Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer was paperwork season, Judy had quickly learned.

Holidays, fireworks, huge outdoor concerts—and a lot of hot, cranky mammals—bred problems. Accidents and petty crimes. Sometimes worse.The night before, an illegal beach bonfire had burned down a lifeguard tower in the sight of several dozen revelers. Several hours taking drunken witness statements had gotten her no closer to the responsible mammal, but it had meant she and Nick hadn’t clocked out until five in the morning.

Her sort-of-nocturnal partner had been in his element, charming and wheedling and shaking out leads for them to chase later. He’d laughed about the fire, put them at ease, gotten them talking, while Judy had scribbled down everything they'd said. If Higgins decided this was worth pursuing, they'd have half a chance at closing the case, thanks to Nick.

The next morning was another story. He’d trudged in looking disastrous, with his fur sticking everywhere, tie barely knotted. He’d even worn his sunglasses around the office, until Bogo had yelled at him.

It was always a little funny when Nick got this theatrically miserable, but Judy knew better than to tweak him about it. His usual manic charm came at a price, and foxes were consummately moody creatures. It wasn't funny to him. So they’d sat in grouchy but companionable silence for the next few hours, occasionally murmuring questions and answers as they worked through the piles of papers generated by last night’s outing.

They made it nearly to noon.

“Oh no,” the fox whispered suddenly.

“Hm?” Judy looked over at him. He seemed to be staring through the desk.

“I didn’t get coffee.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Don't you make it at home?”

“Out of filters.” He dropped his papers on the desk. “Going to break room. Carrots. You want…some? Coffee?”

She shook her head, making a mental note to check his paperwork for mistakes when he wasn’t looking. He was more of a mess than she'd realized.

Nick grunted and slid off his chair, plodding miserably away toward the break room. Judy watched his tail drag behind him for a minute, then turned back to her work.

A minute later, her phone buzzed with a text. A pause, then two more quickly, followed by a fourth. She picked it up, rolling her eyes. That was a Nick rhythm. His brain was always moving faster than his thumbs.

11:57 AM

Dumb Fox : someone drank the last and d

Dumb Fox: didnt make more

Dumb Fox: i will kill

11:58 AM

Dumb Fox: guess i have to do everything

Judy smiled at the screen. For all his airs of cocky selfishness, she’d come to realize how much he enjoyed helping out. He was always finding excuses to do favors for the other officers. Nick loved to be valued.

Blanking the phone screen, she returned to work, trying—again—to remember where she was.

Sean Knutson, drunken beachgoer number fourteen, had seen a lighter get thrown in the direction of the ocean as ZPD had arrived. The item—evidence reference number 222B, cross-referenced on her spreadsheet—had been collected, thanks to her partner’s excellent night vision. All this got them…where? The lighter might have prints, maybe more, but could they get lab work approved for something this stupid? The case was probably costing more than the lifeguard tower in mammal-hours alone.

Judy groaned, slumping her face on the papers.

“Hopps,” came a voice. “You look less chipper than usual.”

She looked up blearily. A big tiger was looming over her, grinning.

“Hey, Fangmeyer. We had a long night.”

“So I heard. The Fun Police.”

“They burned down a lifeguard tower! What if someone gets...gets eaten by a shark because the lifeguard couldn’t see them because he had to stand at sea level? This is serious.”

“I…can’t tell if that was a joke.”

“I don’t know,” Judy said, putting her face in her paws. “I’m so tired, Fang.”

He made a sympathetic noise.

“Hey, Hopps…you know that uh, that little award trophy we gave you a year ago?”

“The ‘Cutest ZPD Officer’ one? The one I hated?”

Fangmeyer at least had the decency to look chastened.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Do you still have it?”

Judy frowned. “Why?”

“We, uh, we need it.”

“So, what, you gave me this…mean joke award I didn’t even want and now you’re taking it back?”

He nodded.

“Fine,” she groused, unhooking her key ring to unlock the bottom drawer of her and Nick’s desk. The trophy was buried beneath some field manuals—definitely because she'd forgotten about it, not because she'd made sure to keep it out of sight of her new partner. Obviously.

It was a cheap trinket: a little gold-painted plastic badge on a stand, with a photo clipped on. She’d forgotten that part—her fellow officers had included a picture of her at her desk, looking surprised after she’d chewed straight through a pencil in concentration. Judy had fumed at the time—she didn’t think it was cute. She just looked like she was working.

Now, though, it was just a little obnoxious. She knew the other officers respected her, more or less. She could tolerate a certain amount of teasing.

She handed the trophy to Fangmeyer.

“Thanks, Hopps. Feel free to keep the photo.”

The tiger started to walk off, a little too casually.

“Hey, Fang.”

His tail twitched. Rumbled.

“What are you gonna do with it?”

Fangmeyer half-turned back to her, grinning innocently.

“Well, it’s been a year,” he said. “Time to give someone else a chance, right?”

She frowned. “Someone else?”

“Honestly, Hopps, you just haven’t been that cute this year.”

“What?!” Tiny paws slammed down on her desk.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“I—I am. Yes. It’s just…who?”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting competitive. Want to come see?”

“Ugh, fine.” She hopped down off her chair to join him. The tiger nodded with approval.

They headed in the direction of the break room. As they neared the entrance, Judy could see the room was packed, but there was none of the usual chatter. The crowd was deathly silent. They all seemed to have their backs to the door, gathered around something in the far corner.

Fangmeyer turned to her and put a claw to his lips for quiet before slipping inside. Judy nodded and followed. Threading her way between uniformed legs, she made her way to the front of the crowd, and finally caught sight of the object of their attentions.

Nicholas Wilde, officer of the Zootopia Police Department, was fast asleep.

In full uniform, he had passed out on one of the large-mammal couches. He now lay on his back, brush tail dangling over the side, with all four paws in the air. His head was flopped all the way back, the tiny pink tip of his tongue protruding slightly from his mouth. He was snoring softly.

It was—and she did not make this estimation lightly—the cutest thing Judy had ever seen. Reflexively, she clapped her paws over her mouth.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered.

“Told you,” muttered Fangmeyer. Padding forward silently, he crouched down next to Nick’s supine form as someone snapped a photo. The fox’s ear flicked as soft laughter rumbled through the room, but he continued to snore.

Yes, it was cute. But Nick was supposed to be helping her with paperwork.

“All right, all right,” Judy said as loudly as she dared. “You got what you wanted. Don’t you all have work to do?”

“Fair enough,” Fangmeyer said. “Let’s go, guys. Hopps wants the rookie all to herself.”

He winked as they filed out of the break room. Judy rolled her eyes.

What now? She had to wake him up, obviously, before he got in trouble. He was still a probationary officer, and he'd long since exceeded his 15 minute break period.

Before that, though, she couldn’t resist taking one last long look.

In the time Judy had known the fox, she'd almost never seen him asleep—always he was up, always moving, eyes and ears flicking back and forth as he took in everything and everyone around him. When he had passed out in her presence, it had been with practiced aloofness, always making sure to splay himself casually and pull a cap down over his eyes.

Now, though, he looked…soft. Small, even, despite the fact he had a couple of heads on her. His nose was so delicate, she noticed, his snout so slender compared to the wolves on the force. The tips of his fangs just barely poked out on either side of his chin.

Shoot, she thought. He was cute.

He looked exhausted too, of course. Nick had been running himself ragged these last few weeks, trying to prove himself to Bogo and Higgins and the rest. Judy made a mental note to ensure he took it a little easier on himself. He’d certainly point out how hypocritical that was, but she was the senior partner. As such, he was sort of her responsibility.

With that thought foremost in her mind, she approached the sleeping fox, pushing gently against his shoulder.

“Hey. Nick.”

There was no response, so she shoved a little harder. Nick made a noise—a succession of soft squeaky barks Judy would never admit to knowing the name of, because reading about your best friend’s instinctual behaviors on the internet was weird and she’d never do that, obviously—followed by quiet growling.

“C’mon. Wake up, cranky.”

His jaws opened slightly—foxes didn’t have the muscles to snarl, all they could do was gape like little alligators, not that she knew anything about that either—and he growled some more.

Judy wasn’t terribly concerned about being bitten, but in the interest of protecting his dignity she retreated to rethink her approach. Her eyes fell on the coffee maker, now full—evidently he’d managed to put a new pot on. He must have laid down to wait before sleep had, somewhat predictably, taken him.

Dumb fox.

Scrambling up onto the counter, she slid a mug off the shelf and carried it over to the machine. The coffee pot was nearly as big as she was, but with some effort she managed to pour a cup. Getting the beverage down to floor level was a greater challenge, but with the help of a footstool and careful planning she managed it without too much spillage.

Crossing back to the couch, she raised the steaming mug up to Nick’s nose.

He sniffed. This close, she could see his nostrils flare as he caught the scent, and he started to turn his snout towards it. His eyelids fluttered, and his eyes opened halfway. He caught sight of her, and out of the corner of her eye she could swear his tail wagged before he caught himself.

“Carr’ts,” he slurred, squinting at her through crusty eyes. “Whareyoudoinghere.”

“I work here,” she whispered.

His eyes snapped all the way open. Judy started as he twisted with shocking speed into a sitting position, straightening his tie and patting down his fur.

“Crap,” he said. “Nobody saw that, right?”

“Who’s to say,” Judy muttered vaguely.

“What?”

“Here, drink your coffee.”

He accepted the mug gratefully and sipped at it for a while, blinking repeatedly as he tried to keep his eyes open. Judy gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Okay,” he said, taking a final slurp. “I’m good. Back to work?”

They’d been back at it for a while, making good progress now that Nick was fully caffeinated. Judy might even have forgotten about Fangmeyer’s designs had her ears not picked up the sound of the printer down the hall. Nick continued scribbling away, unaware right up to the moment the tiger arrived at his desk, flanked by two of the wolves.

“Hey, Wilde,” said one of the wolves. “You look well-rested.”

Nick looked up and gave the approaching officers an easy smile. No one but Judy caught his eyes narrowing microscopically. She could tell he knew something was up, wondering if she should have ratted out her coworkers.

“Hey, Grizzoli," Nick said. "You know me. Early to bed, early to rise.”

“Officer Wilde,” said Fangmeyer. “On behalf of Precinct One, I'd like you to present you with one of our highest honors.”

Nick put a paw to his chest. “Oh, boy.”

Grinning, the tiger produced the trophy, along with the newly-printed photo of him posing next to sleeping Nick. He placed it triumphantly on the desk.

Nick stared.

“This is…what is this? Is that me?”

“This an official recognition,” Fangmeyer said, “of our new cutest ZPD officer.”

“Huh.”

Nick gave them a blank look, but Judy could see his ears twitching, unsure of whether this was a friendly hazing or just bullying. She knew he wouldn't want to tip his hand until he'd figured out which it was.

“It’s a great honor," said the tiger. "Your partner here was the title holder up until today.”

“...really.”

The fox turned to look at her. She realized that she was frowning.

Slowly, Nick’s casually expression was overtaken by a hideous grin. Fangmeyer looked positively sadistic.

“Carrots,” he said slowly, drawing out each syllable. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No. I’m, uh, really happy for you. Congratulations, Nick.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He gave her a crisp salute. “And you guys. Fang, can you text me the picture? I’m gonna send it to my mom.”

“Aw, that's even more adorable. Sure thing, Wilde.”

The trio dispersed, and Nick returned his attention to his sulking partner.

“Don’t be mad, Judy. I’m sure you can win this back from me. Do cute rodent stuff. Wiggle your nose around. Eat an acorn with both paws.”

“I am not a rodent, Nicholas.”

“Are you really not?"

"No!"

"You have the teeth, though. I’m looking that up.”

She huffed.

“Did you get a picture, too?”

“No,” she said, far too quickly. Nick lit up.

“Ha! You did! Let me see it.”

“No way.”

“Come on, you let them photograph me in my, uh, state of repose. You owe me.”

Glowering, she slid the desk drawer open again and handed him the photo of her biting through the pencil. He took it from her and examined it closely.

“Well?” she demanded.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. His poker face was usually impeccable, but the cracks were starting to show.

“Just fine?”

“Yeah.” His eyelid twitched.

“Hmm.” Judy’s eyes flicked to the back of his chair. “Your tail seems to be wagging quite a lot, Nicholas.”

“Muscle tic. From the coffee.”

“Ah.”

“Sorry, Carrots.” Nick handed her back the photo. “Can’t coast on your looks anymore, now that I’m around.” He leaned back in his chair, yawning widely. “You want to win this back, you’ll have to work for it. I believe in you.”

Judy jutted her jaw at him.

“Hey, progress! The pouting? Very cute.”

The fox yelped and ducked as she flung her pen at his head. He came up laughing, spinning his chair to use as a shield against further projectiles.

"Help! Police!"

This was going to be an unbearable year.

Chapter Text

“Nick, this is incredible,” Judy gushed as she threaded their cruiser deftly through morning traffic. It was an early hour, and they were near the very peak of Zootopia’s central mountain, just outside of the high-rise district. “I could probably see to the burrows if it wasn't for the fog.”

Her fox partner nodded. It was gorgeous, he had to admit. Mist was still wafting off the ocean, and the city glittered pink under the sun’s low angle.

“I should have suggested we come up here earlier,” he said. “It’s a nice area.”

“Maybe we can get a transfer,” she mused idly.

Nick should his head.

“You wouldn’t like it," he said. "You’d be mostly helping rich mammals throw the homeless off their sidewalks. Maybe getting stonewalled on some financial crimes, if you're ambitious.”

Her ears drooped. “Is it really that bad?”

“It is what it is.” He shrugged. “Depends how much you want to care.”

“I know you’re not that callous, Nick.”

“Just trying not to die of stress. Saving some of my care for when I can make a difference.”

She huffed.

“Hey, I mean it,” he protested. “I agreed to come talk to these kids, right?”

“That doesn’t count. You like kids.”

They were getting into the residential area now, where Sandleford Elementary was located. Nick whistled.

“This is nice,” said Judy.

“Yeah. Neighborhoods up here get pretty ritzy.” He swallowed. “These kids aren’t gonna like me.”

“Don’t say that. We haven’t met them yet.”

The school looked as nice as the neighborhoods—a modernist arrangement of brick and glass surrounded by neatly-trimmed hedges. Out back, a large schoolyard spread out down the hill, stepped expanses of concrete eventually giving way to a lawn with trees. All of it looked out over the rainforest district, and beyond—he could even catch a glimpse of the shipping gantries of the canals, poking up through the morning fog.

Nick tried not to resent these kids. His elementary school had been walled in on all sides by apartment buildings, with locked gates to keep them in line. He’d loved math, and history, for a while, before his peers' bullying and his teachers' mistrust had smothered that particular spark.

“Hey, look alive,” Judy cut into his thoughts. “Someone here to meet us.”

Sure enough, there was a youngish and well-dressed pika waiting in the parking lot. He flagged them down, waving them toward the guest parking. Judy fit the cruiser neatly between the lines, popping the door open to check she wasn’t over.

“Looks good on this side too,” Nick told her, because she'd ask if he didn't.

He hopped out, slamming the big door behind him and making his way around to the driver's side. Their pika greeter was there already, straightening his tie.

“Officer Hopps! I’m John Cottongrass, I teach the sixth graders.” The pika seized Judy's paw with both of his, shaking vigorously until she managed to withdraw. “Wow, it’s such an honor. The kids are going to be thrilled to meet you.”

“Aw, we're excited to meet them,” Judy said. “Let me introduce my partner, Officer Wilde.”

Cottongrass raised his eyebrows.

“Ah! Well. Nice to meet you, officer.” The pika took the fox's paw in a weak grip. “I must say, I didn’t expect—well, I imagine you’ll set a good example.”

Judy caught Nick’s eye over Cottongrass’s head and frowned, chafing at the condescension. Nick winked back.

“That’s why I’m here,” said Nick easily. “For the kids.” He leaned on that last part, for his partner’s benefit. No sense getting into it with the teacher. He’d known the type of mammals they were coming to see up here.

“Let me take you to the classroom,” said Cottongrass, oblivious to the looks being exchanged. “Are you bringing anything in from the car?”

“No, just us,” said Judy.

“Class hasn’t started yet,” the teacher explained as he walked them through sun-splashed hallways. “Once the kids are here and settled you should have about an hour before morning recess.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said. “Leaves some time for questions.”

“That’d be great,” he said. “They’re sixth-graders, as you know, so they’re pretty sharp. Most of them. Oh, I’m supposed to—are you carrying any weapons?”

The pika craned his head to look over her waist. Nick felt his ear twitch.

“Oh! Tasers, yes,” Judy said. “You want us to put them back in the car?”

“No, it’s fine,” Cottongrass said. “I just have to ask. The kids’ll probably want to see them, anyway. Here we are.”

Nick’s eyes flicked around the classroom as they entered. It was as nice as expected—a whiteboard, gleaming new desks with electrical outlets, a wireless access point on the ceiling. Next to a huge color map of the city, colorful block letters reading ANYONE CAN BE ANYTHING were pinned to the wall.

Let’s hope, he thought to himself.

“Oh, Nick, this is fun,” said Judy.

“You have everything you need?" asked Cottongrass, eyeing the clock. "We have a wireless projector, if you need it. Bell’s about to ring.”

“No, we’re fine,” the fox replied. “Just gonna wing it.”

Cottongrass squinted at him, but shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

The bell rang. Nick saw Judy straighten and take a deep breath. He cuffed her shoulder softly, earning a smile in his direction.

Momentarily, the kids started to file in. It was...a lot of bunnies. Nick had vaguely remembered that this was a historic enclave of Zootopia’s rich rabbits in the earlier half of the last century. It seemed that still held true, to a lesser extent. There were plenty of other small mammals mixed in, now—pikas, hares, a couple of beavers. At the tail end of the stream of students, a brown rabbit caught Nick’s eye. He stalked angrily, with a slight limp. His eye was blackened around the orbital, and residual mud flecked his face and ears. He looked like he'd been thrown in the dirt and kicked around.

Behind him, last into the classroom, was a fox. A silver morph, all black except for the white tip of his tail. The fox kit was glowering intensely, his paws balled into fists. Uh-oh, thought Nick.

The two had caught their teacher’s eye, as well.

“Anything you need to tell me, Lucas?” he asked. The black-eyed rabbit shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” said the teacher. He pointed at the fox. “Simeon, I want to talk to you after class.”

Ah, Nick thought. Some things were the same everywhere.

“All right,” Cottongrass announced loudly. “As promised, I want you all to meet our two guests from the ZPD. Say ‘hi, officers.’”

“Hi, officers,” the class chorused. The bruised rabbit and the fox kit were silent, glaring at each other until they noticed Nick’s eyes on them and pretended to be paying attention.

“Hi! I’m Officer Hopps,” Judy said first. “This is Officer Wilde. We’re from the ZPD, City Center division. Your teacher said a lot of you were interested in police work, so he invited us to come talk about what we do. So we’ll talk about that for a little bit, and take questions at the end.”

“We’d appreciate if you could avoid committing crimes for the next sixty minutes,” Nick added. This was how they’d planned it—Judy would give the structured talk, and he’d butt in now and again, for flavor and clarity. Playing to their strengths.

They ran through it without issue—his rabbit partner had most likely prepped meticulously, Nick had had plenty to add, and the class seemed interested, if not enraptured. They went over their day-to-day routine, showing off the equipment they carried, how the radio worked, pointing out the different precincts on the class map. To wrap it up, Judy explained her path to working at the ZPD: her criminal justice degree, the mammal inclusion initiative, her academy training. Nick gave…an abridged version of his own career. Skipping the illegal stuff made it a lot shorter. Boring, he thought.

Eventually, they pivoted to questions. There was an awkward lull, but eventually the paws started to go up.

“I have a question for Officer Wilde,” said one of the beavers. “You didn’t mention going to college.”

“That’s right,” Nick said. “I didn’t.”

“Why not? Didn’t your parents want you to?”

Nick shook his head. “My mom didn’t have that kind of money.”

“Huh.”

The kid looked like Nick had just told him he had gills.

“Officer Hopps?” A small rabbit was raising her paw in the back. “Is it true you’re the first bunny cop?”

“That’s right,” said Judy proudly.

“Didn’t mammals tell you you couldn’t do it?”

“Yes,” said Judy. “Everyone. Even my parents. But I never gave up.”

“And the ZPD let you do real cop stuff?”

“Eventually,” she laughed. “They made me work as a meter maid for a while. But now I do serious cases.”

“Wow,” said the bunny. “Do they make you work with that fox?”

Judy froze. “What?”

Cottongrass cleared his throat. “She’s asking if you two were assigned to each other.”

Nick could see her take a deep breath. That’s right, Hopps, he thought. Calm blue ocean.

“We asked to be partnered,” she said firmly. “He’s my friend.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“You know, foxes and bunnies…”

“She’s got a good point, Officer Hopps,” said Nick. He leaned down, opening his mouth wide, and clamped his jaws around the sides of Judy’s head.

The class erupted in pandemonium. Screams, desks squealing against the floor as students rared back in their seats. Papers and pencils scattered to the floor. Cottongrass barked something in outrage.

For her part, Judy didn’t make any move to swat Nick away. She stood calmly, waiting for the noise to subside.

“Nick, stop it.”

Nick released her head and straightened up.

“To answer your question,” Judy said, scratching at her head where his teeth had mussed her fur, “I’m not scared of Officer Wilde. Even if he is kind of a pest.”

Cottongrass looked furious. The little black fox—Simeon—was barely suppressing a fit of laughter. Nick caught his eye and winked. The kit looked away.

“The point is,” Judy continued, “sometimes we have to be in very dangerous situations. That means we have to trust each other, and look out for each other. And there’s nobody I’d rather have looking out for me than him.”

Nick saw Lucas glare daggers at Simeon.

Fifteen minutes later, the two officers were back at the cruiser, getting ready to leave. All in all, Nick considered it a successful trip—the students had been a bit sheltered, sure, but not especially malicious. He’d gotten some laughs, and the teacher hadn’t had the stones to confront him about his facetious act of predation.

"Cottongrass was into you," Nick suggested.

"What? No," Judy said. "You think everyone's into me."

"Only when it's true."

"I think he was just a little star-struck," she said, getting ready to hop up into the driver's seat. "Not my type, anyway."

"Too old?" Nick asked. Judy shook her head.

"What, thirties? That's not old. He just—"

“Officer Hopps?”

Speak of the devil, Nick thought. Cottongrass was shouting after them, jogging across the parking lot.

“Excuse me, officers,” said the pika, panting as he drew up. “I wonder if I could ask you a favor. Two of the kits, you saw them, Lucas and Simeon—”

“The rabbit and the black fox?”

“That’s them. None of the kids will tell me anything, but I think there was some trouble with them. Maybe you saw, Lucas got hurt.”

“They fought?” she asked.

“Simeon gets in a lot of fights,” said the pika. Not a definitive yes, Nick noted. “He’s got a real temper. I…wondered if you could try to talk to him. Scare him straight, you know?”

“Oh.” Judy’s ears laid back. “Well, you should probably have Nick talk to him. He’s a lot better at this type of thing that me.”

“I am?”

“He is?”

“Yes,” insisted Judy.

Nick looked at Cottongrass, who shrugged.

“If you officers think that’s best. Maybe he'll listen to another fox.”

“All right, sure,” said Nick.

“Simeon's out around back, in the recess area,” said the pika. “You need me to go with you and point him out?”

“Nah, I can find 'em. Catch you up, Hopps?”

Judy nodded, looking worried, and Nick set off toward the schoolyard.

It was even nicer out back than he’d realized. The concrete was clean and freshly poured, sporting equipment littered the playground, the lawn was a brilliant shade of green, freshly cut and watered.

Nick drew a few looks and yelps as he made his way out—the kids from the earlier grades hadn’t known about the ZPD visit, and he imagined a fully-grown and armed fox on campus was something of a worrisome novelty, regardless.

He felt his tail lash as he caught sight of Lucas, the rabbit kid, sitting alone at a lunch table. Cottongrass might have his priors about how things had gone, but Nick was a professional. He was going to do this correctly.

He slid onto the bench opposite Lucas, who looked up from his salad to frown.

“The fox cop? What do you want?”

“I’ve been asked to…make inquiries.”

“I didn’t tell Cottongrass anything,” Lucas said flatly. “What makes you think I’ll talk to you?”

“Don’t like your teacher very much, huh?”

“No.”

Nick leaned in, conspiratorially. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Lucas stared, scandalized. Nick had his full attention now.

“Yep. I don’t think he likes me, either.”

The rabbit laughed. “I think you’re right.”

Nick smiled. “So, if you don't tell him that, I won’t tell him anything you tell me. I’m an independent party.”

Lucas looked at Nick thoughtfully.

“Fine. I’ll give you one thing: Simeon didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Really,” said Nick. “Tell me more.”

“No.”

The fox blinked. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“Yep,” said Lucas, popping the last letter obnoxiously. Nick smirked. He liked this kid.

“Fair enough,” he said, standing up from the table. “Maybe your friend’ll tell me more.”

“Maybe,” said the rabbit. His stony expression softened. “Just…don’t give him a hard time, okay?”

“I’ll be nice,” Nick promised.

He would, too, he decided. Even if it meant he didn’t get anywhere with this. These kids didn’t need to be interrogated by an armed officer, troublemakers or not.

Simeon was sitting at the far end of the playground, out on the grass. He was hunched under an oak tree, reading an unfamiliar book. Nick stopped at a dozen paces. The kit was pretending not to notice Nick, but he hadn't quite learned to keep his ears under control yet.

“Hey,” Nick called. “Simeon, right?”

“Ah.” He didn't look up. “Mr. Cottongrass finally called the cops on me.”

“I’m not here as a cop.”

“Weird,” bit back Simeon. “Maybe the badge and the weapon gave me the wrong idea.”

Nick unbuckled his belt, kneeling down to lay it on the grass. He unpinned his badge for good measure, setting it atop the taser and radio.

“That make a difference? I just want to talk.”

“I already have a counselor.” Simeon continued to stare at his book.

“I’m not a counselor,” Nick said. “I don’t know the right stuff to say.”

“That's for sure.”

Nick floundered. Didn't this brat know how difficult this was for him? He breathed deep.

“Just…look. Okay. You ever go to jail?”

“Not yet,” Simeon muttered.

“I have,” Nick said. “Not as a cop. I’ve only been doing this job for a year. Two years ago I was sleeping in a cardboard box. I’m not The Man, okay?”

Simeon looked at him. Closed his book.

“Okay. If you say so.”

The little fox inclined his head to the grass beside him, and Nick joined him under the tree.

“So what do you want, not-a-cop?”

“I just mean…I was a fox in grade school, too. I know what it’s like.”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“Happytown Elementary.”

“That’s a pred school.” Simeon waved his book dismissively. “That’s different.”

“Most of the kids were predators,” Nick admitted. “Teachers weren’t. We’d get frisked coming into classes.”

“Ugh. Really?”

Nick shrugged. The fox kit made a face.

“So, Simeon,” Nick said.

“What?”

“You want to talk about what happened?”

“No. Mind your own business.”

Nick didn’t answer. He could read the other fox. The kid wanted to talk. If Nick gave him the space, he might.

“Why are bunnies so stupid?” Simeon asked eventually. Nick chuckled.

“Nobody knows.”

“Don't laugh.”

Nick looked at him. “This about your friend?”

“They…were coming after me,” the kid said.

“Who?”

Simeon waved a paw vaguely at the schoolyard. “Them. A bunch. Didn’t like something funny I said.”

“Sly fox.”

“Yup. Anyway, Lucas…stopped them. Got in their way. They said they’d beat his ass instead, if he wanted it so bad. He said—” Simeon’s voice shook a little bit. “—he said fine. He told me to run.”

“Did you?”

Simeon's eyes flashed. “Would you have?”

“No.”

“I couldn’t get them off him. They hurt him bad, until they got bored.” Simeon slumped his shoulders. “And then they beat on me anyway. He’s such an idiot. What good did that do?”

“Is that why you’re mad at him?”

“He’s mad at me. I told him off, he was mad I wasn’t grateful. That he got his head kicked in.” The black fox flung his book out across the grass. “Why should I be happy about that?”

“Sounds like he cares a lot.”

“He’s stupid,” Simeon insisted. “Is your bunny that stupid?”

Nick’s ear flicked at your bunny.

“Stubborn, yes. We take turns being the stupid one.”

The little fox looked thoughtful. “You guys do dangerous stuff. She ever get hurt because of you?”

“She’s taken hits for me, yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“No,” Nick admitted. “I hate it. But that’s the job, and that’s…who she is. I can’t tell her not to be her. I wouldn't want her to be someone else.”

“Huh.” Simeon subsided for a long time, picking at his claws nervously. “Officer Wilde…can I ask you something weird?”

“I guess.”

“Do you love her?”

“What?!” Nick recoiled. “How old are you?”

“I’m in sixth grade, stupid. I’m twelve. Answer the question.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Haha, I knew it.” Simeon grinned. Nick glared. “So…that can really happen?”

Nick softened. “Wait, why?”

The kid looked away, not answering. Nick felt a lump forming in his throat. Oh.

He wasn’t sure. He’d been flirtatious with his partner, certainly. She would laugh and smile and he’d tease, burying his sincerity beneath trollish jokes and line-stepping until she checked him. He really didn’t know how she saw him. What she thought could happen. Maybe he never would.

“I…hope so,” he said instead.

“Oh.” Simeon’s face fell. Nick’s heart ached, and not for himself. “Me too.”

They both sat for a long moment, watching the birds skim the grass and chase each other through the trees.

“Kid. You want, like, a junior detective sticker or something?”

“Hell no.”

“Hm.” On impulse, Nick reached for his pen and pad instead. He scribbled across a sheet and tore it off. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“My cell.” Nick pushed himself to his feet and moved to collect his badge and belt. “Throw it away if you want, I don't care. Or you can text me, if you ever want to talk about fox stuff.”

“What about rabbit stuff?”

“Or rabbit stuff.”

“Thanks.” Simeon crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re not the worst cop I’ve ever met.”

“Try to meet less.”

It was past noon, and Judy was driving them back to the precinct. The view wasn’t nearly as striking this time of day, but the fog had burned off, and they could see even farther. Nick rarely got a chance to appreciate just how massive the city was.

Judy was talking a mile a minute. She’d spent some time being caught up by Mr. Cottongrass, hearing about how excited the bunny students had been to see her, what they were studying. How he’d had to run to a meeting before Nick had made his way back to the car, with his apologies for not thanking the fox in person.

Nick was halfway listening, trying to ignore the vague weight that had taken up residence in his chest. Eventually, she noticed.

“Hey,” she said. “You still with me? Sorry, I should have asked how it went.”

“Good,” Nick said. “It went good. Are you busy tonight?”

She blinked. “No, why?”

“You want to get dinner? At the Palm?”

“Isn’t that super expensive?”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Why?” She raised her eyebrows. He waved a paw.

“You work hard. You deserve it.”

She blew a raspberry at him.

“Seriously, why?”

“All this ritz. I want to go to the Palm,” said Nick. “Who else am I gonna go with?”

She laughed, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her ears redden, just a little.

“Okay, fox. I’ll go to the Palm with you. But I get to owe you one.”

“Stubborn rabbit. All right.”

He sighed, sinking down into his seat. He could see the Palm from here, out across Sahara Square. It was nice. Maybe he'd wear something a little nice. Maybe his bunny would, too. Maybe she'd start to wonder, about his intentions in taking her out to dinner.

Maybe he’d have a better answer for Simeon, one of these days.

Chapter Text

“Stop resisting! Stop resisting!”

Nick almost laughed as he and Judy jogged up, taking in the scene. Two wolves were wrestling fiercely on the sidewalk, snarling and shouting. Their colleague, Grizzoli, was doing most of the shouting. The other, a much larger timber wolf, was not so much resisting as winning. Chops-busting would have to wait, though. Judy gestured to Nick, and the two officers fanned out and advanced.

“Hey, sir,” Judy called. “We’re going to need you to get off him.”

“And stop resisting,” Nick added.

The perp looked up, bewildered, eyes flicking between the two newcomers. Nick could see the big wolf measuring the geography, weighing his options in his head. The fox knew how this would go—he and his partner had pulled this same move about a dozen times now.

Sure enough, the wolf seemed to reach a decision. Shoving Grizzoli roughly to the ground, he bolted straight at Judy.

Nick was familiar with this part, too. The rabbit would hold her ground, barking commands, feigning panic as her quarry bore down on her. She was a good actor, Nick thought—she could muster all the bunny signs of fear except for her wriggling nose. That was usually enough.

Sure enough, almost at the last minute, Judy moved. She buzzed around around the wolf like an angry insect, finding her angle and kicking his legs out with tremendous force. He went down hard, and Nick was on him immediately to hold his head down as Judy zip-tied his paws.

Holding on to such a large mammal was a questionable proposition, so Nick breathed a sigh of relief as Grizzoli jogged up and took hold of their prisoner. The white wolf was breathing hard and looking a little bruised, but annoyingly unembarrassed about the situation.

“Wow, Hopps, that was amazing,” he panted, grinning wide. “I could watch you take down mammals all day.”

“Thanks!” Judy chirped back. “Happy to help.”

“That your first time wrestling a wolf? You’re good at it.”

Nick felt his eye twitch.

“Well, you know,” she smiled modestly. “Academy.”

“All right, all right,” Nick cut in. “You taking this collar, Grizz?”

Grizzoli gave him a look. “Yeah, I’ll run him in. Thanks again, Hopps. And Wilde.”

Minutes later, Judy was pulling the cruiser into a Snarlbucks parking lot on their refreshment break.

“Yeesh,” Nick said. “Grizzoli, huh?”

“What—unf—about him?” asked Judy, leaning way down to shove the giant gearshift into park.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

“The hitting on you.”

She frowned. “He wasn’t hitting on me.”

“Seriously, Carrots? That was pretty blatant. And bad, in my professional judgement.”

“I think he’s a little awkward,” Judy said. “He was just grateful.”

“Mostly to you,” Nick countered. “I don’t know if you noticed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry you didn't get enough credit. You’re reading into it.”

“No way, Carrots. He’s into you.”

“He’s not,” she insisted, a little loudly.

“Okay.” Nick threw up his paws. “Fine, whatever.”

“What does it matter? Why are you so bothered about this?”

“Who said I was bothered?” he snapped.

“I don’t know, Nick, you seem pretty bothered right now!”

Nick opened his mouth to say something mean, caught himself, closed it again. He leaned back in his seat, staring out the windshield and drawing a few long breaths. Things had gotten messy fast. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected this conversation to go, in retrospect.

He’d come this far, though. In for a penny...

“You really can’t tell, can you?” he asked softly.

“Can’t tell what?” She still looked guarded, and why not? He’d snapped at her like an idiot. Over nothing.

“When someone, you know. Has feelings for you,” he said.

She shrugged. “I guess not. Most of my relationships started with boys kissing me sort of out of nowhere.”

“What?!” He sputtered. “You just let them?”

“I mean, it was okay. That's pretty normal in Bunnyburrow.”

“You can’t just let mammals kiss you, Carrots. What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

“If—you?” Her head snapped up to stare at him. He held his paws out, placative.

“No, don’t worry, I’m not about to. I’m just saying.”

She’d gone red. “I’d—I’d be surprised.”

“And then? Slap me?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’d be a fair reaction.”

She sighed. “I wouldn’t slap you.”

They both subsided, and stared out at the Snarlbucks storefront again. Judy rolled down her window. Nick berated himself internally. He’d always been so good at this type of thing. He cared too much, now. It was making him weird.

“Would you slap Grizzoli?” Nick asked, trying to sound playful. Teasing. Make her laugh. Get out of this awkward conversation.

She gave him a funny look instead. He could feel his smirk slipping. This rabbit could see right through him sometimes, at the worst possible moments.

Hesitantly, she started to reach out with an open paw.

The radio sputtered.

“City center, available units, possible five-oh-two reported. White vehicle northbound from Riverside and Buena Vista.”

Judy grabbed the handset without hesitation, paws forgotten.

“One-alpaca-one copies, Central, ten seventy-six.”

She threw the stick into reverse, gunning the cruiser in a magnificent J-turn out of the parking lot.

“Showoff,” Nick muttered, reaching over to flick on the siren. Judy beamed.

It was the end of the shift, and Nick was back in civvies, trying to shake some persistent shower water out of his ear as he made his way toward the locker room exit.

“Hey! Hey, Hopps!” came a familiar voice from somewhere beyond the threshold. Nick let his feet bring him to a stop, stomach tightening.

“Hey, Grizz,” came Judy's voice.

“Thanks for the assist earlier. You’re crushing it out there.”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Glad we could help.”

“So was I. Hey, maybe I can make it up to you? Get you dinner?”

“I…” Nick felt his ears straining forward. Judy’s voice was smaller than the wolf's, and didn’t carry as far. “I can see if Nick is free?”

“Ah, uh,” said Grizzoli. “I was thinking more just you and me.”

“Oh…oh.”

Dumb rabbit, Nick thought.

“Um,” she said. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry! I appreciate it, I just—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Hopps,” Grizzoli mumbled. “Catch ya around.”

Giving the wolf a ten-count to make tracks, Nick strolled casually around the corner. Judy caught sight of him almost immediately.

“Hey, fox!” She bounded up. “We’re both out at the same time, for once.”

“Hey,” he smiled. “Would you look at that.”

“Walk me to the train?”

“Sure, why not?” he said. “Someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

The sun had just gone down as they made their way out through the lobby, still illuminating the city with diffuse blues and pinks as streetlights winked on down the street. Rush hour was still winding up, and mammals jostled past them continually on the short walk across the plaza. Judy hardly needed a protector, but Nick suspected he was still a benefit—he was bigger than her, brighter-colored, and he dressed louder. He made them both less likely to get stepped on. Nick Wilde, walking traffic cone.

“Okay, you were right,” she said as they walked.

“About what?”

“Grizzoli asked me out.”

“Ha! Told ya. What’d you say?”

“Well, no.”

“Aw. How’d he take it?”

“Pretty well. Probably complaining about me to Wolfard now, though.”

They were walking up the stairs to Zootopia Central Station, now. Abruptly, she stopped on the stair above him and turned around.

“Here,” she tugged him towards the railing, out of the flow of traffic. The extra step put her nearly at head height with him. Her face was tight, anxious. Hopeful?

“Uh. Carrots?”

“So, you were right,” she said.

“You told me.”

“I mean, you’re right about me. I’m pretty bad about noticing…other mammals' feelings.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But.”

“But?” Nick moved a little closer. Her nose wriggled.

“But I’m not an idiot, Nick.”

“Of course not,” he said quietly.

She drew a deep breath.

“Nick, you wanted to know what I'd do if you kissed me?”

“I was curious.”

“Do you, um. Want to find out?”

He did.

There were a lot things in that moment he might have liked to change. His breath was a bit foul. Commuters were giving them disgusted looks. The spot they’d chosen on the staircase smelled faintly of urine. He still had water in his ear. He wasn’t sure if he should put his paws on her, so he let them hang lamely at his sides.

He wouldn’t remember any of that later—just that the wind was chilly, and Judy was warm, and he could feel her nervous shakes subside as she kissed him back softly and sincerely, and everything was perfect for a short moment.

The clock rang seven, and she broke away suddenly, wide-eyed.

“Crackers, Nick, my train!”

Without another word, she spun and bounded off into the station, leaving the fox standing dazed on the steps.

A passing moose hit him in the head with a briefcase, but that was okay.

It was another eighty minutes before Nick made it to his apartment door. Usually he’d take the bus home from the city center, but the route was technically walkable, and he’d decided he could use the air. Now he was tired and sweaty again. He sloughed off his shirt and slacks on his way to the bathroom, coming to a stop in front of the mirror.

He squinted as he brushed his teeth, taking an appraising look at the fox who had decided to cause him so much trouble today. Skinny. Orange. Old. It was unclear what he had over Grizzoli, if he was honest with himself—funnier, maybe. But he’d managed to con a pretty rabbit into kissing him today, so he’d take the win.

An ear caught a sound—his phone buzzing once back in the living room. Spitting into the sink, he made his way back to fish the device out of his abandoned pants.

Judy had texted him a heart.

He could feel his stomach going tight and fizzy at the same time. There was so much more he wanted to say to her. So much more he wanted to ask. Was this for real? Had she felt this way all along, or was she humoring him? Was this even a good idea? His mind spiraled into white noise.

He texted Judy a heart.

A few seconds later, she sent him another message—a fox emoji with hearts on either side. He smiled as he tapped out a response. Heart, carrot, carrot, carrot, heart.

She sent him a photo this time. Her face filled the frame—in bed, in the dark, illuminated by her phone screen. She was covering her muzzle with her free paw, grinning and blushing between her fingertips.

She looked…happy. Really happy. He breathed. Maybe this wasn’t a total con after all.

His phone buzzed again.

10:01 PM

Carrots: im sleepy

Nick: go to sleep bunny

Nick: if you want to get up early i’ll take you to breakfast before work

Carrots: are you going to kiss me again

Nick: you’ll find out

Nick: in the morning

Carrots: omg

Carrots: going to sleep right now

10:02 PM

Nick: goodnight bunny

Carrots: goodnight nick <3

Nick sighed and lay down on his bed, putting his phone on airplane. That was enough for today. He'd give her some space to rest, to think about tomorrow.

And then they would see. For all his flaws as a partner, Nick Wilde was good at dating. This next part would probably go well.

He wondered if he should thank Grizzoli sometime.

Chapter Text

It was a little past one in the morning, and Bonnie Hopps was awake.

For a brief moment, she wondered why—she’d gone to bed at ten, as usual. Stu lay beside her, snoring softly. But something had roused her. It wasn’t until the dappled reflections of a car’s headlights slithered across the ceiling that she remembered. Oh, right. The kids.

Kid, anyway. Judy's new fox friend was older than her, but she'd declined to share by how much. “What does it matter?” she’d demanded, when Bonnie had pressed. “I’m not dating him.”

But that had been a few months ago, and Bonnie had attended nearly a hundred of her children’s weddings now. She’d developed a sense for these things. If they weren’t dating now, well...

A car door slammed outside. Bonnie’s ears caught a whispered rebuke from her daughter, a quiet male apology.

Judy had meant to come sooner—texted apologies about work had come after nine, and something about road work traffic as Bonnie had been getting ready to go to bed. Don’t worry, she’d told Judy, we’ll put blankets out on the couches for you. We’ll see you in the morning.

So now they were here. Bonnie had no problem with her daughter befriending a fox, of course. She and Stu had Gideon over for dinner every now and again. But a strange fox from the city, roaming her house unsupervised in the middle of the night...well, some instincts didn’t die so easily.

Bonnie’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. Odd, she thought, as she’d turned off texts. She picked it up to look.

Right. It was the Den app, notifying her of movement at the front door. Stu had bought the thing a few weeks ago and had some of the kids set it up. At first she hadn’t been enthused with having cameras all over the burrow, but the device was growing on her. They'd already avoided a few accidents involving the younger kits, and it was nice to be able to check up on things.

Quietly, hoping not to wake her husband, Bonnie unlocked the phone and swiped over to the interior camera feed. The house lights were out, but the cameras had a crude kind of night vision, giving her a grainy green view of the living room.

Bonnie shouldn’t be spying, she knew, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of worry. Judy was tough, smart, and strong-willed. But she was also much too trusting, too willing to assume the best in others, whether they deserved it or not. And she had a chip on her shoulder, now, when it came to prejudice. How far would she go to prove a point?

Movement on the Den feed caught her eyes. The door opened, and Judy crept in, lugging a duffel bag. Behind her…

It was a fox.

Bonnie gripped the phone tighter. Not just any fox, she'd known the friend was a fox, but a fox—a platonic embodiment of that instinctual terror. He was tall and wiry, sharp and pointy everywhere Gideon was short soft and round. Gideon strolled; this one slunk. His paws were huge, too, and Bonnie imagined she could catch long claws glinting in the darkness.

His tail lashed, and his eyes flicked around the living room. Briefly he looked toward the camera, and the glow of his tapetums was piercingly bright in the infrared. The eyes kept returning to Judy, watching her intently as she made her way around the living room.

Then he yawned, which was worse—rows and rows of jagged premolars capped by wicked canines that barely fit in his jaws. The idea of those coming anywhere near her daughter…

Suddenly the screen went white before dipping back down into a color image. Judy had turned the lights on. And—sweet cheese and crackers—what was he wearing?

Bonnie nearly laughed. The fox had on one of the ugliest acapulco shirts she’d ever seen, with a tie that clashed so perfectly it looked almost intentional. So the city fox can’t dress himself, she thought. That’s unexpected.

Judy had made her way into the kitchen now, and was rummaging through the cabinets. Bonnie had left a note for her on the kitchen table, along with some spare blankets draped over the chair, but her daughter seemed to have missed them.

The fox hadn’t.

Idly, he swaggered over to the table and picked up the note to read it, ears pricked forward. That’s not for you, Bonnie thought. But he set it down quickly, attention turning to the blankets on the chair. He hefted one.

Judy was at the stove now, starting a kettle and setting out mugs for tea. The fox was stalking up behind her now, getting close—no, very close, too close. Bonnie felt her eyes go wide in shocked vindication.

Before Judy could turn around, the fox lifted the blanket over her shoulders and wrapped it around her front, holding his arms around her in a hug. Judy took her paws off the stove controls and leaned back against him, twisting around to put her face against his front as he swaddled her in the blanket. He raised a huge clawed paw to her head and…stroked her ears, gently.

It was…sweet. Thoroughly unsalacious.

It was also far past time to give them their privacy.

Bonnie blanked the phone screen and laid back in bed. Was that it? He treated her kindly. He looked terrifying, yes, but less so in the light of day. And he couldn’t help his appearance, regardless. Belatedly, Bonnie wondered if his immiserated sense of fashion might not be an attempt at softening himself for others, of making himself less intimidating.

Bonnie felt ashamed. Judy had been right—she’d looked past the claws and teeth, gone searching for a kind heart, and she seemed to have found it.

They were together, weren’t they? It had been an intimate hug, but still just a hug.

The matter wasn’t entirely settled.

To her credit, Bonnie made it nearly another ten minutes before she succumbed to curiosity and turned her phone back on again.

The pair were back in the living room now, looking appraisingly at the two couches Stu had furnished with pillows and blankets for them. Judy still had the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They were talking. About what, Bonnie didn’t know—she’d muted the sound for fear of waking her husband.

The fox—Nicholas—put an arm around Judy’s shoulders. He looked down at her, pointing at the smaller couch. She shook her head emphatically, hugging him around the middle. He laughed and said something else to Judy, who shook her head again. She doesn’t want to sleep apart, Bonnie realized.

Abruptly, he snatched Judy up, lifting her bodily off the ground. Crackers. Judy wriggled in her blanket cocoon, unable to escape, as Nicholas carried her to the smaller couch. He laid her down against the pillow and tucked the blanket under her chin as she seemed to berate him. Eventually she subsided, and the fox pecked her on the cheek before making his way across the living room to the larger couch.

Judy allowed him to slip off his tie and belt and get settled in under his blankets before she made her move, hopping back off her own couch and dragging the blanket with her over to the light switch. Flicking the lights off, she turned and crept back toward Nick’s couch.

The haunting glow of his eyes under infrared flitted toward Judy as she approached, and Bonnie could see his mouth moving—I can see you, Bonnie thought she read—but he didn’t stop her as she clambered up under his blanket and snuggled against him.

The fox seemed to give up and curled himself around her, tucking his snout between her ears and wrapping her in his claws and tail like a stuffed toy. Those glowing eyes winked out.

That left the matter pretty well settled. They were more than friends, now. And Bonnie truly couldn't find fault with his treatment of her daughter.

Bonnie blanked the phone again, this time for good. No doubt Nicholas would be trying to make a good first impression tomorrow morning.

Lucky for him, he wasn't doing half bad so far.

Late the next morning, Bonnie and Stu stood at the window together, watching Judy excitedly shepherd Nicholas out towards the grain silos. The fox was smiling indulgently, sipping at a thermos of coffee Bonnie had given her at her daughter's behest.

Judy had snuck back to her own couch sometime before dawn, and the four of them had shared a quiet but friendly breakfast together, along with a half-dozen of the young ones who’d escaped their bedrooms early. But Judy had snatched him away, eager to show him around the farm.

“Hm,” said Stu.

“What are you thinking?” Bonnie asked.

“I like him, I think,” he said. “Not the best manners. A little too smart. A real city fox.”

“Maybe so.”

“Still, he’s nice enough. The kits all love him. He’s kind to our Jude. Even if I did catch him calling her ‘Carrots’ one time.”

“She told me that was a joke between them.”

“They should probably keep it between them if they go into town,” Stu muttered. “Other folk might not be so accommodating.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Suppose so. I do wonder, though…”

“Wonder what?”

“The way he acts around Jude. He’s always watching her. Smiling when she’s not looking.”

Bonnie suppressed a smile. “Oh?”

“I think that fox has a crush, Bonnie.”

Judy and Nick were getting farther away, but they could still catch glimpses of their faces—Nick saying something, Judy delivering a flurry of punches to his arm, his tail curling around her ankles—a soft smile on the fox’s face, unbridled joy on their daughter's.

“Could you blame him, Stu?”

The elder Hopps sighed. “I suppose not.”

Chapter Text

Judy was pissed.

Her day had been less than perfect. Bogo had yelled at her for something that wasn’t her fault, and she’d had to sit there and eat it because Wolfard had seniority and hadn’t noticed his mistake. Her wonderful boyfriend had promised to take the trash out this morning, and he’d forgotten, and now it stunk and the truck wouldn’t be by for another week.

A suspect had socked her in the eye this morning and it still hurt to read, and same suspect had generated an immense amount of paperwork that happened to require reading. Everything hurt and she was tired and sad, and Nick hadn’t noticed and was being even more obnoxious than usual.

She would talk to him. He’d understand, and care. He always did. She just…needed to cool down, first.

The ugly tone of the electronic doorbell sounded. Judy started. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. She gave herself the once over, to make sure she was decent, and headed to the door.

A bored-looking muskrat was waiting, holding a package and an electronic pad. She signed and thanked him and shut the door again, taking a look at the box he’d handed her.

Her spirits lifted a little. It was a brown cardboard box, with carrot stamps and a neat loopy handwriting she immediately recognized as her mother’s. Judy hustled the box to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, gingerly slicing through the tape.

The box was stuffed full of newspapers—last month's Bunnyburrow Beacons, she’d save those to check up on the news from home later—cushioning some kind of ceramic mug. A note was wedged inside the mug itself. She grabbed at the note, sliding it out and unfolding it.

Hey Bun Bun,

We know you’re busy, but we wanted to send you something to let you know we’re thinking about you every day. Cotton is starting school soon. She has your picture in her binder. Dad and I are doing great—the seasonals are coming in strong. Call us if you get a chance. We’d love to hear your voice.

<3 Mom

Judy pulled the rest of the newspapers aside and yanked the mug out. It was a big, bulky thing that would hold about three times the healthy amount of coffee for a rabbit her size. On the side, formed out of cartoon carrots, were the words “I Carrot About You.”

She snorted. It was stupid. It was so stupid. It was so…her parents. She slumped down on the counter, closing her eyes and pulling the mug to press against her sore eyelid.

“Thanks, mom,” she mumbled against the countertop.

She decided to make some tea.

An hour later and the mug sat nearly empty on the edge of the table. What little tea was left had gone cold, but it remained a small comfort as she continued banging her head against the paperwork she’d brought home. She’d expected to make more progress than this, but her sore eyeball was a vicious distraction.

The front door slammed loudly, jangling the chain lock. Nick was home. She sighed. Maybe he’d see her droopy ears, come rub her shoulders, make her more tea—

“Heeeey, Carrots,” he chirped, sidling into the kitchen. He drew up to the table beside her. “What is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That mug? I carrot about you? Come on.” He grinned widely.

“What?” She frowned up at him. Nick cackled.

“Sorry, it’s just…it’s just so lame.”

“Whatever, Nick.”

“Come on, like you don’t have enough carrot stuff already?”

“It’s from my parents,” she snapped.

“All right.” He rolled his eyes, holding his paws out and backing away.

“What does that mean?” she demanded, hopping out of her chair to face him.

“What?”

“That face. That ‘all right.’”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Do you have a problem with my parents?”

He gazed at her, stone-faced, the way he always did when he was pretending not to be angry.

“It means…this conversation is a minefield, and I’m gonna get in trouble no matter what I say.”

“What the heck, Nick? I didn’t do anything for you to come in here with this attitude.”

“See?” he said, flailing his arms. “I don’t know what you want me to—”

There was a dull thud as the back of his paw swatted the mug off the table. Time slowed for a brief moment as they both watched it sail sideways, teabag tumbling.

And then it smashed against the kitchen wall, shattering into a dozen pieces across the linoleum. Judy leapt a foot back at the sound.

“NICK!” she barked.

The fox looked frozen for a second, staring at the dripping stain on the wall. Eventually he looked down at the scattered pieces of her mom's mug, back up at her. She’d expected to see guilt in his eyes, or maybe recrimination. It was a coin toss with him sometimes. But instead there was…terror.

Nick crumpled, collapsing forward to his knees in front of her. She took another step back, not sure what was happening.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the tiniest voice she’d ever heard from him. “That was an accident.”

He looked really distressed. Judy took a deep breath. “It’s…alright.”

“I swear I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t want to—”

He was pawing at the pieces, trying to scoop them together.

“It’s okay, Nick,” she said. “Don’t touch the shards. Let me help you clean it up.”

She started toward him, and he shrunk back, shaking his head fiercely.

“No! No,” he said. “I have to do it. Don’t come over here.”

Confused, she stood in the middle of the kitchen as he walked over to get the broom and dustpan. As he passed her, she could see that his paws were shaking.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She started to approach him.

“Don’t come over here,” he said again, loudly. He backed away from her, into a corner.

“I—did I do something?”

“No, no.” His eyes were wet. “Just…please stay away from me for a minute.”

This was unfamiliar from him—strange, and frightening. But she did as he asked, walking to the opposite corner of the kitchen and sitting down against the wall. She watched him sweep the pieces of the mug into the dustpan, fetching a bag from their bag drawer and tipping the pieces in. He tied it off, setting it on the table, and looked at her again.

Nick gave her a tight smile. She could see the streaks of tears as his cheek fur shifted.

“Hey, Carrots. What’re you doing on the floor?”

“Worrying,” she said. “About my boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“You wanna come over here?” She patted the tile next to her.

“I…can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I scared you.”

“What? No you didn’t.”

“I saw you. You jumped.”

“It was a loud noise. I’m not scared of you.”

The fox looked at her, gears turning.

“Please come sit with me, Nick?”

Nick took a step toward her, then another. Then he continued forward, crossing the kitchen to sit against the wall beside her. He left a generous few inches of space between them. That was wrong, she thought. Even when they were just friends, he'd always been invading her personal space.

“Can I hold your paw?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

He reached across the space between them, his big pads grasping her fingers as softly as they ever had, like she might shatter too. She wanted badly to scoot closer, to press herself against him, to let him know it was okay.

“I am so sorry, Judy,” he said. “I’ll fix your mug. I can glue it back together.”

“It’s okay, Nick. It’s just a mug.”

“It was important to you. It was from your parents.”

“I liked it,” she admitted. “It’s still just a mug. You’re more important.”

The fox was quiet.

“Nick…you got really weird back there, for a minute.”

He didn’t answer. Judy could sense his breathing slowing, though, and decided to press her luck.

“Can you tell me why?”

“No,” he said, without any acrimony. “I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“You don't have to, sweetheart. I won't be mad. But I'm here, okay?”

“I, I—” he choked out. His mouth kept working, trying to form syllables.

Judy squeezed his paw. She could tell her fox wanted to talk. It didn't always come easily for him.

“My dad, um, broke things,” he said suddenly. “When he was angry.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes it was his things. Sometimes ma’s things. Her favorite plates and cups. A mirror. One of my toys, once. Slapped it right out of my paws.”

“Oh, Nick.”

“Ma was so scared, Judy. I was too, probably. I was five or six, the first time I remember it happening. It was only now and then, he’d go back to normal after. Tell us how much he loved us. He bought me another toy. For a long time I thought that was all that happened. Just some things. Nothing bad. But…”

She squeezed his paw. “But?”

“I don’t think ma told me until I was eighteen. He hurt her. Got in her face. Grabbed her arm so hard he broke it one time.”

“Nick, oh my gosh. Oh, no.”

“He never hit her,” Nick said, smiling bitterly. “Never beat on her. He’d tell her that. Like she was crazy for complaining.”

Judy didn’t know what to say. Her own parents’ relationship was quiet, day-to-day, even businesslike. As a kit, she’d sometimes wondered if they loved each other at all. But she could never imagine her dad doing something like that to her mom, or her sisters. Or her.

She sneaked closer, leaned her head against Nick’s shoulder.

“You know,” he continued, “people from my old neighborhood, they’re always telling me how much I remind them of him.”

“You’re not him, Nick.”

“Looked just like me. He was slick, too. Funny. Gave great speeches. You would have liked him.”

Judy shook her head.

“No way. I like your mom. I wouldn't like anyone who could hurt her.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “Anyway. Now you know.”

They sat in silence for a while. Judy heard Nick sniff.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She pushed herself to her feet beside him, turning to hug his head against her chest. His face was practiced, casual, but she could feel fresh streams of tears on her fingers as they clutched at the fur of his cheek.

“Judy,” he said hoarsely. “I get...angry, sometimes.”

“You're allowed to be angry,” Judy insisted. “But I know you. You’re so gentle. Not just with me. With everyone. You can hardly even arrest small mammals.”

He laughed wetly. “I am pretty bad at that.”

“You’re a big softie,” she said. Keeping her paws on his face, she stepped around him and into his lap, facing him, let his massive paws fold around her in a hug.

“I’ll never hurt you, Carrots. I won't.”

“I know.”

“You’d check me, right?” he asked. “If I ever did anything out of line? Anything to make you scared?”

“Nick, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I could completely kick your butt.”

He laughed again, for real this time, and she luxuriated in the bassy sound with her ear pressed against his chest.

“There is that,” he said, hugging her closer. “I’m sorry about the mug.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I got so mad. I had a bad day, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” he said. “I thought I was being funny. I didn't read the room.”

“Not our finest moment,” she admitted. “But thank you for telling me. About your dad. I know it was hard.”

“Don’t tell ma I told you, okay? She’d be so embarrassed.”

“Okay, fine. I will give her a huge hug the next time I see her, though.”

Nick smiled. “She loves you so much, Carrots. I’m a little jealous.”

“Maybe you should stop leaving your dirty dishes for her when you visit.”

“Ugh. Whose side are you on?”

She arched up to kiss at the soft creamy fur of his throat.

“I love you, Nick.”

“I’m gonna fix your mug.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. I know how to do it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, me and Finn used to sell ‘boutique upcycled dishware’ that we’d fished out of restaurant dumpsters.”

“Nick!”

He laughed, trapping her arms as she squirmed around in outrage.

“Told you. I’m gonna fix your mug.”

She gave up trying to free herself, and snuggled up under his chin.

“I’d love that.”

“You wanna talk about your bad day?”

“Hmm. After,” she murmured.

“After what?”

Her paw roamed, undid a button to slide under his shirt.

“Ah.”

As it happened, it wasn’t until two weeks later one morning—as she was reading one of those old issues of the Bunnyburrow Beacon—that the mug reappeared in front of her in Nick’s paw. True to his word, it was repaired. Hairline fractures crisscrossed the surface, but all the pieces were there, flush and snugly pressed together.

She threw down the paper to grasp the mug.

“Nick, you did it!”

“Told you I could,” he beamed. “It doesn’t leak, either. Tried and tested. Probably stronger than it was before.”

“Thank you!” She set it down and lunged from her chair to hug him around the middle. “I thought you’d forgot.”

“I never forget anything, Carrots.”

“You forgot my birthday that one time.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot I did that.”

She laughed, hugging him tighter. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

Her fox raised an eyebrow. “You’re comparing me to this broken mug?”

“Broken and fixed up again.” She kissed his belly. “Stronger than before.”

“And you probably shouldn’t put either of us in the dishwasher,” he said, scratching behind her ears. “Sappy bunny.”

“Stinky fox. Maybe I will put you in the dishwasher.”

“Please don’t. I’ll make you tea.”

She lit up, snagging the mug and thrusting it into his paws.

“Yes please. Wait.”

As he started to turn away, she clutched at him suddenly, clambering up his arm and back to sit on his shoulders as he went to put the kettle on.

“Okay. Go, go!”

“I’m going! Yeesh. You’re gonna fall and die.”

“No I’m not,” she said, peppering kisses across both of his ears. “I know I’m safe with you.”

He tipped his head back to look up at her, and she craned down to really kiss him, hooking her legs around his neck for stability. He reached a paw up to steady her anyway.

“Always, Carrots.”

Chapter Text

A January gale was roaring outside the captain’s cabin, bearing little rain but battering impetuously against the windows. The ship lurched beneath their feet as the crew abovedecks fought to keep her steady.

Miss Judith Hopps, for her part, made every effort to keep her face calm as Captain Higgins drew back the cloth, revealing their cargo.

“Impressive for something so small, is it not?”

The Golden Jaguar was exquisite, crafted out of solid gold with a fidelity of detail hitherto thought impossible in all the empire. It had been acquired by one of their colonies on the jungle continent, but little was otherwise known of its origins.

The rabbit realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it immediately, but the captain pursed his lips in disapproval.

“Do not be laid low by astonishment, Miss Hopps. Shiny objects mustn’t distract you from your duty.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, sir,” cut in Lieutenant McHorn acridly. “This bunny won’t last long, anyway. Swept overboard, perhaps, or lost to her night terrors. I understand rabbits often frighten themselves to death.”

Miss Hopps bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. A naval officer on a ship of the line was hardly a typical career choice for a young doe, as had been made eminently clear to her. But even so, the rhinoceros had been vitriolically hateful toward her ever since she’d started.

“I am not afraid, sir,” she said, as calmly as she could.

“Peace, Lieutenant,” said the captain. “Miss Hopps has the same right to serve her king and her country as any of us.”

“As you say, sir,” muttered McHorn.

Yelling from abovedecks and the thudding of approaching footsteps caught their attention. The door burst open, and one of Judy’s fellow midshipmen came stumbling through, panting.

“We’re being pursued, sirs!” The pig raised her head to stare at them, and Miss Hopps could see panic in her eyes. “Pirates!”

Captain Higgins straightened. “To your station, Miss Swinton,” he said, sweeping toward the door. “McHorn?”

McHorn followed, turning to look at the rabbit over his shoulder.

“Heel, Miss Hopps.”

Declining to worry her tongue further, she rushed to follow.

Bitterly cold wind hit the rabbit’s face as soon as she poked her head above, and she planted her feet firmly to avoid being bowled over as she clambered up onto the deck. It was nearly pitch dark, starlight and the moon providing some diffuse light from behind an approaching bank of stormclouds. And beneath them…

She squinted. There, indeed, was the black silhouette of a brig approaching from behind at full sail. Even at this angle, the rabbit could tell the other ship was gaining fast, banners flapping viciously in the gale.

As the brig drew nearer, the clouds parted, and the moonlight hit it directly. Instantly, Miss Hopps could see dozens of predatory figures in the rigging—weasels, foxes, martens, and pumas, crawling and seething like maggots on a corpse. The sails caught her eye next, a harlequin pattern of blood-red and white, topped by sickly green streamers. In other circumstances it might have looked clownish, but out here, by the light of the moon, the cruel jester of a ship sent shivers down the rabbit’s spine.

“Damn,” said the captain.

“What is it?” demanded Miss Swinton.

“That’s the Skulk,” McHorn told her. “The Dread Fox.”

“Dread Fox?” Miss Hopps said skeptically.

“Mind your tone,” said McHorn. “He’s a murderer, philanderer and a merciless plunderer. You remember the Jumbeaux?”

She did. Another ship in the Zootopian Navy, it had been found floating unanchored, totally empty, with the decks awash in blood. None of its crew had ever been found. Tales of the Jumbeaux’s fate had made their way through the ranks, despite the best efforts of the high command.

“You do remember. That was the Dread Fox.” McHorn eyed her. “And you, bunny, will be lucky if they simply kill you. If you choose to hurl yourself into the waves, I shouldn’t hold it against you.”

She began to answer, but gasped instead. The bowsprit of the Skulk cut through the lieutenant’s silhouette as the pirate vessel pulled alongside them. In the remaining moonlight, she could see the deck was packed with huge mammals—tigers, lions, a couple of kodiak bears—covered in scars and jewelry.

In front of them, hanging brazenly off the side, was the Dread Fox.

She’d never so much as heard him described, but there was no mistaking him. The fox was tall, wiry, swathed in tattered green silks and gold bangles. He held a wicked-looking scimitar in his free paw, and his eyes—gleaming in the dark—were a hard, unblinking emerald.

“The vermin himself,” McHorn muttered. “Pick your jaw up off the deck, Miss Hopps.”

The Dread Fox twisted his scimitar in some slight of paw, and suddenly it was ablaze with green fire, lighting up the faces of his crew in the near-darkness. Swinton gasped. The fox raised his eyes to them.

“Where is your captain?” he yelled over the howling wind.

Higgins stepped forward, head high.

“I am Captain Earl Higgins of the ZMS Nottingham! Officer of the Zootopian Royal Navy!”

“You have something I most sincerely desire,” called the fox. “I suggest you be merciful to your crew and part with it willingly.”

Higgins’s jaw worked as he gazed back at the fox, green light from the blazing scimitar playing across the hippo’s whiskers.

“Nicholas Wilde, Dread Fox! By order of King Lionheart, for the crimes of piracy, larceny, and murder, I hereby place you under arrest. Prepare to receive boarders!”

The fox’s eyes blazed nearly as brightly as his sword.

“Oh, my dear captain,” he said. “We are prepared.”

The Dread Fox raised his scimitar, and suddenly the blades and pikes of every mammal on the Skulk ignited at once, a wall of green fire nearly blinding the rabbit.

Screams rang out from the crew of the Nottingham. In her periphery, she could see someone nearly fall from the rigging.

“Flimsy theatrics!” bellowed Higgins. “We’ll send you to the bottom of the sea!”

The fox grinned back. “You may try!” He gestured with his sword, and the Skulk surged forward.

“Ready guns!” shouted McHorn, but the pirate ship was already pulling away into the night.

“Go to full sail!” yelled Higgins. “Hopps! Get me eyes!”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

She could hear the captain’s orders echoing through the shouts of the crew as she sprinted toward the front of the ship, ducking around larger crewmembers and leaping over rolling cannons in the darkness. Her eyes weren’t good in the nighttime, but that didn’t matter now. She would show them what a Bunnyburrow rabbit was made of.

Reaching the bow, she clambered up onto the rail, holding tight to the rigging to steady herself. She clamped her tricorn tightly to her head with her other paw, feeling the icy wind whipping hard through the fur of her cheeks.

The Skulk was ahead, but not by much. A series of earsplitting cracks pained her ears as Higgins’s orders reached their terminus and his ship’s sails dropped open, catching the wind. The slippery rail juked beneath her feet, and she gripped the rigging tighter.

They were gaining. The Dread Fox’s ship was drifting to port. She felt the Nottingham bank as the helmsman turned to follow.

“We’re catching them, sir!” Miss Hopps shouted aft. Down the ship, through the wind, she could hear the deep rumbles and thuds of two dozen cannon being rolled into place, and the heavy scraping of the gun ports being opened. Turning her attention back to the Skulk, she squinted, and froze. The Dread Fox was staring directly at her. And smiling.

His emerald eyes glinted in the moonlight as they flicked down to the water between them. She followed his gaze, down to the choppy waves, and something caught her attention—something black and hard, barely peeking out amongst the crests of water.

“Rocks! Rocks! Straight ahead, rocks!” she screamed.

“What?!” someone screamed back.

It was too late.

The impact was a deafening crack as timber shattered and boards splintered, followed by the creaking moan of the stressed masts. But the violent lurch she had expected never came, because she was already in the air, her paw bloodied and burning where it had been ripped free of the rope she’d been hanging onto. Her last thought before she hit the water was that McHorn, damn him, would assume she’d taken his advice.

She plunged into the icy sea, and a searing pain took hold of her. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. She felt her descent slowing, and kicked her feet, clawing her way back to the surface. The night air hit her face, but her body wouldn’t—couldn’t—breathe.

Miss Hopps blinked salt water from her eyes, looking around frantically. The Skulk, still aflame with green weapons, was circling back toward the Nottingham. As the two ships drew nearer, hooks were being flung out from the pirate vessel to secure them together. She could see the largest predators leaping across the closing gap, roaring incoherently.

The last thing she saw before she went under was the Dread Fox himself, evil green eyes watching impassively as the waves pulled her down.

Miss Hopps came to feeling exhausted. Exhausted and warm. And…entirely undressed.

She jerked into full consciousness, snapping her head around wildly. She was sitting on a lavishly cushioned chair, wrapped in a soft blanket in front of a roaring fire. The quarters—and they were quarters, as she could still feel the gentle sway of a ship at sea—were unfamiliar. Too licentiously decorated for a Navy vessel, for certain, but clean and neatly arranged.

“Ah, you’re awake,” came a low male voice.

She started, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders reflexively. Standing on the other side of the room, leaning casually against an ornate cabinet and smiling, was a fox.

The fox.

She stumbled out of the chair and backed away from him, toward the far corner of the room. He made no move to follow.

“You!” she barked accusingly.

“Indeed,” he said. “Captain Wilde of the Skulk. You’re my guest, for the moment.”

“Did you undress me?”

“You were near hypothermic. You would be dead, otherwise.”

“You’re repulsive.”

“Hardly,” he demurred. “My helmsman, Miss Skaya, saw to it. A female, if that makes a difference to you.”

“Give me back my clothes.”

“You don’t like the blanket? It’s one of my finest.”

Her eyes flashed, and he laughed cruelly. “A jest, my dear rabbit. Your clothes are drying. The crew might be persuaded to lend some spares, if you don’t mind them running a bit large. Though they might not be kindly disposed toward a Navy…officer? Can that be right?”

“A midshipman.”

“Well. That is adorable.”

She ground her teeth, trying to calm her voice. There might be a way out of this, but she didn’t like it.

“So, the fox likes playing with his food,” she purred. “Am I to walk the plank? Or will you behead me, perhaps? Ravish me first?”

He looked at her oddly. “Ma raised me better than that, rabbit.”

“Really?” she said, putting some butter in her voice and gliding toward him, allowing the blanket to slip down her shoulders a little. “From the Dread Fox, I’m a little disappointed.”

He watched her approach, smiling weakly. “My. What have they been telling innocent bunnies about me?”

Steeling herself, she let the blanket fall the rest of the way open.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes not leaving hers. “Perhaps not so innocent, then. Though, I must say, this is unexpected behavior from an officer of the royal—ungh!”

He reeled backward as she darted forward, punching him hard in the nose.

Miss Hopps was small, as was persistently pointed out to her, but years of paw-to-paw training and street scrapping had made her lean and fast and strong. As the fox stumbled backward on his own cape, she reached for the scimitar on his hip, yanking it free of its scabbard.

The fox was fast, she’d give him that. He twisted back, moving to capture her sword wrist. But she was faster. She hooked her leg around his ankle and headbutted his chest, sending him down hard.

Wilde grunted in surprise as he hit the floor, and gawked up at her, blood streaming from his snout. He raised himself onto his elbows.

“What—”

He yelped as she jabbed him with the sword point.

“Stay down,” she said harshly.

“Who is ravishing whom, again?” he said, grinning toothily and allowing blood from his nose to run down across his incisors. “Your eyes are beautiful, by the way.”

“So are yours,” she said evenly. “I imagine you regret fishing me out of the sea, now.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “This is far more interesting than what I’d had planned.”

“And what was that?”

“Oh, you know. Taxes and such. Nothing worth speaking of. Your blanket’s fallen off, by the way.”

“Eyes up.”

“They are. It really is expensive. I’d rather you didn’t leave it on the floor.”

She jabbed the sword at his belly again. His lip twitched and he hissed slightly, but made no further undignified sounds, to her disappointment.

“Shut up,” she said. “Start talking.”

“I can’t do both of those,” he gritted. “If you’re just looking for a reason to stick me—”

“What did you do to the Nottingham?”

“That big ugly ship? Boarded it. Took the Golden Jaguar. Left.”

He was breathing shallowly, and a red stain on his shirt told her one of her jabs had broken the skin on his belly. She pushed down the pang of guilt. She did not care. This fox was a murderous pirate. And she was not a soft bunny.

“What did you do with the crew?”

He smiled. “Nothing too terrible.”

“The captain? The lieutenant?”

“Tied up. I imagine they may be free by now, presuming they’re not too unpopular. That rhinoceros of yours is a thoroughly uncharming fellow.”

She nearly smiled in spite of herself. He caught her, and something genuine hovered around his smile for a moment.

“See? She knows.”

She shook it off. Murderous pirate, murderous pirate.

“Where’s the Jaguar?”

His eyes might have flicked toward the cabinet beside them, or maybe it was just her imagination. His smile vanished.

“That’s for me to know, Carrots.”

“You may not call me that.”

“I am a pirate,” he bit out. “I may do whatever I want.”

“Not for long,” she said, glaring at him.

He glared back. It was funny, she thought, how those same green eyes that had appeared almost supernatural in the light of the moon now seemed entirely corporeal. Fearful, even, as much as he was trying to hide it. He looked like nothing more than a disheveled fox in expensive clothes who’d been poked one too many times with a sharp object.

“Higgins was right,” she said. “You’re all flimsy theatrics. You bleed like any mammal.”

“Maybe so,” he answered. “But you’re on my ship, surrounded by my crew. Most of whom are actually quite fond of me, I’ll have you know. Do you intend to kill all of us?”

“I can take you hostage,” she said. “You’ll tell them to surrender.”

“And then what? I order Skaya to set a course for Zootopian waters?” He laughed. “She’d kill me herself.”

“But—”

“In any case, you’re not decent.”

Miss Hopps rolled her eyes. “More decent than you. So, what do you suggest?”

“That you put your blanket back on and allow me to get back to deciding what to do with you. I’d intended to let you go, before you became all…martial.”

Her foot thumped. “You expect me to believe you?”

“I am a fox, my dear,” he said. “The only mammal I expect to believe me is my mother. But, it is the truth.”

“What does it gain you to let me go?” she demanded.

“Very little indeed,” he admitted. “It will hardly do wonders for my vicious reputation. On the other paw, if I were to be killed with my own sword, by a bunny rabbit, my reputation would be finished. So, you have me in some difficulty. It would have been wiser to let you drown.”

“It would have,” she agreed. “So why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “You needed help.”

She digested that, and withdrew the sword.

“Get up,” she said coldly. “Turn around.”

He obeyed.

“If you are about to kill me, let me just say that—”

“I am not,” she said. “Much as you might deserve it.”

“I surely do.”

A tentative knock came at the door.

“Bunny?” said the Dread Fox, still facing the wall. “Are you covered up?”

“I am,” she said.

“Excellent. Come in!”

The door creaked open and a small otter appeared in the doorway, peering around a stack of clothes. Miss Hopps’s clothes, she realized. The otter looked at the fox in the corner.

“Are you all right, sir? I have the rabbit’s clothes.”

“Perfectly all right, Mrs. Otteron.” he said. “Just checking for termites.”

“Oh,” said the otter. “Of course.”

“Put the clothes on my desk, if you would,” he said, still facing the wall.

“She has a sword, sir.”

“Miss Hopps, Mrs. Otterton is a nice woman. May I ask that you do not harm her?”

“Of…of course,” sighed Judy.

“Thank you. Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs. Otterton.”

The otter approached timidly and deposited the clothes on the desk before scurrying out and slamming the door. The fox turned around to look.

“That is your uniform, dried to the best of our ability. As well as a spare frock coat, and two rations of hardtack. You’ll need to stay warm and fed on your journey.”

She frowned. “What journey would that be?”

“Well,” he said, and grunted in pain. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Sit.”

The fox groaned and rubbed at his belly as he lowered himself into the chair. He took a moment to compose himself, then set a paw upon the large map rolled out on the desk.

“Now, it’s not far from here to Saint Jerome. If we sail into port, we will be sunk by cannon fire. If we stop beyond range of their gun emplacements and row you in, they will send ships to intercept us, and we will be sunk by cannon fire. If we—”

“You’ve made your point,” she said. “Get on with it.”

He nodded and pointed to a small inlet around the side of the island.

“Now, if we approach from this side, we can drop anchor in this cove and we shouldn’t be spotted. You can then walk the rest of the way to Saint Jerome, which should only take you an hour or so. Then you can raise the alarm like a good officer of the Royal Navy, and we will be in the wind.” He smiled. “Everyone gets what they want.”

She mulled it over, tapping the floor with her appropriated scimitar.

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” she said finally. “You might at least leave the room while I get dressed.”

“That would be gentlemanly of me, wouldn’t it?” he agreed. “May I have the sword back?”

“No.”

He made a beleaguered expression. “Very well. Perhaps you can leave it in here when you join me on the deck?”

Her knuckles worked at the sword hilt.

“We will not harm you,” he said. “You have my word as a fox.”

“What is that worth?”

“I entreat you to find out.”

Miss Hopps nodded. “All right. I will leave the sword.”

Satisfied, he stepped out of his quarters, closing the door softly behind him.

She eventually emerged, sans sword as agreed, and already wrapped in the bulky coat. It almost swallowed her up—a bit humiliating—but that was all right. It would do.

Captain Wilde was waiting by the helm, conferring with a creamy white vixen and a small but hard-faced fennec. He beamed as he caught sight of her.

“Ah! Our visiting midshipman,” he said.

“Hello, zajka,” said the vixen. She gestured to his blood-encrusted muzzle. “Did you do this to our captain?”

“She did indeed,” said Wilde. “But I overpowered her. Naturally.” He winked at Miss Hopps. She rolled her eyes. “In any case, I see no reason not to continue with the plan. We are nearly to Saint Jerome?

“Aye,” said the fennec in a shockingly deep and haggard voice. “Though it’s not too late to drop her back in the sea.”

“Noted,” Wilde said wryly. “But consider how cute she is, Finn. Nearly as cute as you.”

The fennec spit as the vixen laughed. These mammals—these pirates—were altogether too likable. Miss Hopps hugged the coat more tightly around herself, and wondered at the guilty feeling settling in her gut.

The morning wind was unpleasantly cold, but far preferable to the frigid waters of the night before. Captain Wilde had offered to personally row her to shore, to show there were no hard feelings, though they had in fact argued nearly the entire way.

“It’s still wrong,” she insisted.

“Who is most wronged?” he asked. “The companies we steal from, your navy, you are looting these lands. Half of my crew come from these islands. Their old ways of life are gone. The best they can do in your empire is clearcut and strip-mine their homes for a pittance. So Lionheart can add more gold toilets to his palace. And look at me—I could never be a reputable merchant. Because of this.” He pointed to his face, baring his fangs. “And so. We make do.”

“The empire is not perfect,” she admitted. “But it’s not as bad as you think. You could have…made it better. You would have made a great officer.”

“I am a great officer,” he smirked. “I am the Dread Fox, remember?”

“Ugh,” she said.

“I know. But theatrics are preferable to killing, are they not? Less messy. Fewer orphans.”

“What about the Jumbeaux?”

He winked. “We’re not good enough friends for that conversation yet, rabbit.”

“You could do something else. Besides the navy. Something noble,” she suggested.

Wilde shrugged. “Many foxes have tried. How many of them have you heard of?”

Miss Hopps could think of no answer. They were approaching the shore, and he tucked the oars up, letting them float the rest of the way into the shallows. She felt the boat scrape up against the coarse sand, and clutched her frock coat around herself as she climbed up to the edge. She looked down the beach, then back at the Dread Fox.

“What were you going to say?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Earlier, you started to say something,” she said. “When you thought I was about to kill you.”

“That?” He blinked. “I’m afraid you’ll find it rather mawkish, now.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“I was going to say that you are a remarkable bunny. And—my reputation aside—it would have been an honor to have been slain by you in particular.”

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose that’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s not,” he said. “I am not a kind mammal.”

Miss Hopps studied him, one last time.

"Once again,” she said softly. “You expect me to believe you?”

His expression flickered, and for a moment she thought could see a half-dozen different foxes occupying the same fraction of a second: swindler, mother’s boy, lothario, frightened child, shattered idealist…and yes, Dread Fox. But only for a second. His muzzle reconfigured itself into his usual smirk, and the mask returned.

“Well, this is it, rabbit. I suppose a kiss on the cheek is out of the question?”

She shook her head, climbing out into the shallows. “Not a chance, fox. Maybe when you abandon your life of piracy.”

His emerald eyes glittered, and he pushed off with the oars. “Never,” he said.

Impulsively, she blew him a kiss. He made as if to snap it up in his jaws, like a kit catching a snowflake. She laughed.

“Goodbye, you strange fox!”

“No!” he called back as he rowed out to see. “Until next time!”

She smiled, watching him go, and waited until he was but a speck on the water before she dared to loosen her coat and peer inside.

Finnick and Skaya were waiting for Nicholas as he reached the Skulk. The vixen reached down to clasp his paw and pull him up onto the deck as crewmammals secured the rowboat.

“You were way too soft with that bunny, Captain,” Finnick groused. “You two larking about in there or something?”

“She was cute,” said Skaya.

“No, no,” Nicholas said. “She’s…a real officer. She did her duty. She’s a good mammal.”

“See? ‘A good mammal’.” Finnick spat over the side. “Soft. You’ll have us bringing food to orphans next.”

The fennec ambled off, muttering assorted curses about bunnies. Skaya put a paw on Nicholas’s arm.

“I need to get back. I will see you tonight?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I may need to rest. Or think.”

“You need to forget about that rabbit,” she said. “I can help with that.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She grunted and shrugged. They broke apart, the vixen climbing back up toward the helm as Nicholas made his way aft alone. It had been unkind of him to to leave Skaya hanging, he thought. And he did need to forget about the rabbit. It was likely for the best he hadn’t bothered to get her name.

He opened the door to his quarters and slipped in noiselessly. The blanket she’d used lay on his desk, folded neatly into a square, with his scimitar laid on top at a jaunty angle. An oddly precise angle, he thought, as his eyes traced the blade toward the corner of the room.

His ear twitched. The cabinet. Surely—

The Dread Fox rushed forward, fumbling in his pocket for the key to the cabinet, but his other paw found the handle first and the door swung open freely. Every part of his body turned to ice.

“FINNICK!”

The Golden Jaguar was gone.

Chapter Text

“We’ve never put you two on a body. Wilde, you think you can handle it?”

“I’ve seen dead mammals before, if that’s what you’re asking, sir.”

“It isn’t, but it’ll have to do. Hopps?”

“I’ll do anything you need me to, sir.”

“Fine.” Bogo flipped the preliminary report shut and slid it across the table. “The caller and the victim are thylacines. Red list. I know you’ve probably never seen one before, Hopps, but try not to gawk. Wilde, no jokes.”

“Nick?”

“Yeah?” Nick flicked the left blinker as he rolled the cruiser through the light.

“Um, what’s a thylacine?”

“Tasmanian tiger. Stripey dog-looking guys. Very rare. I’ve only seen ‘em on TV, so don’t feel bad.”

“Oh. They’re not tigers?”

Nick laughed. “No. Marsupials.”

“So they’re just…called that?”

“Ever see a starfish? I don’t have a good answer for ya, Carrots.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

The fox reached over and squeezed her shoulder with his too-big paw, claws scratching against her kevlar. “Hang in there, sweetheart. We know what we have to do.”

It was bad.

The victim, Tasman Laney, was a seventeen-year-old male, bludgeoned with a fire iron that lay nearby. There was only a little blood, only a little disfigurement, but bad bruising. The boy was utterly still, wide brown eyes staring up at nothing.

“Easy, Hopps,” called Detective Oates from across the room. “Kugerov can handle the forensic stuff.”

Judy tore her eyes away, glancing up at the slender puma hovering behind her with a camera. “Sorry, Tracy.”

Nick emerged from the hallway, one paw on the bright yellow taser he’d been issued. Judy was carrying one too, doubled up with a dart gun. The suspect—a jackal, per the father's description—was still at large, so they were tooled up.

“Rest of the house looks clear,” he said.

“Did you check the closets? Under beds?” asked Oates.

“Yep,” said Nick, a little insubordinately. “Smashed window in the study. Glass all over the back patio. Not much else.”

The horse rumbled. “Maybe you two can go talk to Mr. Laney.”

The older thylacine—the single father—was sitting in the kitchen, looking hollowly at the table in front of him. He’d been the one to call it in, but he hadn’t had much to say to the responding officers.

“Hi, Mr. Laney,” said Judy softly, taking a seat across from him. Nick drew up beside her, but stayed standing. “I’m Officer Hopps, this is Officer Wilde. I’m so sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”

Laney grunted.

“I wanted to follow up on your earlier statement to Officer Wolfard, if I can,” she pressed gently. “You said it was a—some kind of canine mammal that broke in?”

“Yes,” he said. “Big jackal. Smashed window in my study. I try to stop him in the living room, he slash my face.” he gestured to five fresh claw marks that raked down across his snout. “My son try to stop him, and he…he take the iron from the hearth, and hit him. And keep hitting, until he is…not moving. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I’m so sorry,” said Judy. “Do you have any idea why he would have targeted you two? Did he take anything before he left?”

“We are some of the last of our kind,” Laney continued, sounding far away. “Tas—my son—was engaged to another thylacine. From Deerbrooke. It had took some doing, to arrange it. But he was…going to carry on the bloodline.”

“You were proud of him for that?” said Nick.

“Many thylacine do not,” said Laney. “It is hard for a young one to find a female. Many not appreciate marriage arrangements. They learn modern ways. Inter-species.”

His mouth worked its way through the final word with some sarcasm, and Judy felt a fox tail brush against her ankles. She wasn't sure if her partner was reassuring her, or himself.

“We had a question, if you don’t mind.” Nick spoke up, producing a small evidence bag containing a photo. It was Tas, the victim, and a female—some kind of deer or antelope species Judy didn't recognize. They were pressed close together, beaming, her hooves on his shoulders. “This was in your son’s wallet. Do you know who this girl is?”

Laney frowned at the photo, and his face seemed to darken for a moment.

“I do not know this deer.”

“You’re sure you’ve never seen her?” Judy asked.

“I do not know her,” Laney said gruffly.

Sarah Dammah was, in fact, not a deer. She was tall and slender, with massive spires for horns. She was also sweet, smart, awkward, and completely gutted.

“I’m a scimitar oryx,” she explained haltingly, coming down from a bout of tears. “We’re, um, red list. Near extinction, like the thylacines.”

“I’m sorry,” Judy said. “I didn’t mean to be—”

“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “Most mammals don’t know about species like us. That’s why Tas and I, um.” She choked on a sob.

“Take your time,” said Nick. There was something odd about him, Judy thought—his voice was even, not unkind, but with an edge to it. His ears lay a slightly lower angle than usual, and his tail lashed occasionally.

“We, um, we started a club,” Sarah continued eventually. “The Endangered Species Awareness Alliance. It was just us, for the whole two years, but we tabled, and people were interested. It was really important to us. To him.”

“What was?” Judy asked. “Endangered species?”

“Yeah,” the oryx answered. “I mean, most mammals don’t look twice at me, except other antelopes. But a thylacine like Tas—he told me he got stares every day. Mammals would want to know what he was. Make fun of him. It was always part of his life. But he was so good-natured about it. He just wanted to educate people. I know his dad taught him a lot about thylacine history. He even set him up with an, um, arranged marriage? To a thylacine girl. I don’t think he’d ever met her, though."

“So we heard,” Nick said. “How did you feel about that?”

Sarah set her jaw. “Bad,” she said, looking Nick straight in the eye. “Tas was my boyfriend.”

“For how long?” Judy asked. “Before the engagement?”

“Yes,” she said. “A few months after we started the club together, we just connected. He was so sweet and so smart, so passionate—um.” the tears were rolling again. Judy felt knives in her stomach. “We were already really serious when the whole engagement thing came up.”

“Did he tell his dad?” Judy asked. “About you?”

“No,” Sarah said, huge horns swaying dangerously as she shook her head. “I think…he was scared. The whole engagement thing kind of steamrolled him—”

“Scared of what?” Nick cut in.

“I—I don’t know,” Sarah floundered. “He never told me anything specific.”

The fox's eyes narrowed. “There's something you're not telling us.”

Sarah's throat muscles worked nervously. “I just feel like Tas was scared of his dad.”

Judy looked at the fox. His eyes were as hard as she’d ever seen them. He looked like a different mammal. Memories came back to her, of tearful confessions, broken crockery. Of course he did.

Sarah seemed to wince, misreading his expression. “I know predator-prey relationships are weird. But we didn’t mean any harm. It just sort of happened.”

“Not that weird,” Judy smiled gently, reaching out to squeeze Nick’s paw. He tensed in her grip, but that was okay. Sarah looked surprised, then relieved.

“Oh, um. Wow. Well, the whole no kids thing, you know? It’s worse when there’s almost none of you left. But we…would have figured something out. I’m sure. Neither of us wanted to be the last one of our species.”

“Of course,” agreed Judy. “Sarah, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But did you…talk to Tas about the engagement arrangement? About what he was going to do?”

Sarah looked at Judy, breathing unsteadily. Her mouth moved silently.

“Sarah?”

The oryx burst into tears. Judy flinched, looking back at Nick.

Whoops, he mouthed.

“Laney did it,” Nick said, apropos of nothing.

It was Judy's turn driving the cruiser, so she nodded without looking over.

“That does seem possible,” she agreed.

“Not possible,” the fox insisted, agitated. “He killed his damn kid.”

“Nick—”

“He found out about his damn prey girlfriend and killed his damn kid. You didn’t see the broken window. It was smashed from inside the room. And he had cuts on his knuckles.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Nick—”

“He said, what, a dingo killed the kid?”

“Not funny. And it was a jackal.”

“I'm not being funny, Carrots. Five claw marks on his face.” He waggled his paw at her. “Canines have four. You know what has five?”

“Thylacines?”

“Right. Kid clawed him in self-defense. You heard the girlfriend. He was scared of his dad.”

“Okay.”

“I’m right, Judy. We get anything back from forensics and we’re nailing this scatpile to the wall.”

They came to a red. Judy stopped the car gently, and gave him a look.

“What? Oh.” Nick frowned. “You think I’m jumping to conclusions. Because I’m biased.”

“Nick, I think…you’re probably right. But I also think you’re hurting a lot right now.”

“I’m not ‘hurting,’ I’m pissed. I’m surprised you’re not. Didn't expect you to be the unsentimental one on this.”

That stung. Judy forced down the retort. He was such an ass sometimes.

“Look, Nick, I know how you feel. But we have to do this right. It’s not our job to punish anybody.”

He leaned back in his seat, hissing through his teeth.

“I know, Carrots.”

“If you are right, are you gonna be okay for this collar?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure, Nick?”

“I’ll have to be.”

The handcuffs clicked into place. Judy watched Nick as he helped Tobias Laney to his feet. Gentle and professional, but his eyes oozed contempt.

“Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

“False accusations,” muttered Laney.

“I don't think you understand, sir. You have thylacine claw marks on your face, thylacine prints on the fire iron, your son’s blood on your clothes, glass cuts on your knuckles. Your dingo story is wet tissue paper. You’re done.”

“You don’t understand,” spat Laney. “Our species faces unimaginable hardship. You could never understand.”

“Try me,” invited Nick flatly, stepping around in front of him.

“My son was the future.” The thylacine was baring his teeth, clenching and unclenching his claws in the cuffs.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have beaten him to death, sir.”

“Wilde,” warned Oates.

“It was not his choice to make,” hissed Laney. “Because of some prey whore, he would doom us. If he does not sire a son, we die. Our species dies. Our ways are dead.”

“Then maybe they should be,” the fox said softly.

Laney roared and lunged, snapping with huge jaws at Nick’s face. Judy yelped and scrambled for her taser, but Oates was faster, crossing the room in two strides and kicking their prisoner down hard.

“Enough, Wilde,” barked the detective. “This isn’t helping us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You would sentence us to death,” yelled the thylacine into the carpet, Oates's hoof on his back. “For what? Love?”

Nick watched him impassively. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, or even flinched in the face of the attack, and now he deliberately turned away to join Judy as Oates yanked Laney back to his feet.

Reholstering her taser, Judy snuck a glance at her partner. He didn’t look back.

“Finally,” Judy breathed, collapsing against her apartment door. “We did it.”

Nick’s silhouette loomed ahead of her in the darkness.

“Open and shut,” he muttered, checking his phone.

Judy padded over to the fox, pushing his phone down and catching his eye.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“I’m gonna take all my clothes off.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want, uh—”

“No! I just…all my clothes remind me of work right now. Even my pajama shirt’s from the academy. I don't wanna be a cop right now.”

The fox nodded vaguely.

Judy walked over to the dresser. She undid her greaves and bracers first, setting them aside before unclasping her vest and belt. The evening air of the apartment nipped at her back as she peeled off the neoprene suit. She shed her underwear too for good measure, tossing them in the laundry hamper with the suit. Shaking herself out, she wheeled around and returned to her fox.

“Hi, Carrots.”

“Hi.” She pressed up against him. “Don’t you want to get out of uniform?”

“In a bit.”

He was still fidgeting with his phone, so she took it gently from his paw and set it on the table. He looked at her, for the first time since they'd gotten home. Maybe all day.

“I’m worried about you, Nick. You’re acting weird.”

He shrugged. “I’m mad, Carrots.”

“I know you are. But I—” she heard her voice start to shake. “I need my partner back. I need my boyfriend back.”

She hugged him around the middle.

“Please, Nick. This isn’t you.”

“It is me.”

“It’s not. You’re hurting. You need to let yourself hurt.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he bit out. “You’re the super cop. You did everything perfectly. Oates is gonna write you a glowing recommendation. Because you were fine. Because you had two nice parents.”

“Nick!” She backed away from him. Suddenly, Judy was feeling very small.

“Sorry,” he said, waving a paw. “You know what I mean.”

“I heard you.”

“All right, then.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “You should…think about what you just said to me.”

“Okay,” said Nick. “I’m gonna pee.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and Judy went to their bed. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she tried to ignore the rising wave of despair inside of her. It was no use. She’d been utterly unprepared for the horrors of the last few days, and Nick's emotional shutdown left her completely alone. She felt choking sobs start to make their way out of her throat, and bit down on the pillow to try to muffle them.

The bathroom door opened, and she felt Nick’s presence behind her. She tried to stop herself crying, not in the mood for his insincere comforts. But her body wasn’t listening.

Her ears caught a sharp intake of air from him as he heard her.

“Carrots.” A paw alighted on her shoulder.

“Nick, don’t. Just…leave me alone, please.”

He didn’t. The fox climbed into bed behind her, still in full uniform, utility belt clattering around as he knelt to nose at her cheek.

“Judy, I’m sorry.”

“You jerk,” she growled through sobs. “I was there too. You think my heart isn’t broken? After seeing that kid? I’m not okay, Nick, I needed help. I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was awful to you. I was…scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of what would happen when I stopped being angry. Of how it would feel.”

She rolled over to face him, tears still streaming.

“It'll feel terrible, Nick.”

His eyes were wet. “What do I do?”

“Get your uniform off and come lay here with me. I'll hold you as close as I can.”

He nodded hollowly, pulling back out of her sight. She heard his uniform sloughing and clunking to the floor. A moment later, a wet fox nose poked up against the base of her ear. She sighed and turned toward him, pulling herself into the ruff of his chest fur.

“I’m sorry, Judy.”

“I’m not mad at you. Just…let me in next time. This is what I’m here for.”

“The kid wanted to live, Carrots. He wanted to live so bad.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have said that to Laney, about them going extinct.”

“No.”

“I think you saw me at my worst today, Carrots.”

“I know. I still love you.”

“You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I like stolen property cases, Carrots. When we find the stuff that’s missing and we bring it back. Make somebody’s life better.”

“Yeah.”

“This time…we didn't make anything better. Best we could do was make Laney's life worse. You know what I’m saying?”

She nodded into his chest. He held her closer, burying his nose into the top of her head fur.

The two small mammals lay there for what seemed like hours, weeping softly. Eventually, still clutching one another, they fell asleep.

“I have Oates’s report,” Bogo was saying, Judy and Nick sitting together on the chair in front of him. “It’s quite complimentary.”

“Yes sir,” said Judy.

“About both of you. Says here the suspect baited you during the arrest, Wilde. That you didn’t lose your cool.”

“That’s, uh, kind of him, sir. I said some provocative things.”

Bogo snorted.

“When do you not?  Give yourself more credit, fox. Your first murder? Involving a minor? Not all my officers show so much restraint on a good day.”

Nick nodded, uncharacteristically quiet.

“We need counseling, sir,” Judy said suddenly. Bogo looked at her.

“Oh? Is that right, Wilde?”

The fox stared at his feet.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Judy. “We’re…not okay.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bogo rumbled. The two officers looked at him in surprise. “I’m impressed, frankly. Didn’t think an overachiever like you would admit that up front. Or a reprobate like Wilde, for that matter.”

They didn’t laugh. The chief softened.

“You two have big hearts,” he said, as gently as Judy had ever heard him. “You’re never going to be on SWAT detail. That’s fine. I need you where you are. You know how to talk to mammals. You can make them think you care, because you do care. That’s invaluable. This city needs you, as you are.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Judy.

“I assigned you to this case because it needed a sensitive touch. It may still, when the press gets wind of it. But you two have done enough. We’ll keep you away from the ugly stuff for a while. Go get better.”

Judy didn’t trust herself to speak without crying, so she nodded, clutching at Nick’s paw on the chair beside her.

“Dismissed.”

They clambered off the chair and out of the chief's office. They would be okay. They had to.

In the meantime, though, it would be okay not to be.

Chapter Text

Judy couldn’t see.

The streetlights were out, red and blue beams from the cruisers providing the only illumination as they glided across the asphalt, broken glass, and accreted mammalia.

She really couldn’t see.

There was something wet in her eyes, sweat, or blood maybe. She wiped at it with the back of a paw, enough to discern the vague shapes of nearby mammals.

One shape was long and narrow, with an arrangement of triangles at the top. A familiar, friendly shape. She moved toward it, and it reached out a claw to rest on her shoulder. Good.

A larger shape loomed above them.

“You two are relieved. You don’t have to stick around. Go get that ear looked at, Wilde.”

“It’s fine. Tiny cut.”

Judy looked at her partner’s ear. It was nicked just enough to be permanent, bleeding profusely. The fox was making no effort to staunch it, and shimmering stain told her it had already soaked the left side of his neck and collar.

She took his paw.

“Nick, let’s get out of their way.”

He moved toward her, faster than she’d expected, putting a paw on her back and guiding her away, under the police tape. They set off down the sidewalk, out from the darkness and back toward the light-soaked phantasmagoria of the main strip.

“You were reckless back there, Nick.”

“Sorry. It’s late.”

They walked for a while. She was vaguely aware of cars passing, a train thundering across a trestle overhead, of her partner beside her. Everything was swimming slightly.

“You good, Hopps?”

“It’s late,” she said.

The light began to fill their world as they made their way down the strip. Sodium street lamps and flashing cold cathode signage splashed their fur and uniforms with color. Searing white fluorescence from a passing pawnshop drew her attention back to his bleeding ear.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. I just need to eat. Want to get dinner?”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Breakfast?”

She looked at him. They’d rarely been out this late, and there was an odd energy to him. He was calm, but unsmiling, his eyes glowing faintly when they fell into shadow. Traces of his ancestral nocturnal hunters, perhaps.

No, that was her ignorance. Having one’s ear nearly torn off would put most mammals in a mood.

“Here?” She waved to a neon-drenched diner they’d made their way up on. The signage burned her eyes, but it looked warm and open.

He raised his eyebrows and followed her in.

Inside was much darker than she’d expected, and she almost had to put her paws out in front of her to avoid running into furniture. Nick’s glowing pupils were dilated wide, though, and he put his claws on her shoulders to guide her from behind.

A slender gray fox, ears bedecked in piercings, coalesced out of the darkness.

“You in the right place, sweeth—oh, officer?”

“We’re fine,” Judy said. “We just want some food. And, um, some napkins for his ear?”

The gray’s eyes flicked to Nick’s injury, and they flashed a needle-toothed grin.

“Uh-oh. I’ll get some napkins. Take any table.”

It grew darker still as they ventured inside, and some deeper instinct began to stir as they passed the cloudy shapes of apex predators in every full booth. Dozens of glowing eyes peered at the tiny rabbit and the shredded fox shepherding her between the tables.

“Here,” he murmured, tapping a claw against a booth table with a view of the street. The signage on the outside of the building bled through the window, intermedially coloring the seats and the table as it flashed and reconfigured itself.

Judy pushed herself up onto the high bench, and Nick slid into the booth across from her. He gazed at her, red light pulsing across his red fur, stained with darker red blood.

“Are you hurt, Judy?”

“No,” she said, running her paws across the sticky table. “She didn’t give us menus.”

“We’ve got veggie steak and egg hash,” said the gray fox, suddenly beside her, pushing a big stack of paper napkins toward Nick.

“We’ll take two,” he said, snagging a pawful of napkins and crumpling them around his ear. Then, to Judy, “Want me to eat your eggs?”

“I can eat eggs,” she said. “I won’t die.”

Nick nodded approvingly. The waitress—Ash, was the nametag—nodded and melted back into the gloomy depths of the diner. Judy felt fox claws kicking against her footpaws under the table, and glanced up at Nick, expecting an impish smirk. Or embarrassment.

Neither. He was simply watching her.

“You’re being weird, Nick.”

“It’s late.”

“Is that why you’re not smiling?”

“Just focused, Hopps.”

“On what?”

“Everything that’s not me.”

“Me?”

“Among other things.”

The steaks clattered to the table in front of them, and Nick dug in voraciously, pulling his apart with his claws rather than opting for the knife. Judy followed his lead.

“Nick, pass me a napkin?”

“Yeah.”

“This one has blood on it.”

“Sorry.”

She lost herself for a minute, staring at the white paper as it cycled through a dozen gradations of color in the shifting lights.

“This feels…strange,” she said finally. “Like we’re outside of time. None of this is really happening.”

“Welcome to nocturnalism.” He was definitely trying to play footsie with her now. “I used to be out this time every night. Did crazy stuff. Never got hurt, though.”

She kicked back. “What kind of crazy stuff?”

“Hm. Don’t really remember.” He shook his head. “You leave it there. Gone with the dawn.”

“Oh,” she said.

He eyed her. “Judy…”

“So say I’m out,” she said. “Eating…night breakfast with my best friend.”

“Right.”

“And I keep having this intrusive thought, that I want to kiss him.”

A beat.

The light dipped to black, and the glow of his eyes flashed across the booth at her.

“So…” she said, loopy. “You think I should do it?”

“I don’t tell girls who they should kiss,” he said. “But you’re sitting on the wrong side of the table.”

Abruptly, he leaned forward in his seat, reaching across the table to hook her vest with a claw and lift her bodily across the table toward him. She watched with detached interest as the plates and cups passed beneath her like circle-irrigated fields.

Rather than set her down beside him, he dropped her in his lap, letting her scramble to find her balance.

Judy gazed up, at the panting teeth, the two points of iridescent green light, the blood dripping from his fresh injury, looking like glittering black oil as the light shifted, again, into the blue register.

She arched up and kissed him.

Across her entire body, she could feel her skin buzzing. His snout was cold and slimy, his breath tasted of seitan and adrenaline.

Nick seized her, and she could feel his claws digging sharply into the small of her back. He kissed her back, hard, and their teeth banged together before they sorted themselves out. She put her paws on his cheeks, feeling the blood stream over her fingers.

She pulled back, wiping some blood on the tip of his nose. His eyes fluttered.

“I thought you’d be more surprised,” she said.

“Things happen,” he said. “This time of night.”

“Is that it? Just the night making me crazy?”

“Night doesn’t make you crazy,” he said. “Just less complicated.”

She blinked. “What if I don’t want this to be gone in the morning?”

“You got the guts to do this again in daylight?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t before.”

“Hmm.” He cupped her thoat, running a dewclaw down her sternomastoid. “You could take me home with you.”

Her breath hitched. “Nick.”

“I’d be there in the morning.”

“It’s late,” she protested.

“I’m not tired.”

“My bed is small.”

“Don’t, then,” he said. “Up to you.”

“This isn’t…romantic in the way I’d imagined,” she said slowly.

The fox gave her throat a gentle squeeze, and favored her with a lidded smile—his first of the night.

“Isn’t it?” he asked.

Judy squinted at the desk calendar across the room. No work today. Thank god.

Satisfied, she lowered herself back down to the pillow. To the unconscious fox sprawled across her blanket, dressed in the early morning sunlight—and a bandage on his ear, which she’d insisted he let her take care of before they went any further.

The rabbit had fared little better, herself. Dressed similarly, sans the bandage, and her fur was a nightmare. Attempts at moving her body were met with various caudal agonies.

Reaching out, she pushed on Nick.

“Fox.”

“Mmgh.” He groaned, unmoving. “Carrot.”

“Everything hurts.”

“Hmf.”

“You did this to me.”

His crusty eyes split open slightly to peer at her.

“You want an apology?”

“No,” she said, swiping at his nose. “I need to know something.”

“Huh. What.”

“Are you…really staying? Or was that just Night Nick? Are we back to just partners?”

“Ugh.” He yawned and closed his eyes again, burrowing his face into her blanket. “No, I’m…hopelessly in love with you. I’ll go if you want me to, though.”

She blushed hotly. Stupid fox. He couldn’t just—

“I don’t—I don’t want you to go,” she squeaked.

“Good,” he murmured. “I’m going back to sleep.” Eyes still shut, he snuffled around the sheets until he found her paw, taking her wrist gently in his jaws and tugging her toward him. She exhaled a long breath she’d been holding, and wrapped herself around him, burying her face in the ruff of his chest.

That would do.