Chapter Text
"Judy, want to meet my mom?"
"When?"
"...The day after tomorrow...day off?"
"Sure!"
Rabbits were always straightforward, like playing catch—you tossed her a question, and she batted the answer right back. This brief exchange entered through her right ear, the one closest to her partner, slid into her brain, then made her long ears twitch and revealed her cute little bunny teeth as she responded, all in under two seconds, fast as a reflex. It didn't even interrupt her driving or her grabbing a tissue to wipe the steering wheel.
"Haha..." The fox didn't dare ask her back.
Did you really hear that clearly?
It was him being careless, blurting out a joke he shouldn't have.
Nick kept his smile firmly in place, elbow propped on the car window frame. His gaze wandered uselessly around the car, finding no place to settle, finally sticking to the coffee shop sign they'd just passed outside. He'd originally planned to stop there for a cup.
Forget it. He hadn't lost the ability to speak, he wasn't thirsty now, he really didn't need coffee at all!
The sunlight slapped the fox's face boldly. He shook his head slightly, causing the sunglasses he'd been wearing atop his head to fall down, shielding his somewhat light-sensitive green eyes. Through the lenses, the street scene outside the window streamed past at a steady speed. Assured that no one could clearly see him now, he allowed a flicker of emotion to leak out—his pupils contracted momentarily.
How... did the topic get shifted to meeting his mom?
Let him think, what were they even talking about at the start?
Right, it was all because of that damn, overly blissful vacation atmosphere clogging up his brain.
Because of the Lynxley Case, tch! He messed up and let over two hundred high-level criminals escape. Putting the master prison door switch right by the main exit was a stroke of genius, huh? Were they afraid those "experts" used to finding loopholes wouldn't get out? But anyway, the responsibility was his. He'd felt a bit guilty, thinking he'd dragged the bunny down with him, but her elation actually startled him.
How come? Could any creature love work that much? Seriously, to that degree, in Zootopia, that probably counts as an occupational disease, right?
The result was, ever since receiving the orders, he'd practically been living at the ZPD, following the Judy-brand perpetual motion machine, working twelve-hour shifts in rotation, with no days off for months. But just last week, thanks to his workaholic partner's ridiculously efficient, borderline frantic efforts, plus a tiny bit of his vulpine cleverness, they finally arrested the last one.
Nick felt like a thoroughly wrung-out rag. Fortunately, they'd finally crawled out of the overtime hell. To forget the exhaustion of chasing those jerks, he'd started fantasizing about how he'd rot on the couch during the vacation two days later.
That was just the beginning of their usual conversation.
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Once in the car, the fox adjusted his seat to be more comfortable, his large tail curled beside him, the tip still wagging a little cheerfully.
"A three-day sentence served, huh? With all due respect, Officer Hopps, let it be known in advance that this fox respectfully declines any activity involving running, thinking, or anything work-related."
Judy held the steering wheel, the corner of her mouth curling up. "I hope a certain fox doesn't melt into my passenger seat right now."
"Hey, it's energy-saving mode after excessive consumption." Nick protested verbally, but his paws were already reaching out to playfully and affectionately fiddle with the bunny's long ears.
Push down, spring back up.
Push down, spring back up again.
"Nick!"
"What?"
Listen to that innocent tone! Judy really wanted to pull out the photo she took last month of her partner sprawled out under his desk, fast asleep and completely dead to the world. The image-conscious fox would probably be embarrassed and then try every trick to get her to delete it. But she wanted to keep admiring it for a few more days, so better not mention it for now.
"Cut it out, Officer Wilde. Got the spare energy for jokes now? Don't you still have twelve reports left to write?"
"Please, Officer Hopps, not now. Let me keep dreaming about the vacation the day after tomorrow, okay?"
Sunlight streamed through the car window, casting a layer of warm, golden edges over the fiery fur and the cool-toned police uniform. The fox comfortably narrowed his eyes. When he was truly relaxed, his demeanor took on a certain laziness.
Nick's thoughts drifted back to the giant popsicle day party at Gary's place, recalling the scene of being submerged in a sea of fluffy rabbits.
Rabbits were truly everywhere. Judy's 275 brothers and sisters—he hadn't memorized a single name or face, only remembered being patted by all sorts of fluffy little paws, covered by countless fluffy little bundles.
Warm, noisy, immense.
The scale of the bunny population genuinely astounded a lone fox.
"Seriously, can you rabbits actually tell all your siblings' names apart?" He was purely curious, his tone carrying the usual vulpine teasing about rabbit traits.
"What's so hard about that?" Judy's tone was light; she memorized legal clauses and case files quickly too. Mere names were nothing.
"I mean, is it all you rabbits? Or is it a special skill unique to you, Miss Exception?"
"We're family. How could we not remember each other's names?"
"...I still don't get it," Nick turned to his partner, his ears flattened by the surge of memory, as if he could still feel the oppressive sensation of being surrounded by countless fluffy little bodies.
"That party last time really shocked me. How do your parents manage to rapidly assemble a small army in the same place at the same time and still accurately tell Timmy, Tommy, and Amy apart? It defies logic."
"Two hundred plus doesn't count as an army!"
"Your family's already pushing three hundred, okay!"
"Actually, that's not counting my older brothers and sisters who are married."
"What? Then how do you handle birthdays? Isn't there a bunny having a birthday every single day!"
Judy laughed, her eyes crinkling into happy slits. "A solitary fox like you wouldn't understand! We have one super birthday party every month, specifically to solve the birthday problem. Want to come to the next one? I guarantee you'll remember at least ten names."
"Pass. Spare me, Carrots." Nick leaned back in his seat, raising both paws in a surrendering gesture, his expression sincere. "Your family's rabbits are way too enthusiastic. Them using Gary as a snake slide is one thing, but I don't want to be a fox slide. You know how hard I work to protect my tail? The psychological trauma from last time took me a whole vacation to recover from." He twitched his ears, as if invisible little bunnies were still hanging from them.
The crisp sound of Judy's laughter filled the car.
Nick tilted his head slightly, glancing at her sideways. The main focus of his view was her long ears, quivering slightly with her laughter. Sunlight danced on the grey-tipped black fur, bouncing along with the movement, somewhat playful.
The pure, unadulterated warmth inside the car, mixed with the afternoon sunlight, slowly seeped into the fox's eyes, brewing a smile that seemed unusually serene and gentle compared to his usual demeanor.
"Alright, laughed enough, Officer Fluffy?" Nick yawned, his tail giving a single sweep across the seat. "It's not that I'm making a fuss over nothing. Your rabbit population is just massive compared to us foxes. When have you ever seen a whole bunch of fox kits?"
His voice was relaxed as he continued, "It's more like our fox family model is... more economical." He chose a suitably diplomatic word.
"Economical?" Judy held the steering wheel, but her ears swiveled keenly towards him, showing curiosity.
"Yeah. Small unit, low energy consumption, quiet." Nick's gaze drifted to the passing street scene outside the window. "Not so much... collective action. Family is just parents. Kids move out when they grow up to enjoy our solitary nature."
"Have you been in touch with your mom recently?"
"She called during the second week of our consecutive overtime, asked how I was doing." He paused, then added, "It's mostly like that. We're not like you rabbits, needing daily reports on each other."
The fox's small family was his mother's occasional, but never overstepping, nagging.
"Haha, you miss her."
"Hah, you've got some nerve saying that."
The fox spoke words tinged with detachment, yet his mind conjured up specific, vivid images.
The steam always rising from something simmering in the kitchen at home. The small corner of the green wallpaper behind the old sofa that he'd accidentally damaged. And the way she sometimes looked at him, with those green eyes—identical to his own, yet always holding more worry.
Did he miss her?
Perhaps the air was too warm, perhaps the sounds outside the car were too distant, perhaps the rabbit officer beside him was listening too intently, or perhaps it was simply that the golden sunlight filling the car was too deceptive.
At this moment—
An image struck him without warning.
Sunlight, as warm as today's, filtered through the leaves of the sycamore tree in front of his house, casting shifting, overlapping patterns of green shadow and light. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams. He stood there, and beside him was his rabbit, smiling with a touch of bashfulness.
Across from them was his mom. Her green eyes, always warm and sharp, were lit up by the sunlight and Judy's smile. A smile of pure joy spread across her face—a radiant brilliance Nick hadn't seen in so long, one he thought he'd even forgotten.
The image was too clear, too warm, too tempting.
And the fox, his defenses worn thin by fatigue, felt his consciousness flinch back as if scorched by this overly beautiful fantasy.
Coincidentally, the rabbit turned then. Her purple eyes glanced at him, full of pure curiosity and happiness.
And so, a sentence bearing the full weight of that entire illusion, without any censorship, slipped directly out of his mouth:
"Judy, want to meet my mom?"
As soon as the words left him, he knew the joke had gone too far. It was inappropriate, it crossed too many lines, it...
But it was too late.
She said, sure.
How could he have said something like that?
Judy, want to meet my mom?
She said, sure...
TBC.