Chapter Text
On Monday morning Lisa climbed down out of her pickup truck and nodded to Nick, as usual. Then, unusually, her mouth ticked up at the edges in some sort of grimace--no, wait, she was smiling at him.
He blanched. Then he pasted on a smile-grimace of his own.
"Morning," Lisa said.
Nick blinked at her stupidly. "Uh. Morning."
Lisa typically didn't speak to him much first thing in the morning, working her way through a cigarette while Nick waited for her to unlock the warehouse door. But now she flicked two smokes out of a pack in her jacket. "You want one?"
"No thanks," Nick said faintly.
"Suit yourself."
He didn't answer, and the snick of the lighter and Lisa's first deep inhale filled the silence. She blew it out slowly, the smoke combining with the steam from her breath to momentarily blur the space between them.
"Glad you could stay late on Friday," Lisa said. "Thanks for that."
Nick must have stepped sideways into a different dimension somehow. Lisa didn't smile at him in the real world, and she definitely didn't thank him. This was some bizarro world shit.
"Don't mention it," he said. "Anytime."
Lisa nodded. She took another drag from the smoke. "About that," she said. "You wanna do it again?"
Was she asking...? "I--maybe?" Nick said. "You mean, do I want to stay late, or--"
"Do you want to deal with Finnick?" Lisa clarified. Unlike other questions she'd asked Nick in the past, it actually seemed like he was being given a genuine choice. "I need someone to handle him when he's gonna show up after hours. Won't be that much. Once a week, maybe every other week--"
"Yeah," Nick said.
"--you won't get much warning for when he needs you. You'll get paid, but--"
"Yeah," Nick told her. "Yes. Sure. I'll do it."
A real smile crept across Lisa's muzzle now. Nick found it even more unsettling than the fake one she'd given him, but he didn't care about that anymore. Who gave a shit if this was some bizarro world dimension where Lisa smiled at him and offered him cigarettes and thanked him for his work? In this dimension he was going to get to see Finnick again--see him regularly. Bizarro world was a great place to be.
"Good," Lisa said. "He'll be here tomorrow. Cancel your plans."
"Will do," Nick said. He didn't have any plans, but she didn't need to know that.
Lisa took a couple more pulls from her cigarette. She seemed to be done talking now that he'd agreed--now that she'd gotten what she'd been angling for, Nick realized.
But he needed something from her. "Oh," he said, as if he had just thought of it now. "By the way. On Friday, I clocked out before you offered me the extra hours."
"Is that right," Lisa said.
Nick shrugged. "Sorry. Do I have to add that to a timesheet, or...?"
Lisa rolled her eyes and reached into an internal pocket of her coat. She pulled out a few bills and passed them to him.
"Don't worry about the paperwork," she said. "This is a different gig. Finnick's work gets paid out from another account."
The money in Nick's paw was crisp, like it was newly minted. Nick did some quick and dirty math. It was more than he should have made, based on his usual hourly rate.
"This is..." he started. He wasn't sure why he was protesting. Maybe because he didn't trust Lisa not to hold it against him later, if it turned out she'd made a mistake. "It's too much. I only stayed a couple of hours."
"This job pays better," Lisa said. "And it's a flat rate, same amount every time no matter what. Gonna have to pay you in cash for a while. Trying to pay one mammal for two jobs at different rates? Paperwork's gonna be a bastard."
She was probably right. Paperwork was always a bastard.
And Lisa was the type of bastard who'd keep Nick off the books so she could dodge the tax collectors.
Nick pocketed the cash. He was that type of bastard, too.
"Alright," he said. "I'm in."
"Good," Lisa said, and then she didn't speak to Nick again until she'd finished her cigarette.
Nick spent the next two workdays in a haze of anticipation. When the end of day bell sounded throughout the warehouse on Wednesday, he couldn't hold back the broad smile that spread across his face.
In the paw-washing lineup, his co-worker Zala chuckled softly. "You look happy," she told him.
He shrugged. "I'm always happy."
She cocked her head at him. "Okay," she said quietly.
That was practically sarcasm, coming from Zala.
"I am," Nick insisted.
Zala shrugged. "Then maybe you're happier than usual. Do you have a date?"
"No," Nick said. He wished. "I'm just...happy to be going home."
Zala looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Aren't we all."
Once they were through the lineup, she said, "Have a good night, Nick. I hope it keeps making you happy."
"Thank you," Nick said, embarrassed but touched. "You too. Uh--I mean--"
Zala laughed. "See you tomorrow."
Nick fiddled with his coat and backpack until everyone else left, and then he went outside to wait for Finnick.
This time, Finnick didn't look surprised to see him. He was already smiling when he hopped out of the van.
"Hey," Nick said. He was aiming for casual, but he was probably grinning too broadly to make it work.
It was okay though, because Finnick was grinning too. "Hey yourself," he said. "I thought I might see you here today."
"Oh yeah?" Nick said. Gods, Finnick's eyes were gorgeous.
"Yeah," said Finnick. "I heard it was a possibility."
"You heard it, huh."
"Through the grapevine."
"Through the grapevine, huh," Nick said, like an idiot. He sounded like a pre-teen with his first crush. Get it together, Nick.
"Yeah, a chain-smoking grapevine with an ugly mug and a bad attitude," Finnick said.
Nick chuckled. "I know you mean Lisa, but you just described half the mammals I've ever worked with."
Finnick laughed, and Nick's breath caught.
Get it together, Nick. Be a professional.
"I think that describes every mammal I've ever worked with," Finnick said. "Except for you."
Nick said, "Oh," and hoped to hell that he didn't sound nearly as breathless as he felt.
Finnick gave him a devastatingly fond look, and started toward the warehouse. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get to work. I owe you a story, remember? About the freezer. The sooner we get the stuff in my van, the sooner I can tell you about the smugglers."
Nick's heart was beating way too fast. He wasn't any kind of professional. Or maybe he was just a professional idiot.
Wait a second--
"Hold on. Smugglers?!"
Finnick refused to tell him anything about the smugglers until they'd finished the job.
"It'll be better if you hear it all at once," he said. "No breaks in the story because we have to unlock a door or load the van. I'll tell you about it on the drive back."
Nick couldn't argue with that, especially because Finnick had just assumed he'd be taking him to the station when they were done.
"How's your week going?" Finnick asked him instead, as they walked through the stacks. He shot Nick a look. "That isn't one of my questions."
"If it's not a question, then what--" Nick cut himself off. "Oh, it's not one of the big ones."
"Yeah, I still have five questions. This one doesn't count. So, your week. How goes?"
"It's been pretty great so far. My boss offered me more work." Nick smiled at Finnick. "You may have heard about that. You know, through the grapevine."
Casual conversation carried them through most of their tasks. They'd skipped over some of the getting-to-know-you parts of non-work friendships, and the parts they hadn't skipped had been made weird by Nick's general... Nick-ness. He still wanted to know everything about Finnick, but it was simpler to talk about work.
But that didn't mean he didn't learn anything new. Nick had been right: Finnick's boxes were full of food.
"Yeah, I usually head downtown after these pickups, drop the product in the big walk-in freezer at La Grenouille. It's the easiest of our three locations to get into during the dinner rush," Finnick said. He pointed at two boxes that were taller than he was, even accounting for his ears. "Can you get one of these? I can't carry the other one, but I'll start pushing it."
"Sure."
Finnick's voice followed Nick down the frozen corridor as he half-carried, half-dragged the box toward the freezer door. "I used to do our product runs during the day, before service started--fuck, why is this thing so fucking heavy--and do individual drops at each restaurant. But I kept having to put out fires during the daytime--not literally, I don't work in kitchens anymore. On the operations side of things the fires are just, y'know, metaphorical."
Nick had dropped his box at the door, and he came back to give Finnick a helping paw.
"Thank you, holy fuck," Finnick said, and they push-dragged the heavy box down the corridor together. "So yeah. We're always a week ahead on stocking anyway, so it works better to do the bigger stock runs in the evening. Once the kitchens are already rolling."
"Huh," Nick said, his warm breath puffing out in a little cloud in front of him. He didn't understand most of that. There was a lot to unpack there.
Finnick stretched his arms and shoulders once they'd finagled the box into place. "Why the hell do they pack these boxes so godsdamn full. I keep telling my boss to change suppliers. He's a fucking antelope, though, so he doesn't get it."
Nick said, "I didn't even know the company owned restaurants."
Finnick looked surprised, then nodded. "Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn't have to know. All you need to know who pays your bills."
"'General Storage Solutions Services & Holdings (Zootopia) Incorporated'," Nick said, reciting the official company name that appeared on his paystubs and on the faded, snow-covered sign outside the warehouse.
Finnick chuckled. "Yeah, that's the one. Well, that company doesn't own the restaurants directly. It owns a smaller company that controls a management group that owns the restaurants. Technically, I'm on the payroll of the management group. That isn't important, until my boss decides it is."
"That's... complicated."
Finnick shrugged. "That's business."
"Huh," Nick said. "So... when does your boss decide it's important?"
"Huh?"
"You said it's not important who's paying you, until your boss decides it is?"
"Oh, yeah. It doesn't happen that often, but sometimes he pulls me out of projects. He's a good guy to me, but I get the feeling he likes to swing his dick around, you know?" Finnick shrugged. "That's management for you."
"But aren't you... also management?"
Finnick cocked his head. "Lisa didn't tell you shit, did she."
"Does she ever?" Nick asked. He regretted it immediately--even if he knew Finnick wasn't a big Lisa fan either, it still wasn't a great look to rag on your boss to your... co-worker? Employer's client? Subcontractor? Gods forbid, other boss?
He didn't need to worry, though. Finnick just sighed. "I need to stop being so shocked when Lisa acts like Lisa."
Nick laughed, surprised.
Finnick grinned at him. Then his smile faded.
"Did she pay you for last time?" he asked. "I mean, I guess you haven't seen your paycheque yet, but--"
"We talked about it," Nick said. "She says she's paying me."
"Okay," Finnick said. "Good. But check your paystub anyway, alright? And let me know if she's shorting you."
Nick felt guilty. He remembered how pissed off Finnick had been when Lisa'd paid him in cash on his first day. He didn't want to admit he'd taken cash for his work last time--and that he'd likely be taking cash for today too.
"Yeah, I will," he said. "Thanks."
"No problem," Finnick said. He smiled at Nick. "I'm just looking out for you."
"Thanks," Nick said again, awkwardly. "Uh, do we need any more boxes?"
"Nope. Right, yeah, let's get the fuck out of this frozen hellscape."
"Do you mean the freezer, or Tundratown?"
"Can I only pick one?"
After Finnick climbed down off Nick's shoulders--the freezer locked up behind them--he looked around at the mess of boxes scattered around them. "Fuck," he said. "I forgot about the dolly."
"Me too," Nick said. "I should've grabbed one before we got started."
Finnick sighed. "That's not on you, it's on me. I've only been making these trips out here for, what, almost a year? You'd think I would have my shit together by now."
"You used to have Lisa to run a forklift, though," Nick said, ignoring that interesting nugget of information about Finnick's work history. "Now you just have a dolly, and me. No wonder you're off your game."
Finnick looked him in the eye. "It's worth it," he said evenly. "You, in return for a forklift? That's a good trade." Then he looked away. "C'mon. Let's take a walk."
It was a long way from the freezer to the dock. Nick had paced the length of the warehouse hundreds of times by now, but it was a lot more pleasant to do so in Finnick's company.
"I thought about bringing a stepladder, too," Finnick said. He was clearly still frustrated with himself. "I thought, wouldn't it be nice if I could open the stupid freezer without clambering all over Nick's back? Bet he'd appreciate that."
He shook his head in disgust. "And then I forgot it in the back of the Grenouille."
"I don't mind," Nick said, even though he should have minded. He felt guilty that he didn't. He shouldn't let himself feel a thrill when Finnick touched him in any way, especially for such purely professional reasons.
"You're too forgiving," Finnick told him. "If we keep doing it like this, eventually I'm gonna kick you in the back of the neck or something."
Nick shrugged. "I can handle it."
"You shouldn't have to."
Finnick, Nick thought, had a lot of opinions about what Nick shouldn't have to endure. No one else in Nick's life did, including Nick himself. It warmed him in a way his heavy coat never could.
"There's always next time," Nick said. "For the ladder, I mean. Uh--when is the next time, anyway? Lisa said--she was pretty vague. She was, you know. Being Lisa."
Finnick snorted. "I bet she was. Uh, I restock about once a week. I might skip a week here or there if sales are slow, or if my boss pulls me into something else. Or if Lisa can't be here."
"So, it's not a regular thing. Not scheduled, I mean," Nick said. "Lisa told me I wouldn't be getting a ton of advance notice for our, our..."
"Our after-hours adventures," Finnick suggested, grinning slyly.
Nick had been trying to come up with something other than late-night rendezvous. "That works."
"Lisa's being Lisa again," Finnick said. "I work around her schedule, for the most part. So, she's really the one calling the shots."
He sighed. "I'll talk to her. If she doesn't need to be here while we work, there's no reason we can't make this easier for us." He glanced at Nick. "You wanna pick a day of the week and stick to it?"
"Yeah, that would be great."
"Mondays?"
"Sure."
"I might have to change it up sometimes, though, if my boss decides I'm needed somewhere else. I'll try to keep it consistent, but--" Finnick huffed. "You know how it goes. I'll get Lisa to tell you when that's going to happen."
"Or," Nick said. "I mean. I have a phone."
"Do you," Finnick said. He glanced at Nick again, looking up through his eyelashes. "A landline?"
"A cell."
The edge of Finnick's mouth quirked up. "You could give me your number, then. For work."
Nick looked away, trying and failing to keep his own smile in check. "For work," he agreed.
Finnick patted his pockets. "Shit, I think I left my phone in the van."
"I've got mine," Nick said. "You could give me your number?"
He rustled in his coat for his own phone. It was about five years old now, and unlike the newer models that slid open to reveal a tiny keyboard, it only had a number pad. It had been a good phone when he'd bought it brand new, back in 2002. He'd just left his mother's house, but he hadn't yet realized how much one big purchase could cost you when you had to pay for your own rent and groceries every month.
But the phone worked, and it'd kept working. And it had been worth it in the end. More and more mammals his age had cell phones these days, though the older crowd was still catching up. The last time Nick had had a landline was when he was still living with his mother. She probably had that landline still, but he didn't know for sure. He didn't have any reason to call her anymore.
Finnick did give him his number, and then said, "Finnick Fierce."
"What?"
"That's my full name. For the contact info." He shrugged. "Though, technically it isn't Finnick. It's Florian."
"Florian," Nick said, his voice dripping with disbelief.
"Only to my mother. If you put 'Florian' in your phone I'll end you."
"How'd you pick up the name 'Finnick'?"
Finnick shot him a resigned look. "You went to school with other species of mammals, right? If you're 'Florian the fennec fox', eventually it becomes 'Florian the fennec', then 'Finnick'."
He paused. "They might have called me 'Flinnick' there for a while in grade six."
Nick laughed, and Finnick sighed.
"Yeah, yeah," Finnick said. "If you repeat that to anyone..."
"You'll end me," Nick said, still chuckling. "Got it."
"Good, cause it's 'Finnick' as far as the rest of the world is concerned. But--" Finnick smiled at him. "It's just Finn. To my friends."
Nick was sure he was grinning dopily at his phone as he painstakingly tapped out F-I-N-N using its tiny number pad. Three-three-three. Four-four-four. Six-Six. Pause. Six-six.
Entering the rest of Finnick's name would have to wait. They'd reached the dock.
The dolly rolled smoothly, as did the easy conversation between them. Nick had questions, still, but he always did when it came to Finnick--to Finn. When it came to Finn. But there was a certain charm to just shooting the shit with him.
"Look, obviously Muzzle/Off is the greatest action movie ever made."
"What the--what are you even saying, Nick." Finn looked appalled. "That is such birdshit. That flick is a disgrace to action movies from beginning to end. The premise is stupid, the acting is overwrought, the plot makes no godsdamned sense--"
"The acting is amazing," Nick argued. This was the most fun he'd had in weeks. "It's theatrical, all right? It's totally right for what the movie is trying to do. The plot isn't supposed to make sense, that's not the point, if you're focusing on the plot details you're missing the bigger picture. It's all about the themes. The whole thing is a meditation on the nature of good and evil--"
"For fuck's sake--"
"No, really! It's like--what makes the good guys different from the bad guys? If you go beyond the surface, if you get below everything that's only skin deep--if you literally exchange their muzzles--what separates the criminal from the cop? Muzzle/Off is a perfect film."
Finn groaned loudly and scrubbed his paws over his face in disbelief. For a guy who didn't respect the genius of the larger-than-life acting in Muzzle/Off, he sure was putting on a dramatic performance.
"'Muzzle/Off is a perfect film,' he says," Finn muttered, his own muzzle still covered by his paws. He glared at Nick through his fingers. "Yeah, Nick, it's a perfectly terrible film. I can't believe you. How can such a smart guy have such bad taste?"
"Oh yeah, well, what's your favourite then? If you're such a, a connoisseur of the genre."
"Speed."
The resulting argument, and the next two it spawned, carried them through loading Finnick's van. Eventually, Nick had to stop his impassioned defense of the Herdy Boys detective series to roll down the dock door.
"One, Nancy Shrew could run circles around the Herdy Boys, and she'd look good while doing it," Finn said. "Two, let's get the fuck out of here."
Outside, it was snowing again. Nick brushed a layer of snow off the van's door before he opened it, in the futile hope that some of it wouldn't end up on his seat.
"Why does it always fucking snow when I come out here," Finn grumbled, turning the heat to low while the engine warmed up. The air hissing out of the vents was still frigid.
"Well," Nick said. "It is--"
"Tundratown," Finn sighed.
"Almost winter," Nick said, amused. "Did you forget about the seasons?"
Finn huffed, his breath a little cloud in front of him. "Maybe I did."
It was easy enough to forget that the seasons of the natural world existed, living in a city as climate-controlled as Zootopia.
"Sahara Square, right?" Nick asked. He realized that sounded like a non sequitur. "I mean. Mammals're more likely to ignore the seasons if they grew up in one of the districts that doesn't have them. And you said you had family in the old neighbourhood. Back when we first met."
Finn looked at him, his eyes very dark in the dimly lit van. "You remember that, huh?" He looked down. "Yeah, I do. My mother grew up there, has lived there her whole life. I grew up there too, but..."
He trailed off, waving a paw. "You know how it is. I didn't want to be my parents' kid my whole life. Had to try something new."
Nick knew a little something about that himself.
"I grew up in the Meadowlands," he said abruptly. "My... my mother is still there." Probably, he thought.
It didn't get much easier over time, volunteering information about his past, but Finnick deserved this. He shouldn't have to use any of his five remaining questions on something that should be so simple.
"So you're from the old neighbourhood too," Finn said. "The old red fox neighbourhood, that is."
"There are other foxes there, it's not just us."
"The old neighbourhood for non-desert, non-arctic foxes."
"Yeah," Nick said. "And we had seasons there. So I'm not as shocked as you are, that winter happens to have a little more snow."
Finn threw back his head and laughed, a deep, resonant sound that made Nick's breath catch in his throat.
Hot air was finally spilling out of the vents as Finnick guided the van out of the lot.
"So," Finn said. "You gonna finish berating me for not believing that the Herdy Boys are the best young detectives of our time?"
"It's not about being the best, it's about solving the case together," Nick told him. But--
"I think I got my point across," he said. "You promised you'd tell me about the freezer and the smugglers."
"Shit, I did, didn't I?" Finn paused, thinking. "Well, there are a lot of different ways to start the story. Let's start with... hmm. The girl with the bicycle." He grinned at Nick. "Stop me if you've heard this one."