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Only later, when her thoughts wander back to that case and she can look back on it and the chaos that followed (without the threat of all those messy emotions crumpling up inside her like so many wads of tissue paper) does Judy remember all of the "friendly" little touches that had grazed her after Nick had left.
Nick with his smart, mirthful eyes and cunning smile, who'd spent over twenty-four hours with her that week, and continues to spend hours with her.
(Judy thinks about the wide eyes behind the large squarish frames, and wonders if it had been a coincidence, or if she just happened to be partial to green.)
She knows now that each gesture had been carefully calculated (the brushing of arms, the quick little squeezes of paws, leading her away with a hoof on her shoulder) subtle attempts made in the name of putting her guard down, of trying to bring her to her side.
But even so she still can't shake the memory of her own paws lingering on wool, blunted claws catching on her blazer.
(Her ears drinking in the sound, the neat crackling toff as she traced circles into fleece, spinning the milk white curls into a frizzy cloud beneath her thumb as they leaned together in the crowded elevator, close to the ground where no one saw or cared.)
Had she really not minded, all those times?
Or had it been a petty little nuisance all along?
Guiltily, she shoos away the thoughts and leans further into Nick, resting against the cream of his throat. Judy finds herself surrounded by warm fur and warm colors, all orange and red and auburn. Like the sun in the fall; like subtle wood-fed fires, mild and pleasant.
He smiles down lazily at her, taking a moment to run a careful paw over her ears before turning another page in the book he'd finally caved and borrowed after hearing her and the rest of the world rave about it for two weeks straight.
(what would he think if she told him, that there might have been the tiniest breath of something there, lingering behind the little taps and mock friendly smiles and swarthy lashes between her and the closest thing they had to an enemy?
maybe she had been the only one.
or maybe Bellwether had known all along, and had had a great time playing her like a lonely optimistic long-eared fiddle)
This time Judy chooses to kick the thoughts away, and half smiles up at Nick, petting his tail idly (all smooth lush black tipped fur that does not crackle) and is glad, even though the ghost of idle static electricity continues to prickle beneath her fingertips.