Chapter Text
Judy’s Nibble app buzzed.
She still had three voiceovers to write and a 3-minute reporter story from the morning show to break down into a 45-second hit. All the same, she looked away from her computer screen to clandestinely glance at the notification from the Bunnyburrow-headquartered matchmaking app.
Unable to resist, she pawed in her CarrotPhone unlock code.
“So what did you have for breakfast today? Do you cook?” asked GymisLifeBunny84.
Ugh.
Judy quelled a sigh that would have been drowned out by the multiple police scanners at the assignment desk anyway. She’d promised herself for the thousandth time to uninstall these mind-numbing apps. Maybe if she did she’d finally start her novel instead of burning the midnight oil futilely swiping right on non-contenders. Perhaps it would be easier to simply throw her phone out the window.
Judy knew deep down she wasn't ready for a relationship. She was still coming off the heels of a brutal divorce. Her body was still raw from losing a kit. Not yet, not yet not yet, her subconscious whispered. Your time is coming.
Judy turned back to the 5 p.m. show rundown and started knocking out voiceover scripts. When she was done she scrolled over to the graphics tab and dutifully began to check lower-third banners. The story slugs pricked her with trauma and drama. Ada Suricata was covering a shooting in Sahara Square. Theo Simum was fronting a school start time debate in Little Rodentia. Tahera Uncia was on an abandoned cub in Tundratown.
The clock ticked ever closer to 5 p.m.
It was 3:43 p.m. when she heard a phone ring at the assignment desk. The assignment editor answered, the badger’s tone morphing from resigned placidity to annoyance to anger. Judy shrank in her seat and tried not to let her sympathetic nervous system get involved. It wasn’t about her.
David Honeygatherer slammed the phone down, fuming. “I’ve told the photographers a hundred times, always take a backup unit. Always. But does anymammal listen to me? No, because that would make too much sense.”
Ebony Onca, Judy’s executive producer, or EP, lifted her head from her workstation.
“What happened, Honey-G?” asked the jaguar.
“Ada’s live truck is dead. Her photog has no way to transmit the shooting package,” David said. “And they couldn’t grab a backup because they were all checked out when they left. Eddie grabbed one for the President Trumpet rally not realizing I kitted their live truck the night before, but does anymammal read my night note? Of course not. I’m gonna kill that possum. Jeremy just came back with one.”
“Anymammal you can spare to take it to them?”
“No mammal. I mean, literally no mammal. I’ve got animalia sick or on vacation and everymammal on schedule is spread so thin they’re translucent. Now the PIO is on his way out to talk to them.”
The EP mulled it over. Then she turned to Judy.
“Hey, Judy?” she called in a sing-song voice. “What are you doing right now?”
Judy’s long ears perked up. “Me?”
Ebony rolled her eyes. “Do you see any other bunnies named Judy? Yes, you.”
“I’m just checking lower-thirds. I mean, I was just going over them again.”
“Great!” chirped the EP. “So you’re free.” She turned to David. “Let the intern prompt the 5 o’clock show. Judy can take a backup to Ada at the scene.”
She can? “I can?” Judy asked. She steadied voice. This is your time. “I can,” she stated.
“Fine by me,” David griped. He grabbed a station vehicle key from the pegboard and practically launched it at Judy. To her credit, she didn’t fumble the catch. “Take Unit 13 and Backpack 2 -- and don’t forget to mark it on the sign-out sheet!” he hollered as she high-tailed it to the equipment room.
Judy sped down the Inner Loop toward Savanna Central after spending a good 10 minutes roaming the gated 9 News Now parking lot frantically looking for Unit 13. She had finally pressed the key fob in desperation and realized Unit 13 was actually Unit 3 -- Somemammal had peeled the “1” off the bumper because they thought 13 was bad luck.
She tried not to think too hard about that as she tore down the most dangerous interstate in Zootopia.
Judy stopped just shy of screeching into Zootopia PD because getting pulled over on the way to a police department would just be too on-the-nose. Plus she’d never live it down and Ebony would never trust her to go above and beyond again. She’d probably die at the teleprompter, one paw still on the rotator knob.
To her surprise and relief the reporter and photographer weren’t hopping frantic. The story package was edited and she’d arrived with 25 minutes to spare, an eternity in television. Her shoulders relaxed a little as she realized she was among seasoned professionals. It was just another day in live news.
“Thanks Judy,” said Ada, her eyes crinkling as her photographer took Backpack 2 and started booting it up. “You’re a lifesaver. Want to stick around when we talk to the PIO?”
“Oh, gee Ada, I would. But I should probably head back—" Judy started, and then her phone rang.
It was Ebony. “You were supposed to call me when you got there.”
“Oh, I just did, I was about to –“
“Doesn’t matter now, we see their picture up.” Ebony's voice gentled. “Thanks, Judy. You came in clutch. You’re free to go home after this.”
The receiver clicked.
Judy was still getting reacquainted with the emotional whiplash that came with working in a newsroom. Yell until it’s done, and then pick the salt out of the wounds you dealt.
Judy turned to Ada. “I’d love to stay.”
The winter sun was dropping sooner than anymammal liked and the PIO still wasn’t there.
Ada checked her CarrotPhone.
“Ugh, Wilde is the on-call tonight. He just started and already I can’t stand him. Never returns media calls and I think he’s still sore over the way I grilled him last week when the bodycam footage came out of that officer slamming a moose at Lululemmings into the ground.”
Judy’s ears pricked up.
“You don’t mean – is his name Nicholas Wilde?”
Ada’s eyes widened. “You KNOW him? How?”
“Um, not really. We kinda went to school together.”
“Kinda?”
“He went to my high school, for a bit. I was a freshman. We had AP History together. He was a senior and ... I don’t know what happened. He stopped coming to class. I thought he changed schools.”
“I have so many questions,” Ada said. The door of the police department opened, a flash of setting sun glinted off the glass. “But no time. He’s here. Let’s do this.”
Nick Wilde approached their live truck like a fox walking toward his execution, squinting in the lights Ada’s photographer had set up.
His eyes adjusted, then widened in surprise.
He drew in a breath.
“Judy?”