to get anywhere here. He's giddy, stupid with it all and tries to approach the Judge he knows is Bones in this universe.
"Hey!" he shouts, and he's not quite sure whether he's smiling or about to burst into tears—probably a mixture of both. He wants to hug him so badly and the only thing stopping him is the firm belief that it isn't Bones, not really.
"It's you. I found you," he says, reverent and warm and so pointlessly hopeful it hits him like a punch in the gut when everything not-Bones says in return is a slightly annoyed but mostly emotionless, "Citizen, your presence is not required here. If we need to question you, you'll know. Leave now, don't come any further."
Jim is dumb enough to keep trying, of course he is, and it’s only the Lawgiver pointed at him what convinces him to let it go, to do as he was bid and go outside. He stands there idly, numb by pain that could come from several sources. Whether it’s the gaping hole left by the hope he should’ve known better than to feel, the rejection of a version of his best friend or the fact he just misses and needs Bones, the real one, so fucking much he wants nothing but to close his eyes and be by his side again. He wants to discover time hasn’t passed as it’s done for him or if it has, that it hasn’t rotten how much Bones cares for him. He wants, he needs to remembers Bones cares. They’ve been apart for so long Jim is only certain of one thing and that it the fleetingness of every good thing in life.
It’s been almost six months. What if he’s been away for too long, what if he goes back only for Bones to treat him just as detachedly as the Judge did? Jim would rather stay here and die where absolutely no one would mourn for him, he’d rather go through the most gruesome of deaths than have Bones back only to feel him slipping away from him as if they’d never meant a thing to each other.
The judge—Dredd, his badge says his name is Dredd—doesn’t even look at him when he’s back on the street. He rides his motorbike and speeds away swiftly because Jim doesn’t exist for him and it was his mistake to think he could change that.
He swallows, turns his head and forces himself to walk away without looking back.
The second time they meet, Jim is in trouble. Nothing major, just a bit of a step back into old habits—specifically, bar fights with several assholes at once so it can be at least a little bit challenging for him.
He hates himself for it, but he recognizes the hands on him the moment they collect him from the floor. He’s bleeding and concussed but he knows it’s Dredd; knows it because the shape of those hands is the right one but the feeling isn’t.
He entertains the idea of taunting Dredd, but refrains from it. He’s too tired and too close to ensemble the pad that will get him home to risk calling attention to himself so he just sits quietly as the Judge does his job and cleans Jim’s mess.
He comes back to deal with Jim once he’s done and the twist of his mouth is different, but Jim doesn’t allow himself to keep looking because he might get stupid again.
It’s only the two of them when Dredd speaks, voice hoarse and pitched low but familiar all the same. “I have to take you to the iso-cubes.”
“Yeah, I know. A week for brawling, right? Plus, it’s your job. I figured you stayed for that and not because of my amazing looks,” he snorts at his own joke and spits some blood out.
Dredd asks him a few routine questions that Jim answers with ease. He’s hacked into enough databases to know all about the life of his alter-ego and it’s always funny to think about how it’s been mostly quiet considering the violent world he lives in.
He’s doing marvelously well, all things considered, until Dredd shows him the cuffs and says, “It’s your first time in there, isn’t it, kid?”
Jim squashes the flutter of emotion in him and closes the fuck off. “It’s none of your business,” he hisses as he stands up, turns around and extends his wrists to the Judge.
Dredd handcuffs him and leads him to the exist. Jim decides to focus on berating himself for losing yet another week in an universe he should’ve never been in to begin with instead of noticing how slowly Dredd is moving and how he chooses not to toss him in the back of the van they use to transport convicts, picking him up and making him sit before closing the doors.