Chapter Text
After that, Judy really didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay curled up with her fox forever in their too-small bed, and at the noisy breakfast table, and out in the fresh dirt of the fields among her family that one last time, and wrapped up in her parents' arms under the train station awning that evening, as the rain hammered itself into mist on the concrete, so hard they had to lean close to hear each other.
Her mother squeezed her tight. "You travel safe in this."
"The train's on rails, Mom. We'll be fine." Judy supposed that was just motherly anxiousness.
"And call us with progress, won't you? The doctors said you would need a few weeks at least before you were back to running around."
Stu's ears twitched at that. "And be careful once you are."
Parts of them sounded like Nick, came the thought as he folded her in a hug.
"I'll make sure she sticks to the plan," Nick said.
And parts of him sounded like them. Judy had to wonder who had changed more during this little vacation.
She stood back and watched as Nick put their suitcases down long enough to return her mother's careful embrace, and her father's strong pawshake. She could only see the barest trace of the caution they'd shown the first time they'd met him.
"Thank you, Nicholas."
Stu nodded. "Come back when you can. Both of you. Did you get your tools, Jude?"
"They're in my suitcase."
"And the seeds?"
"I have those," Nick said. "Thanks for the green beans especially."
Judy half-turned as Sharon came up behind her and wrapped her up.
"Go safe, Jude."
"Always. Keep an ear on Winter for me."
Sharon looked down, where Winter was holding onto her leg. "Shouldn't be a problem."
The little rabbit let go, though, and switched targets. A bushy red tail cushioned her fall.
"Nick."
Nick looked down - and this time, instead of pulling his tail closer around himself, he smiled and crouched down to her level to hold out a paw.
Sharon made a face down at her little sister. "She'd go with you if we let her."
"She could sit on your desk," Nick said. He cocked an eyebrow up at Judy. "Hold your paper clips."
"Maybe next time." Judy crouched down and disengaged Winter from Nick's fingers. "You stay out of the worst of the trouble, okay?"
Winter looked between her and Nick and nodded, entirely too serious.
Sharon looked Nick up and down again, just as she had the first time they'd spoken at length, and held out her paw.
"Keep my other sister out of the worst of the trouble, too."
Nick took it. "I'll do my best."
"Thank you, Nick. Let us know the next time you're coming back. I'll be here. Might bring back Grant, too."
Then the whistle was blowing, and they had to rush for the train, right through the pouring rain. Nick gave her his free paw. Goodbyes followed them, and Bonnie's urging that they call when they got in. The door cut off most of it, and the train lurched into motion. Judy tipped against Nick.
He guided her up the stairs at the front of the car, to the observation dome, and flicked on the illuminated 'out of service' sign on the entrance. Judy almost scowled. Almost.
Up here, the rain sheeted off the wraparound glass, even louder than the train. Nick stared around at the downpour while she stowed their bags.
"It's strange turning around and not seeing another rabbit."
"All on our own again," Judy agreed. She jumped up to stand on one of the bench seats around the perimeter of the observation deck, to be on his eye level. "You're not going to get lonely, are you?"
Nick held her shoulders. His smile was gradual. "I talked my favorite one into coming with me. I'll be all right."
Her own smile wobbled. "I am going to miss them. I always do."
Nick would, too. But he didn't have to say it. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she pressed herself against his reassuring warmth.
They'd survived. Everyone had survived them. And along the way Judy had gained an intimate new appreciation for the concept of fallout. She felt old and tired and more cautious and wiser and loved - especially loved.
Nick sat beside her, where they could lean back and watch the train outpace the storm. Bunnyburrow dwindled, sitting underneath the wall of thunderheads.
"Leaving in the storm. If I didn't know better, I'd say that was some kind of omen."
"But you do know better. We've been teaching you how to farm this whole week," Judy said. "It's good. The crops like it."
"I hope it doesn't hail on anybody."
And behind the storm was the sunset, that painted the whole sky orange and purple. It would get brighter before it got darker tonight. They didn't always get to see that from the city, where the weather was more carefully controlled.
From one thing Judy knew to the other. Leaving the raucous family home for the smaller, quieter one she'd built with Nick herself. Returning to that work - to the real world - was going to be a bit of a shock. It would be strange to sit down at a desk, rather than pick up a spade. Lunch would come out of a microwaved box again. She'd be able to sleep in.
"Now what?"
Nick had his muzzle against the top of her head. "No idea. Duty muster in the morning, and then depending on Bogo's mood either a mountain or an avalanche of paperwork."
"It'll be like we never went on vacation."
She felt his breath huff out against her ears. "The cynicism is my job."
"I don't know, I like honest, happy Nick Wilde pretty well."
"I'm told he likes you, too."
Judy turned so they were nose to nose, and he held her cheeks still in his paws. She pushed into the contact.
"I'm right here with you. No matter what happens. And I'm going to be safer about it."
Nick tilted his head at her. "You learned from your mistakes just like I did, Carrots. But I hope you never lose that spark."
"The one that made me charge off without backup?"
"The one that made you decide to bring me back here and teach everyone involved something new," Nick said. "I'm never going to forget any of this. I don't think you are, either."
No, she wasn't about to forget. They'd started to earn something - and give something - they would keep for the rest of their lives. They'd found some seemingly impossible balance, where nothing demanded fixing anymore. There was no injustice to correct, no sense that something was out of place.
For now. For all she knew it would collapse the moment they arrived back at work.
But - for now - Judy was content to sit back with Nick in the fading sunlight and enjoy what they'd found; to nestle closer to him and let the train speed them toward the city, toward whatever came next.
Toward home.