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In case it wasn’t clear, Judy Hopps was in love.
She was certain of it.
It was difficult at times, it could be a bit messy, it felt like a drug she was hooked on—and boy was she hooked. Addicted, really. But it always made her feel better. Made her smile. Made her feel at home in herself and the world around her.
She’d known this was love for almost 20 years.
Her determination. Her drive. Her constant desire to just go, go, go. She was in love with her work. With her job. With proving what she could do.
Judy was in love with the pursuit.
With the struggle.
With the chase.
It had always been this way, and she really, truly loved it.
There was a satisfaction that came with trying. Even in the trial and error phase, watching the progress of figuring out what process could most efficiently lead to success was so, incredibly satisfying. Seeing herself accomplish everything she had only fueled her love even more. Because not only was she trying and learning and proving herself, now she was doing the work. And it made everything that it had taken to get her here taste all that much sweeter.
Judy was in love with working towards a goal. In her entire life, nothing had ever come easy to her. She was in pursuit of something bigger and better since day one of this endeavor.
Too young to help on the farm? Too bad, we’re pulling the deepest weeds straight from the root. Too small to help the horse neighbors paint their roof? We’re learning how to walk on stilts this week. Too bunny to be a police officer?
Well, you know how that story goes.
Whenever someone doubted her, she laughed. Sure it made her truly furious somewhere deep in that little bunny body of hers, but that was something a therapist would address with her way later in life. For the time being, it manifested into humor. Not a funny, ha-ha, tell-it-on-a-stage type of humor. A deep-seated mocking humor, a cackling, a nearly laughable fiery rage that turned into this venomous bite she would use for the rest of her life to push her along, to prove that she was whatever they said she couldn’t be. And she always was it. When someone said she couldn’t do something, it was as good as sincerely saying “I can’t wait to see you figure this one out!” Because Judy was a lot of things, and oppositionally defiant was at the top of that list, for better or for worse.
After joining the ZPD, things were both easier and harder. It was easier because there was so much constant doubt of her abilities that it drove her insistence that she could take on the world well beyond a manageable state. Their doubt pushed her, hard. But it was way harder because suddenly, she was forcefully structured, and obligated to manage said aforementioned drive to prove everyone wrong within this rigid structure she was being placed under. And that didn’t give her much room to push.
Having the Night Howler case come up in her first week was a goldmine. If she had been anyone else, it would’ve spelled the end of her career, and all of her future aspirations. No one else in the world could have blown that case as wide open and she had. And during that month-long stint when she thought she’d solved a major mystery but ruined all predator-prey relations in the city for the foreseeable future, and lost the one real friend she’d made who seemed to be supportive of her dreams, she got a taste of what her life would have been like were it not for that drive and determination fueling her every day. Without the chase. With nothing to pursue. Slinging carrots back on the farm, same old every day, nothing to work towards, nothing to look forward to. It was depressing.
But like any true love, the ambition came rearing its ugly head right back the second she got a whiff of a clue on where to go next. Because “next” is what she was always looking for.
There it was again, that chase.
And after everything had cooled down, after the Night Howler case had been handled, and the press conferences and talk shows subsided, and Judy was settled in with a bit more respect from her peers and a whole lot more respect from the Zootopian public, she was back to looking for whatever was next. Another fix. Something else to pursue. Something else to start gunning for to prove she was worthy. She was looking for more of the thing she loved.
Maybe that’s why through Nick’s entire time training at the academy, Judy kept calling him. She kept inviting him over. She kept trying to learn more about him because her morbid curiosity was constantly getting the better of her, trying to learn more about this secretive, sly fox. Because he could be her next project…so-to-speak. He was a case to crack all on his own.
That’s what it was, and she was certain. She’d proven herself worthy as a cop, so now she needed to prove herself as a friend. As a confidant. Nick needed proof that Judy could and would shoulder anything. Because she was capable, and she was never certain that he believed her on that front. So she’d keep trying. Because she liked having him around, but more importantly, she wanted to prove she liked having him around. And prove that she was worthy of his companionship.
Judy constantly felt like she needed to prove herself to Nick. She felt that his respect was something she’d have to earn, something she needed to work for. And hey, that was perfect for her, because it’s the one thing she loved more than anything in the world, proving herself and earning what she deserved. She could keep going. In fact, she preferred it that way.
So the reptile case—while completely uncalled for in terms of engagement levels from the start—was perfect. In one fell swoop, were she to succeed, she wouldn’t just prove herself to Nick, but she’d prove them both to the entire ZPD (neigh nay, the entire world). It was the ultimate test of her determination and the ultimate challenge to prove her love of the struggle. The obvious next climb to the top. It was the perfect next pursuit.
And only once did she stop to consider how much further she could go. That were she to succeed, she might some day peak, and that day might be coming soon. How much further up is there to go? If people everywhere start respecting her, how can she keep fighting to prove herself?
But again, that was a discussion for therapy.
What caught Judy off-guard the most, was realizing she’d been fighting for nothing.
Not because she didn’t need everyone to know how capable she was (she did), and not because she didn’t need everyone to know that she and Nick were perfect partners (she did), but because as it turned out, she'd been fighting to prove something that had long since been established. And she had never known.
Judy had been so sucked into fighting for Nick’s appreciation, his admiration, and his respect that she’d missed what she’d long ago earned.
She had his adoration, his affection, and his undying loyalty.
And she’d gotten it without ever even trying.
Judy had never not tried for something before. She’d had to struggle for and earn every thing in her life up until this point. And here was something she hadn’t even known she’d wanted, let alone attempted to get. And it was being handed to her on a bright, beautiful, green-eyed, silver platter.
And she didn’t know what to do with it.
“I care about you.”
“No one else in the world matters to me more than you do.”
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
That was the one that wouldn’t stop ringing in her head. Not like bells. Like sirens.
She’d always tried to be a positive influence on everyone around her. She’d always wanted to be someone that any animal could come to for help on anything.
But the best thing that ever happened to him?
The best thing?
But…but she hadn’t even tried to be.
Judy didn’t know how to make heads or tails of it. She knew it was something that should make her happy, being given this trust, this adoration, this love without even having to work for it. And from the fox she’d come to love herself, so much. She was certain that he was someone she’d have to work for. She figured she’d have to work harder to earn him than she’d worked for anything in her life. And he was here just giving her his love?
Nick?
Nick Wilde?
Nicholas ‘Never Let Them See They Get To You’ Wilde?
Was hers? And she didn’t even have to work for it?
Wait.
Run that back.
He was…
He was hers.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Judy almost cried in that moment.
The instant when he told her that was the moment her world changed.
Because he was alive. He was here. And not only that, but she was alive. She was here. Because he’d worked for it. They’d worked for it. They’d struggled together. The thing she was in love with, that pursuit, that solitary climb to the top. She’d done it with someone by her side. And he'd shouldered the brunt of it.
And all he wanted to say in return was that she was the best thing that ever happened to him. Something she’d never known she wanted, but needed like she needed air.
Suddenly, the pursuit took second precedence.
As it turned out, having your needs anticipated before you can even think to work for them was an addicting feeling, too.
Maybe even more so than the high of achievement, even if it felt undeserved.
(This would eventually be another topic for therapy.)
It was difficult to understand, it could be a bit messy, and it felt like a drug she was hooked on—after all, who better to hook you than a con man?
But Judy didn’t need 20 years to be certain that Nick Wilde was the greatest thing to ever happen to her, too.
The pursuit felt good, but this felt better. Whatever it was.
To everyone but her, it was already clear.
Judy Hopps was in love.