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Nick's left ear was still ringing.
The sound was maddening, a high-pitched and droning semitone, and the doctor he had seen hours earlier couldn't guarantee that it would ever stop. The otter had delivered the news as apologetically as possible, his face compassionate as he explained the need for follow up, but Nick had barely listened. And not just because he was half-deaf, either; he had wanted to tell Dr. Waters that there were things much worse than a lifetime of tinnitus.
Like dying.
His life had been spared by no more than an inch of distance. Two at the most, but that was pushing it. The gun had been close enough to his face to feel the flash of heat, and he had black specks along his jawline where his fur had been singed. The shot had sounded like the end of the world, his head in agony as it filled with an impossibly loud noise. But the bullet missed, Nick told himself as he squeezed his glass more tightly; that was what mattered.
His drink nearly slipped out of his grasp, its surface slick with condensation. Nick had barely touched his bourbon, but truth be told he hadn't really wanted it anyway. It was just one of those things a mammal was expected to do; everyone had to get something at a bar. Michael's Pub was nothing special; it was a real dive with brick walls, scuffed tables, and plenty of obnoxious neon beer signs. It was a cop bar, the sort of place that two years ago he wouldn't have been caught—well, he wouldn't have gone in. But he was in it now, and there were forms to follow. If he hadn't, his coworkers might think something was wrong, that the shock of nearly getting his face blown off had gotten to him.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down into the rich brown liquid of his glass. Judy hadn't been fooled, of course. Nick ran one finger across the rim of his drink, the glass smooth and cold against the roughness of his paw pad, and tried to imagine what she'd say when she returned. She'd wanted to talk to him alone since the morning; he was sure of that much. She had gone to use the bathroom at least ten minutes ago, but Nick was sure she was probably just practicing what she would say now that all of their coworkers had at last drifted away. She did that now, he had noticed. Once bitten and twice shy, as the saying went, but Nick couldn't blame her. If he thought a few carelessly chosen words had nearly torn the entire city apart, he probably wouldn't be nearly as glib.
But a quick mind and a fast tongue had gotten him through life pretty well for a few decades, so why change it up now? The other officers liked him, or at least the version they saw and worked with. The fox who never forgot a birthday or an anniversary, the one who knew the best spots for lunches and dinners. The one who could be the life of any party, the one who had a ready response for any bit of teasing.
None of that had helped.
Every time he closed his eyes he could see it again, the young badger's face tight with fear and his pupils constricted to pinpricks by whatever he was strung out on. Nick had tried to talk him down, of course; that was what a silver tongue was for. The thief had only been a purse snatcher anyway; it wasn't as though he had tried to rob a bank or something. But when Nick had cornered him in an alley, he had felt only a measure of smug satisfaction in beating Judy to the scene. He had called out, his voice as soft as wool, and then the gun had appeared in the badger's paw like some terrible magic trick. The realization of how horribly he had misjudged the situation had barely registered before the thief had brandished the weapon in a wide arc, the muzzle pointed directly at Nick.
"I'll do it! I swear I'll do it!"
Everything had entered an exquisitely sharp focus, the flecks of saliva leaving the badger's mouth with every word glinting like pearls in the hazy light of the rising sun. The threadbare windbreaker he wore, one sleeve patched with a strip of peeling duct tape, whispered like dead leaves as the badger trembled with emotion.
"You don't have to do that, buddy. OK?"
Had he really said that? The words felt like they had been spoken by a different mammal. A dumber, naiver one, one who was soft and complacent. There had been no danger until suddenly there was, and he was about to pay for his mistake with his life. Petty crooks weren't supposed to have firearms; not even the police carried them on patrol. But Nick had seen pistols before, and there was no question that the one in the badger's paw had been real. The end of the barrel was like a merciless eye, a yawning black void so close to his face that he could smell bitter metal and fragrant oil.
"Back off! Just back—"
But no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind, Nick wasn't sure what had happened next. Too much had happened all at once to make sense of it, each piece distinct and yet refusing to go together in any chronological order. Had Judy appeared at the alley's entrance before or after the badger pulled the trigger? Had his foot slipped on a piece of garbage as he pressed himself against the nearest building or had he simply collapsed? Nick didn't know, and he wasn't sure he cared.
None of that changed what happened, the amazement at finding himself still alive slowly fading as the rest of the day went on. There had been the ride to the hospital in an ambulance, Judy squeezing his paw so tightly it felt like it would come off and her eyes red and watery. He had seen her mouth move, but he hadn't been able to make out the words. Comprehension had been painfully slow to return to him, the hours dragging as every bit of protocol was followed.
When he had at last been discharged, all that was left where his relief had been was a sense of horror. He had nearly died and he wasn't sure anyone actually understood that, not even Judy. Nick had worn the mask as cheerfully as possible, joking with his fellow officers as they insisted on buying him a round, but he had no idea what he had said. The words were meaningless, nothing but the babbling of an idiot compared to the grim truth.
He'd be insane if he didn't quit.
Maybe it was cowardly, but he didn't care. He couldn't care, not when it had all been so close. The smart thing to do would be to throw his badge on Bogo's desk and run as far away as he could. Nick had cheated death, and if that wasn't the universe sending him a message—
"You're Nicholas Wilde," a voice suddenly interrupted from his right side, and he steeled himself.
He didn't get recognized out of uniform nearly as often as Judy did, but it happened from time to time. She handled it with more grace than he thought he'd ever be capable of, but he always tried his best. It was easier with cubs or kits who had a genuine interest in what could possibly make a fox become a cop, but he certainly wasn't going to run into one at a bar. Not one who spoke like the mammal who had interrupted him, his name a statement and not a question.
Nick set his drink back down, and when he turned his gaze met a hulking white wolf in a dark suit, one so enormous that he had no idea how he had passed unnoticed at his elbow. If the mammal stood up he'd be at least twice as tall, but he was broad, too, his muscles rippling under the fine fabric of his clothes. He had expensive tastes; what he wore clearly hadn't come off the rack at some cheap strip mall. It was tailored silk, as black as night and a sharp contrast to the paleness of his fur. The smell of him met Nick's nose, but it wasn't the pricey cologne he had expected. The wolf's scent was primal, something that seemed to reach into the very back of his brain and warn him of danger. Some prey mammals thought they were the only ones with that instinct, but they weren't. Not really. Nick wondered who the wolf could be even as he forced himself to raise his glass to his lips, his mouth utterly dry as the bourbon splashed over his tongue. A hitmammal, perhaps? Someone from his days with Mr. Big looking to settle the score? Some new up-and-comer trying to make a name for himself?
His paw was trembling, the ringing in his ear throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and Nick plastered a smile on his face as he answered. "I've been called worse," he said, and the enormous wolf chuckled.
The mammal's eyes caught the light of the neon sign behind the bar strangely; his irises appeared as red as blood, practically glowing even as his gaze met Nick's.
"You don't remember me," he drawled, leaning closer, "I can always tell."
Nick fought to keep his expression neutral even as his heart began to beat even faster. He wasn't arrogant enough to claim his memory for faces and names was perfect, but it was near enough as to make no difference. And it wasn't as though the massive wolf was unremarkable; Nick had never seen one so tall or broad. He wondered what was lurking under the well-tailored folds of the wolf's suit; had he escaped death by gunshot only for a few hours before it caught him again? The idea almost made him laugh, but he was sure if he started he wouldn't be able to stop; surely the universe couldn't have such a cruel sense of humor.
Not that the mammal would need a gun to kill him anyway. The wolf was probably capable of ripping him in half with his bare paws, and his thoughts suddenly ran to Judy. "Don't fall in!" couldn't possibly be his last words to her; he refused to accept the possibility.
Not that he wanted her to see him die in front of her, either. Maybe it'd be kinder if she didn't, if she was still working through her thoughts with the help of a mirror before she found what happened. Probably not, though. She'd blame herself for it; she did that. It wasn't exactly arrogance, but it was something like that, some grand importance she gave each and every one of her failures. It was endearing and frustrating in equal measure, but Nick tried to push the thought aside.
"I don't, I'm afraid," he said at last, and the wolf smiled in a way that left his unsettling eyes untouched.
"I... made the arrangements. When your mother passed," he said, raising his mug of beer and tilting it slightly in a sort of half salute, "My sympathies on your loss."
"I'm sorry, I don't—"
The wolf pursed his lips and whistled. Four notes and that was all, but it was enough. Nick's protest died in his throat, a memory he hadn't even known he had rising to the surface.
The hospital room was painted a shade of yellow that should have been cheerful but was instead sickly, tired and washed out under the harsh fluorescent lights. The air reeked of industrial cleaners and something far worse, something that clawed at Nick's nose and refused to leave. He desperately wished to be anywhere else; even the boring classes he was missing would have been preferable to seeing what his mother had become. It was an awful thought, a shameful one, and it cut as cleanly through him as a knife. She didn't even come close to filling the bed, her frail body barely a lump under the sheets. She held his paw in hers but there was no strength in her grasp, her pulse slow and unsteady. Dozens of wires and tubes ran from the machines that loomed overhead and into her, haphazardly shaved patches showing grayish flesh.
Her eyes were terribly sunk into her face, completely devoid of their usual spark, but they met his. "Nick," she rasped, her voice a croaky whisper, "Promise—"
She never finished.
The quiet and gentle sounds of the equipment gave way to a shrill and steady tone, one so piercing that it filled his head and felt like it would never leave. He stood frozen, feeling her fingers slacken, and even when the nurse burst into the room he hadn't moved. She pushed him away, not roughly but still enough to almost make him collapse. His mother's arm slipped from his grasp, and he watched mutely, his eyes and ears refusing to make sense of what they were telling him. The squealing machines droned awfully on, the voices of the mammals trying to do something to save her lost beneath its all-consuming pitch. The sound was exactly the same as the ringing in his left ear, down to the same four notes being whistled over it.
Nick's glass slipped a little, bourbon sloshing over the side and onto the dully polished surface of the bar. "You were young, then," the wolf said, his voice a low growl and a slow smile spreading across his muzzle as he clearly saw Nick's dawning recognition, "Buried it, did you?"
He laughed quietly to himself, taking another sip of his drink even as those terrible eyes remained focused on Nick's. For once in his life he was at an utter loss for words, his heart hammering in his chest as his mind reeled.
Whether the funeral had been what his mother wanted or not wasn't something he could say. It hadn't been something they had discussed, hadn't been something either of them had wanted to consider. There had been nothing more than an urn put to rest in a mausoleum, and that had needed to be enough.
It had taken a long time before it was. Years had passed before her final words stopped nagging at his thoughts, before he didn't wonder every day what she had wanted him to promise. To take care of himself? He had certainly done that. To move on? He had done his best. To be good?
Nick's paw slipped into his pocket, and he brushed his fingers against the cold metal surface of his badge. He could feel the letters on it, and memory or touch was enough to know the words. Trust. Integrity. Bravery.
He jerked his arm away as though it had burned him, turning up to face the wolf. "You know, there are some mammals who'd call you a vulture, hanging out in the oncology ward and waiting for clients," Nick said, trying for a light tone and failing, "What kind of funeral parlor does that?"
An uncomfortable anger was blooming in his chest, one so familiar and yet so deeply hidden he had nearly forgotten it. The world was cruel and random; he had known that since he was a kit. The wolf smiled in a way that showed off all of his teeth. "Death comes for everyone," the stranger said, shrugging his broad shoulders as he pointedly ignored the question, "I've seen every way they face it. Denial... Anger... Fear..."
He sighed, his nostrils flaring and his eyes closing as if remembering a favorite scent. Nick felt his skin crawl with distaste, and then those awful eyes reopened and met his. "Doesn't change anything, though," the wolf added, and then he chuckled.
"Well, almost never," he said, smiling to himself, "So what'll you do, I wonder?"
The fingers of one massive paw drummed thoughtfully against the bar's surface. "That mother of yours… Una zorra piadosa," the wolf went on, "To the very end."
Nick made a sound low in his throat, wondering what angle the stranger was working. There was an almost playful nature to the way the mammal spoke, as though everything around him existed solely for his own amusement, but there had to be something more. Perhaps the wolf was just a ghoulish rubber-necker; maybe there had been a spot on the news about Nick's little encounter. Even if they hadn't given all the details, it wouldn't take a particularly brilliant observer to know that there was still only one fox on the force. Maybe the undertaker was getting a sick kick out of tormenting him, or maybe he was so utterly devoid of interpersonal skills he thought he was actually helping.
"It gave her comfort," Nick replied slowly.
He had heard the words and repeated them so many times that he no longer knew whether or not they were true. Maybe her faith in a higher power really had been unshakeable, or maybe she had been wearing a mask of her own. She had never complained, not even toward the end when the pain had gone deeper than the drugs could touch, and a twinge of the familiar old guilt stabbed at Nick. "But not you, Nicholas," the wolf observed, "You only believe in what you can see with your own two eyes, vero?"
The massive mammal leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching Nick's as he stared him down. His breath was almost feverishly warm, the smell of it just as predatory as what clung to his fur. "Or who you can see," the wolf pressed, "And what are you without the conejita?"
Nick forced a laugh that sounded utterly unconvincing to his own ears. "If you want to talk to Officer Hopps there are easier ways to get her attention," he said, but the bitter taste of fear was rising in the back of his throat.
Was the wolf nothing but a distraction, a way of keeping him occupied while someone else went after the real target? The stranger's arm reached out suddenly, pushing down on Nick's shoulders so firmly that his face nearly bounced off the bar. "No need to get up," he said, and Nick realized he had been halfway out of his seat without consciously choosing to do so, "I came here to talk to you."
His strength was incredible; a steel bar would have had more give in it, the fingers like a vice as they squeezed his bicep. "She's rather boring anyway, no? Duty and dependability and dedication and on and on and on," the wolf said, his fierce red eyes rolling, "Not like you."
The bar was full of mammals, but Nick suddenly felt terribly alone, as invisible as he had ever been on the streets of Zootopia while everyone ignored him. "She's better than me," he said, weighing his dwindling options.
Fighting the wolf was hopeless; he could probably take Nick's arm off like a cruel kit tormenting a bug if he wanted to. But for her sake he had to at least try, and he gritted his teeth. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest, but a calm had descended over him. He couldn't abandon Judy, couldn't slink off into the night like a coward no matter how much some part of him insisted it was time to run. "She makes me want to be better," he said, balling the fingers of his free arm into a fist, but before he could even try to throw a futile punch the crushing grip released.
The massive wolf sighed, shaking his enormous head, and Nick's vision throbbed in time to his pulse. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his instincts demanding he flee before the giant predator attacked again, but he forced himself to stay seated. The stranger reached into his tailored jacket and Nick tensed, sure there would be a gun in his paw when it came free, but all he held were two gleaming gold dollar coins. He rolled them between the knuckles of one massive paw in a mesmerizing display of dexterity, the coins gently clinking against each other, before stacking them neatly next to his empty beer mug. "The hour grows late, Nicholas," the wolf said, "I have… Other visits to make."
"Don't let me stop you," he replied as breezily as he could even as his heart had barely slowed, and the stranger chuckled.
"No one ever does," he said, inclining his head in Nick's direction as he stood.
The wolf was even bigger than Nick had expected, almost too large for the bar. He straightened his fine suit, smoothing out wrinkles that weren't there, and turned. "Hasta luego," he said, and despite his great height he somehow managed to melt into the crowd as he walked away, vanishing from view.
"God, I hope not," Nick muttered to himself, shaking his head.
He stared into his drink, idly swirling it around. The ice had completely melted during his conversation, but he didn't feel particularly upset by it. Nick took a sip, fighting the urge to pull a face; he didn't really even like bourbon and it only got worse warm.
"Who was that?"
Judy had managed to sneak up on him, the rabbit climbing up onto the barstool that the wolf had abandoned. She regarded him curiously, her head barely coming above the top of the bar, and he fought to avoid smiling. "Oh, just an old acquaintance," Nick replied, gesturing vaguely, "I know everyone, you know."
"Sure you do," she replied, and although there was an obvious skeptical note in her voice it was clear she wasn't going to push the point.
He could read her like an open book, and it made him wonder how he had missed what was so clearly evident when they had first met. Her feelings were written in every little movement she made, from how she brushed back her long ears to how she sucked in a breath. Nick waited patiently, but it didn't take very long; she was certainly braver than he was. "Nick," she said, reaching out and grabbing his paw in one of hers, "Listen."
Her fingers were so small and delicate compared to his, the rabbit's touch as light as a feather. "I'm listening," he replied softly.
"I... I've been thinking," she went on, "Since this morning. About what happened and... You mean a lot to me."
He could tell that whatever words she had rehearsed were falling apart, careful planning giving way to raw emotion, and Nick could feel his heart ache. It wasn't fair how she could touch him, how she could earnestly push through even the hardest shell of cynicism. "You're the first friend I ever made in Zootopia and I never would have..." she went on, trailing off as she fumbled over her words, "There's so much I couldn't have done without you."
She paused to take another breath, her watery eyes shimmering in the dim light of the pub. "I don't want to lose you," she said, her voice cracking, "But I... I can't be selfish. You need to choose what's right for you and if that's quitting I just want you to know—"
"Who said anything about quitting?" Nick interrupted, lifting his glass and swirling the bourbon around, raising one eyebrow as he looked down into Judy's face.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, working soundlessly for a few seconds. "I mean, I was thinking about it, but I never said it. You're stuck with me," Nick added, and Judy started laughing even as tears ran down her cheeks, her paw slipping from his as she weakly hit him in the shoulder and then pulled him into an awkward sideways hug.
He set down his drink, stroking her head as she leaned against him. "Really?" she asked once she could speak again, "You're sure?"
He wasn't going to be back on the beat the following morning, that was for sure. There were doubtlessly more protocols to be followed; mandatory counseling and evaluations and whatever else it took. "If they let me," he replied, rubbing absently at his left ear with his free paw.
The ringing had stopped, but he couldn't say when. Maybe when Judy had returned, and whether or not it was true it was worth believing. It was the better story, anyway, and he squeezed her against him. "Of course they will!" she said with surprising ferocity.
Well, not that surprising, Nick supposed; her depth of willpower wasn't something he thought he could ever match. But he had the next best thing, at least; he had her. "I'll make sure of it," Judy vowed, and he knew it was true.
Without letting go of her he fished his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a few bills and slapping them down next to his mostly untouched drink. "I better get going, then," he replied, "It's getting late and I'm sure you'll want an early start."
Judy pulled away slightly, her little nose twitching as she sniffed at his breath. "I should walk you back to your apartment," she said, and the slightest hint of a flush crept into her ears.
She was remarkable transparent, but he didn't mind; he'd had enough of being alone to last a lifetime.
"Have a little faith in me," Nick replied, but he was smiling.