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Late morning sunlight spilled across the streets of Savannah Central, turning the older brick storefronts warm shades of orange and gold. The district carried the steady rhythm of a workday settling into its stride—shop doors opening and closing, distant traffic rolling by in waves, snippets of conversation drifting through the air alongside the smell of coffee and fresh bread from a café somewhere down the block.
Officer Judy Hopps walked at an even pace along the sidewalk, posture alert without looking tense. Her ears moved constantly, catching pieces of the city around them almost unconsciously. Beside her, Nick Wilde carried himself with the loose ease of someone out for a casual stroll rather than a patrol shift, though his eyes quietly tracked every storefront and passerby they crossed.
“Tell me again,” Nick said, adjusting the collar of his uniform dramatically, “why exactly we couldn’t get assigned somewhere glamorous today.”
Judy glanced sideways at him, one ear flicking back in amusement. “Savannah Central is glamorous.”
“Carrots, the most exciting thing we’ve seen this morning was a parking dispute involving a fruit cart.”
“You say that now,” Judy replied, suppressing a smile, “but you also spent ten minutes mediating it.”
Nick pointed a finger at her. “And I was excellent at it. No citrus casualties. You’re welcome.”
Judy shook her head lightly as they turned down a quieter side street lined with older brick buildings. Narrow staircases climbed the outside walls toward cramped apartments above the shops below.
Her ears twitched forward first.
“Nick.”
He followed her line of sight without immediately reacting.
A young fox stood outside a corner convenience store near the mouth of an alley. He paced in short, restless loops near the curb, paws shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. Every few seconds he’d stop, glance at his phone, then toward the metal staircase beside the building before starting the same tight path again.
Judy slowed slightly.
“Repeated pacing,” she murmured quietly. “Avoiding eye contact with pedestrians. Hanging around a storefront.”
Nick studied the kid for another moment.
The fox wasn’t watching the register.
Wasn’t tracking customers.
Wasn’t paying attention to the store itself at all.
If anything, every nervous glance kept drifting back toward the staircase.
“Maybe,” Nick said casually, “or maybe somebody just got handed a real bad day.”
Judy glanced at him briefly. “Maybe both. Either way, we should check.”
Nick nodded once. “Fair enough.”
Together they crossed the street.
The fox noticed them almost immediately.
His pacing stopped short. Shoulders stiffened. His ears dipped slightly as he straightened too quickly, like he was trying to look casual and failing at it.
Nick lifted a paw in greeting before Judy could speak.
“Morning, junior.”
The fox blinked. “Uh… morning?”
Nick slowed to an easy stop a few feet away, hands slipping into his pockets again. “So,” he said, glancing down at the stretch of sidewalk the kid had nearly worn smooth, “you planning on pacing a trench into the concrete, or are we workshopping a nervous breakdown here?”
The fox let out a startled breath through his nose before catching himself. “I’m fine.”
“Ooh,” Nick replied immediately, wincing theatrically. “See, that’s usually how I know somebody’s absolutely not fine.”
A reluctant flick of amusement crossed the fox’s face before vanishing just as quickly.
Judy remained beside Nick, attentive but quiet for the moment. Her posture stayed open and non-threatening, though her eyes carefully tracked the kid’s movements.
The fox rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, claws brushing through the fur there. “I just needed some air.”
“Mm.” Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Classic symptom.”
“Of what?”
“Being sixteen.”
The fox snorted softly despite himself, shoulders loosening by the slightest amount.
Nick noticed immediately and eased his own posture further, tail flicking lazily behind him.
“Alright,” he said more gently. “What happened?”
The fox hesitated.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the staircase again before dropping to the pavement.
For a second it looked like he might shut down completely.
Then his shoulders sagged.
“I got suspended.”
Judy’s ears tilted forward slightly at that while Nick let out a low whistle.
“That’ll do it.”
“They called my parents already,” the fox admitted quietly. One foot scraped nervously against the concrete. “I just…” He swallowed. “I haven’t gone back up yet.”
Nick’s eyes flicked toward the second-floor apartment landing for only a moment before returning to the kid.
“Ah,” he said softly. “So this is the ‘if I stay down here long enough maybe the universe fixes it for me’ stage.”
The fox looked sideways at him. “…You ever do that?”
Nick smirked faintly. “Buddy, I practically majored in it.”
Another reluctant laugh escaped the teen before fading again.
“I just don’t wanna deal with them right now,” he admitted. “They’re already gonna think the worst.”
At that, Judy’s expression softened noticeably.
Nick leaned back slightly on his heels, studying the kid quietly for a moment before speaking again.
“Maybe,” he said honestly. “Maybe not. But I can tell you this much—the longer you stand out here building the conversation up in your head, the worse it’s gonna feel.”
The fox stared down at the sidewalk silently, ears lowering.
Nick continued, his tone lighter than the words themselves.
“You start imagining every possible version of how it’s gonna go.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Trust me, your brain’s way more creative than reality usually is.”
The fox huffed another quiet laugh, shaking his head faintly.
“Usually?”
“No promises,” Nick replied with a grin.
Judy’s nose twitched as another small smile slipped through.
The fox finally looked back toward the staircase.
“I got into a fight,” he admitted after a moment. “At school.”
“With who?” Judy asked gently.
“Some llama.” He shrugged tightly. “He kept messing with this little fox kid in my class.” Another shrug followed, smaller this time. “I told him to knock it off. He didn’t.”
Nick’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Recognition.
“And now,” the fox muttered, ears flattening again, “everyone thinks I’m the problem.”
Silence settled briefly between them.
Then Nick sighed softly through his nose.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not gonna tell you getting suspended doesn’t suck. Because it does.” He gestured lightly toward the stairs. “And I’m definitely not saying whatever’s waiting for you up there is gonna be fun.”
The fox gave a humorless little laugh. “Yeah.”
“But,” Nick continued, “you did stand up for somebody.”
The teen glanced back up at him, uncertain.
“That matters too.”
For the first time since they’d approached him, the fox’s posture eased in a noticeable way.
Judy stepped in then, calm and steady.
“You still need to talk to your parents,” she said. “And if this keeps happening at school, somebody should know that too.”
The fox nodded reluctantly.
“I know.”
Nick pointed gently toward the staircase. “Go deal with it before you lose your nerve.”
The fox exhaled slowly, then gave a small nod.
“…Okay.”
As Nick and Judy turned to continue their patrol, Nick paused long enough to glance back over one shoulder.
“Oh, and junior?”
The fox looked up.
“Next time?” Nick said with a faint grin. “Pick somewhere less suspicious to have your existential crisis.”
The fox barked out a genuine laugh this time, shoulders finally relaxing properly.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nick gave him a satisfied nod before falling back into step beside Judy.
A few seconds later, behind them, metal stairs creaked softly as the young fox finally started making his way upstairs.
Neither officer said anything.
They simply continued down the busy sidewalk together, disappearing back into the rhythm of the city as another ordinary patrol call faded behind them.
Their patrol carried on through Savannah Central at an easy pace after they left the young fox behind. The district buzzed steadily around them—street vendors calling out lunch specials, delivery carts rattling over uneven pavement, the low hum of midday traffic rolling through nearby intersections.
Nick adjusted the sleeves of his uniform as they walked, flicking an ear against the warm breeze drifting between the buildings.
“You know,” he said, “I think I missed my calling.”
Judy glanced sideways at him, amused already despite herself. “And what calling is that?”
“Troubled youth counselor.” Nick gestured back over his shoulder dramatically. “I’m basically a professional mentor at this point.”
Judy’s nose twitched. “You told him his coping mechanism was pacing holes into concrete.”
“And yet,” Nick replied smugly, tapping a paw lightly against his chest, “progress was made.”
A laugh slipped quietly through Judy’s muzzle as she shook her head.
Before she could answer, both of their radios crackled sharply at the same time.
“Unit Twelve, respond to a reported theft in progress. Banyon and Fifth. Electronics store owner reporting suspect still on scene.”
The warmth disappeared from Judy’s expression almost instantly, replaced by practiced focus.
“Unit Twelve responding,” she answered, already reaching for her radio. “ETA two minutes.”
Nick’s posture straightened beside her as they picked up speed.
The closer they got to Banyon and Fifth, the louder things became.
Shouting.
Too many overlapping voices.
The restless, sharp energy of a crowd feeding itself.
They rounded the corner to find a cluster of mammals packed tightly outside a small electronics store. Several stood on the edges of planters or leaned out into the street trying to see past one another.
“There he is!”
“He tried to run!”
“About time the cops showed up!”
Judy’s eyes immediately began working the scene.
Agitated crowd.
Limited exits.
No visible weapon.
Possible theft suspect still present.
Near the storefront window stood a young fox in his early twenties, boxed in by civilians on nearly every side. His breathing came fast enough to visibly move his shoulders, ears pinned unevenly against his head while nervous eyes darted around the crowd surrounding him.
One paw clutched tightly around a boxed tablet still locked inside a hard security case.
Nick slowed slightly as they approached.
The fox didn’t look angry.
He looked cornered.
“Everybody move back,” Judy ordered firmly as they pushed into the crowd. “Give us some room.”
The nearest mammals hesitated before reluctantly giving ground.
Almost immediately, some of the tension eased.
The shouting lowered.
Bodies shifted backward.
Space finally opened around the fox.
And the fox noticed.
His shoulders loosened just slightly at the sight of the uniforms approaching, relief flickering briefly across his face like maybe somebody had finally arrived to take control of the situation.
Nick caught that immediately.
“Alright,” he said evenly, raising both paws in a calming gesture. “One at a time. Somebody wanna tell me what happened?”
“He stole from the store!” a goat snapped.
“I didn’t!” the fox shot back instantly, voice tight with panic.
“Then why’d the alarm go off?”
The fox opened his mouth, stumbling over whatever explanation he’d been trying to force out for the last several minutes. His grip tightened unconsciously around the boxed tablet pressed against his chest.
Nick’s eyes flicked down toward it.
Still sealed.
Security case intact.
The fox noticed him looking.
And just like that, the fragile calm shattered.
“It’s not what you think,” the fox blurted quickly, clutching the box tighter as his ears flattened harder against his skull.
The crowd surged verbally right back into the opening.
“See?!”
“He’s lying!”
“I watched him grab it!”
Nick lifted a paw immediately. “Alright, everybody settle down—”
“Funny how foxes always got an excuse,” somebody muttered loudly from near the back.
The words hit the fox like a slap.
Nick saw his jaw tighten.
Saw his breathing hitch.
Saw his eyes dart instinctively toward the open sidewalk beyond the crowd.
Judy saw the movement too.
Weight shifting forward.
Eyes tracking exits.
Body preparing to move.
Flight risk.
“Sir,” Judy said firmly, taking one careful step forward, “I need you to stay where you are.”
The fox swallowed hard, chest rising sharply now.
“I wasn’t trying to steal it,” he said again, voice cracking under the pressure closing around him. “Everybody just started yelling and I panicked—”
“He’s gonna bolt!” someone shouted.
The crowd instinctively tightened inward.
That did it.
The fox jerked suddenly sideways, trying to pull away from the wall of bodies boxing him in.
Judy reacted instantly.
“Police! Stop!”
She lunged to intercept him before he could break through the opening toward the street.
The moment her paw caught his arm, the fox twisted violently in panic.
The tablet slipped from his grip.
It hit the pavement with a loud crack that cut through the crowd noise like a gunshot.
Several mammals recoiled at once. Somebody stumbled backward into another bystander. The tightly packed crowd shifted unevenly in every direction at once.
Nick stepped in immediately before the situation collapsed entirely.
“BACK UP!” he barked sharply, planting himself between the civilians and the struggle.
A larger mammal shoved backward blindly trying to retreat from the commotion.
The impact caught Nick off-balance near the curb.
His foot slipped.
He threw out his left paw instinctively to stop himself against the pavement—
Pain exploded through his wrist the instant his weight hit it wrong.
“Ah—dammit!”
The sharp sound cut through Judy’s focus immediately.
The fox froze too, panic written openly across his face as Judy secured his arms against the storefront before he could pull away again.
“I wasn’t trying to run!” he gasped, breathing ragged now. “I swear—I swear I wasn’t—”
Nick pushed himself upright with a strained grunt, immediately pulling his injured wrist tightly against his chest.
Judy’s ears snapped toward him.
“Nick?”
“I’m fine,” he muttered automatically through clenched teeth.
He wasn’t.
The way he held the wrist close without moving it told her that much instantly.
The crowd noise had finally started fading now that the suspect was restrained and the chaos itself had burned off. Several bystanders exchanged uncertain looks, adrenaline giving way to awkward discomfort.
Judy carefully guided the fox toward the nearby cruiser.
“You’re being detained until we sort this out,” she said, voice still steady despite the tension lingering in her posture.
“I didn’t steal anything,” the fox repeated weakly as she placed him into the back seat.
The cruiser door shut with a solid metallic thud.
And just like that, the energy drained from the street.
Without the confrontation feeding it anymore, the crowd slowly began dispersing into murmuring little groups.
Nick leaned carefully back against the side of the cruiser, jaw tightening briefly as another pulse of pain shot through his wrist.
Judy moved toward him immediately.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Nick flexed the paw slightly on instinct.
Immediate regret flashed across his face.
“…Ask me again in five minutes.”
Judy’s ears lowered faintly.
Before she could respond, the electronics store owner finally emerged from inside the shop holding a tablet of his own. A middle-aged ram with sweat dampening the wool around his collar.
“Officers,” he called quickly. “Wait.”
Judy turned toward him at once. “Sir?”
The ram glanced uneasily toward the cruiser before rubbing the back of his neck.
“I checked the security cameras.”
Something in his tone made Nick close his eyes briefly.
The ram sighed heavily.
“He didn’t steal anything.”
Silence settled over the sidewalk.
Judy blinked once.
“…What?”
“One of the display tablets slipped off the counter,” the ram explained awkwardly. “Kid caught it before it hit the floor.” He held up his own tablet slightly. “Alarm triggered when he pulled it outta the security cradle.”
Judy slowly looked toward the cruiser.
Inside, the fox sat rigidly in the back seat, ears low, staring down at his own paws.
The ram continued quietly, guilt creeping further into his voice.
“He panicked when the alarm went off. Customers started yelling. Then everybody else joined in.”
Nick let out a slow breath through his nose.
Of course.
“He was trying to keep it from breaking,” the ram finished softly. “That’s all.”
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
The busy sounds of Savannah Central suddenly felt strangely distant around them.
Nick shifted his injured wrist slightly against his chest.
A sharp breath escaped him before he could fully suppress it.
Judy’s eyes flicked toward the movement immediately.
And when she looked back toward the cruiser again, something unsettled had started quietly forming behind her expression.
The ride to the precinct was painfully quiet.
Rain hadn’t started yet, but thick gray clouds had rolled over Savannah Central while they were finishing statements outside the electronics store, muting the afternoon sunlight into a dull wash across the windshield.
Nick sat in the passenger seat with his injured wrist resting carefully in his lap. Every now and then his fingers flexed unconsciously before stopping just as fast, his jaw tightening whenever pain shot up his arm.
Judy noticed every time.
Her paws stayed fixed at ten and two on the steering wheel, grip tighter than usual against the worn leather.
“You should let medical look at that as soon as we get back,” she said quietly.
Nick kept his eyes forward. “That’s the plan.”
The radio murmured softly in the background with dispatch chatter neither of them were really listening to.
Outside, the city drifted past in muted reflections against the cruiser windows.
After another stretch of silence, Judy finally spoke again.
“I really thought he was going to run.”
Nick’s ears flicked faintly.
“I know,” he said, tired.
Judy swallowed once.
“He kept looking for openings,” she continued carefully. “His stance shifted every time the crowd moved in. And when everybody started yelling—”
“I know, Carrots.”
He adjusted his wrist slightly against his chest, trying to find a position that hurt less.
A sharp breath slipped through his teeth before he could stop it.
Judy’s grip tightened harder around the wheel.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came quickly.
Too quickly.
Nick finally looked over at her.
Judy’s ears had lowered almost flat now, eyes fixed stubbornly on the road ahead.
“For what?” he asked softly.
A small pause.
“For your wrist.”
Nick looked back out through the windshield.
Traffic rolled slowly through the intersection ahead, headlights beginning to glow beneath the darkening sky.
“It was a bad scene,” he said after a moment. “Crowd got stupid.”
Judy nodded faintly, but the movement looked distracted, unfinished.
Silence settled again.
Usually silence between them felt easy.
This one pressed against the inside of the cruiser until it felt almost too small.
At a red light, Judy’s eyes flicked briefly toward the paw curled protectively against Nick’s chest.
Nick noticed immediately and shifted the wrist further inward without thinking.
The movement made Judy’s expression tighten for half a second before she looked away again.
By the time they pulled into the precinct garage, the clouds overhead had turned the concrete structure dim and cold beneath the fluorescent lights.
Nick pushed the passenger door open carefully and climbed out slower than normal.
The moment he braced himself against the cruiser door, pain shot violently through his wrist.
His knees dipped slightly before he caught himself.
“Nick—”
“I’m good,” he muttered immediately, straightening too quickly.
Judy was already beside him anyway.
One paw lifted instinctively toward his arm before stopping halfway there.
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Judy slowly lowered her paw again.
“We should get you upstairs,” she said quietly.
Nick forced a crooked grin that didn’t quite settle naturally on his face.
“Careful, Carrots. Somebody might think you actually like me.”
Normally she would’ve shoved him for that.
Rolled her eyes.
Fired something back immediately.
Instead Judy only managed a small, distracted smile before looking away again.
And somehow that felt worse.
The emergency clinic on the second floor of the precinct smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee.
Nick sat on the edge of an examination table while a middle-aged otter doctor carefully rotated his injured wrist between both paws.
Pain flared instantly.
Nick’s ears pinned back as a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth. “Yeah,” he muttered tightly, “that one’s my favorite.”
The doctor ignored the comment with the tired patience of someone who dealt with injured officers daily.
“Mhm.” He adjusted the paw slightly again. “And this?”
Another pulse of pain shot up Nick’s arm hard enough to make his shoulders tense.
“Also bad.”
Across the room, Judy stood near the counter with her arms folded tightly across her chest. One ear angled toward the conversation while the other flicked restlessly every few seconds.
She hadn’t sat down once since they’d arrived.
The doctor finally released Nick’s wrist and stepped back toward the illuminated scans clipped against the wall.
“Well,” he sighed, adjusting his glasses, “good news is you didn’t completely wreck it.”
Nick flexed the fingers of his good paw against the edge of the exam table. “That’s the spirit, doc.”
“Small fracture,” the otter continued, tapping the scan lightly. “Distal radius. Clean break.” He glanced over at Nick. “You got lucky.”
Judy’s ears lowered immediately.
Nick noticed that before he fully processed anything else.
“How lucky we talking?” he asked.
The doctor folded his arms. “Brace for a few weeks. No field work until it heals properly.” He gave Nick a pointed look. “And before you ask—no, paperwork does not count as field work.”
Nick pressed a paw dramatically against his chest. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.”
The otter moved toward the counter to prepare paperwork, leaving the room noticeably quieter in his absence.
Nick stared down at the temporary brace wrapped around his wrist, flexing his fingers carefully beneath it before immediately regretting the movement.
Three weeks.
Maybe longer.
No patrols.
No active duty.
No Judy.
The thought settled uncomfortably somewhere beneath his ribs.
Across the room, Judy finally spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
Softer this time.
Not rushed.
Not automatic.
Nick looked up.
Judy still hadn’t moved from the wall. Her arms remained folded tightly enough that the fur around her sleeves pressed flat beneath them. Her gaze stayed lowered toward the floor tiles instead of meeting his directly.
“Carrots—”
“I should’ve slowed the situation down.” Her voice remained controlled, though the words felt carefully held together. “I saw him shift and I just…” She stopped, exhaling shakily through her nose before trying again. “I reacted.”
Nick looked away toward the scans glowing softly against the wall.
The fox’s face flickered through his mind again.
Cornered.
Terrified.
Surrounded by mammals already convinced they knew exactly what he was.
And then Judy grabbing him.
Nick swallowed once before forcing the thought back down where it belonged.
“It happened fast,” he said quietly.
Judy’s ears twitched faintly at the answer.
Because it wasn’t disagreement.
But it wasn’t forgiveness either.
“I still should’ve handled it differently.”
Nick rubbed his thumb absently against the edge of the brace.
Maybe.
Maybe if the crowd hadn’t started shouting.
Maybe if somebody hadn’t made that comment.
Maybe if he’d stepped in sooner.
Maybe if Judy had waited one more second.
Too many maybes.
And none of them changed the brace around his wrist.
Nick let out a slow breath through his nose before glancing back toward her with a faint crooked smile.
“Hey,” he said lightly, “look on the bright side.”
Judy blinked once, ears lifting slightly. “There’s a bright side?”
“I finally get to experience the glamorous world of mandatory desk duty.”
The corner of Judy’s mouth twitched despite herself.
It faded almost immediately.
Nick noticed that too.
The doctor returned carrying discharge papers and a sturdier brace.
“Alright, Officer Wilde,” he said, setting the papers down nearby. “Here’s how this is gonna work.” He lifted the brace slightly. “You wear this, you don’t do anything stupid, and in a few weeks your wrist heals fine.”
Nick frowned thoughtfully. “Define stupid.”
The doctor deadpanned immediately.
“You’re a police officer. Use your imagination.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of Judy before she could stop it.
The sound softened something tight in Nick’s chest for just a moment.
Then the doctor continued.
“No patrol duty for at least a couple weeks. Minimal strain. If the pain worsens, come back immediately.”
Judy’s expression tightened again at the reminder, her eyes dropping instinctively toward the brace around Nick’s wrist.
Nick noticed.
And just like earlier in the cruiser, his first instinct was still to make things easier for her.
“I’ll survive,” he said casually as he slid carefully off the exam table. “Might even enjoy the break.”
The moment his boots touched the floor, discomfort flashed briefly across his face before he smoothed it away.
Judy caught that too.
She nodded faintly, though her gaze lingered on the brace a second longer than before.
Neither of them noticed the silence returning until it had already settled quietly back into the room.
By the time they finished the last of the paperwork, the precinct had settled into the slower rhythm of early evening.
Most of the daytime rush had faded hours ago. Officers rotated through shift changes while conversations drifted quietly between desks. Somewhere across the bullpen, a coffee machine sputtered like it was on its last legs.
Nick sat at his desk with his report half-finished on the monitor in front of him.
Typing one-handed was miserable.
He jabbed irritably at the keyboard with his good paw before stopping long enough to flex the fingers beneath the brace wrapped around his wrist.
Bad idea.
Pain flared immediately up his arm.
His ears flattened briefly before he forced them back upright again.
Across from him, Judy reviewed witness statements from the electronics store for what had to be the fourth time. Her pen tapped lightly against the desk every few seconds—a nervous habit Nick had only really started noticing after they became partners.
Tonight it was impossible not to.
Eventually Judy set the report down with a soft sigh.
“The DA isn’t filing anything,” she said quietly. “They released him about an hour ago.”
Nick nodded once without looking up from his monitor.
“Good.”
Judy watched him for another moment.
“You were right.”
The typing stopped.
Nick’s paw hovered over the keyboard before lowering slowly back to the desk.
“About what?”
Judy swallowed subtly.
“He wasn’t trying to run.” Her ears lowered slightly. “He panicked.”
Nick leaned back carefully in his chair, gaze drifting toward the bullpen windows instead of toward her.
Outside, city lights had started coming alive against the darkening skyline.
“Crowds do that sometimes,” he said quietly.
Judy’s grip tightened faintly around the pen in her paws.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Nick finally looked at her then.
“I saw him move,” she continued carefully. “And I made a judgment call.”
Nick held her gaze for a moment before looking away again.
“You did your job.”
Silence settled between them.
Across the precinct, somebody laughed loudly near the vending machines before the sound faded again.
Nick returned to his report, slower now with only one usable paw.
A minute later Judy quietly stood from her desk.
“You ready to head out?”
Nick glanced toward the clock near the bullpen entrance.
Later than he thought.
“Yeah,” he muttered, shutting down the report terminal. “Before I file for emotional damages over paperwork.”
Normally that would’ve earned an immediate comeback.
This time Judy only managed a faint smile before reaching for her bag beneath the desk.
The elevator ride down to the garage passed in silence.
Nick leaned lightly against the back wall, injured wrist tucked carefully against his chest while Judy stood beside him with her paws buried deep in the pockets of her jacket.
When the elevator doors finally opened into the parking garage, cool evening air rolled through the concrete structure carrying the distant smell of rain.
Judy slowed beside her cruiser.
“I can drive you home.”
Nick instinctively opened his mouth to refuse.
Then paused.
Driving one-handed suddenly sounded like a terrible idea.
The hesitation lasted just long enough for Judy to notice.
“…Okay,” he said finally.
Something small flickered across her face before disappearing again almost immediately.
The ride through the city felt different now than it had earlier.
Streetlights streaked softly across the windshield while evening traffic crawled through intersections slick with the first hints of drizzle.
Nick rested his head lightly against the passenger window, watching the city slide past outside.
At a red light, Judy glanced toward him briefly.
“You should probably take the pain meds when you get home.”
Nick smirked faintly without looking away from the window.
“What, you don’t trust my medical judgment?”
Judy snorted softly. “Nick, you tried to call a fractured wrist ‘a little sore’.”
That finally pulled a quiet laugh out of him.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
Judy’s ears lifted slightly at the sound.
For a moment, things almost felt normal again.
The first few days after Nick’s injury settled into an awkward rhythm neither of them really knew how to navigate.
Judy went back to patrol.
Nick got a desk.
Simple as that.
At least on paper.
Three days later
Nick sat alone at their usual booth in the precinct cafeteria, rolling a paper cup of coffee slowly between the fingers of his good paw while the brace rested awkwardly against the edge of the table.
Lunch rush buzzed around him—officers talking too loudly, chairs scraping against tile, somebody arguing with the vending machine near the wall.
Every few seconds Nick’s eyes drifted toward the cafeteria entrance before pulling back again.
His phone lit up beside the tray.
Judy:
Sorry. Call ran long. Might miss lunch.
Nick stared at the message quietly.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Miss having my emotional support rabbit around.
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly at his own joke.
Then slowly faded.
After another second, he deleted the message entirely.
Instead he typed:
No worries. Stay safe.
A few seconds later the typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then finally:
Thanks. Sorry again.
Nick looked at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and setting it face-down beside his untouched fries.
His ears lowered slightly as he leaned back into the booth.
Across the cafeteria, two officers burst into loud laughter near the coffee station.
Normally he’d already have some sarcastic comment ready for Judy the second she walked through the door.
Today the empty seat across from him stayed empty.
Nick eventually reached for a fry with his good paw, then stopped halfway there before dropping it back onto the tray untouched.
Later that week
Judy stepped out of briefing balancing a coffee carrier and a stack of reports against her chest while a pair of officers walked beside her discussing a traffic stop gone wrong involving three goats and a stolen landscaping trailer.
“…and then the trailer detached and rolled straight through the car wash,” one of them finished.
Judy barked out a surprised laugh.
“Okay, no, you’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.”
The sound of her own laughter caught her off guard.
Instinctively, she glanced toward the desk where Nick normally sat nearby after morning briefings.
The chair was empty.
For a second her smile faltered before she quickly looked away again.
“Anyway,” the officer continued, still laughing, “captain nearly lost his mind.”
Judy smiled faintly and nodded along, but her eyes drifted briefly back toward the empty desk anyway.
That night
Nick sat curled into the corner of his couch with his injured wrist propped carefully against a pillow while some action movie played forgotten across the television.
The flickering light danced dimly across the apartment.
His phone rested in his lap.
Unread message draft:
You busy tonight?
Nick stared at the words while his thumb rubbed slowly against the edge of the phone case.
After nearly a minute, he deleted the message.
Typed again.
How was patrol?
He frowned faintly at the screen.
Deleted that too.
The cursor blinked silently against the empty message field while Nick leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyes closing briefly.
Eventually he locked the phone and tossed it onto the couch beside him.
A few minutes later it buzzed anyway.
Nick grabbed it almost immediately.
Judy:
Sorry, just got off shift. You still awake?
Nick looked toward the digital clock glowing softly from the kitchen.
Then toward the bottle of pain medication sitting untouched beside the sink.
His wrist throbbed steadily beneath the brace.
He typed:
Barely.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Want me to stop by?
Nick stared at the message.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Too easy to say yes.
Too easy to let things settle back into place for one night and pretend nothing underneath had shifted.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Sure.
Deleted.
After another long pause, he typed instead:
You should get some sleep. Early shift tomorrow right?
This time the response took longer.
Yeah.
Probably should.
Goodnight Nick.
Nick read the message twice before replying.
Night Carrots.
Afterward he let the phone rest loosely against his chest while the movie continued playing unwatched in the background.
The apartment felt strangely large around him.
The next week
Nick returned to the precinct for light duty.
Brace still on.
Movement still stiff.
He sat halfway through reviewing incident reports when laughter drifted across the bullpen.
Judy stood near another detective’s desk laughing at something displayed on a tablet screen, ears lifted high and relaxed in a way Nick realized he hadn’t seen around him in days.
His eyes lingered there a second too long before dropping back to the paperwork in front of him.
Not because she didn’t want to laugh with him.
Because lately whenever they talked, something heavier eventually settled into the space between them.
Judy glanced up mid-conversation.
Their eyes met briefly across the bullpen.
For just a second her expression softened automatically, warm and familiar.
Nick managed a faint smile back before another officer said something to her and the moment slipped away almost immediately.
He looked back down at the paperwork.
The words blurred slightly together.
Absentmindedly, he flexed his wrist beneath the brace.
Pain shot sharply up his arm.
Nick hissed quietly through his teeth and immediately stilled the movement, shoulders tightening for a moment before settling again.
Across the bullpen, Judy’s ears twitched toward the sound immediately.
Two weeks after the incident, Judy finally got off shift on time.
Nick was halfway through microwaving leftovers when his phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.
Judy:
Off at a reasonable hour for once.
You eaten yet?
Nick leaned one hip lightly against the counter as he read the message, thumb resting against the edge of the phone.
A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his muzzle.
He typed:
About to commit crimes against cuisine with microwaved noodles.
The response came almost immediately.
Absolutely not.
Come over.
Nick stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.
Then:
Bossy rabbit.
Be there in twenty.
Judy’s apartment smelled faintly like takeout and rain by the time they settled onto the couch together.
The storm outside had finally broken sometime after sunset, soft rain tapping steadily against the windows while muted city lights reflected dimly across the apartment walls.
Judy sat curled against Nick’s side beneath a blanket, one foot tucked beneath her while abandoned takeout containers sat scattered across the coffee table nearby. Some terrible action movie played across the television, explosions flashing across the room every few minutes.
Nick barely followed any of it.
He was too aware of the familiar weight of Judy leaning against him.
The warmth.
The steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The occasional brush of her ears against his shoulder whenever she laughed quietly at something ridiculous onscreen.
At some point Judy reached automatically toward his injured wrist while commenting on one particularly absurd stunt.
Her paw stopped halfway there.
Just for a second.
Then shifted awkwardly to rest against his forearm instead.
Nick noticed.
Judging by the way Judy’s ears lowered slightly afterward, she realized he had.
Neither of them said anything.
“You know,” Nick murmured, eyes still on the television, “I’m starting to think this movie may not be medically accurate.”
Judy snorted softly beside him. “What gave it away? The exploding helicopter or the fact the hero got thrown through three walls and walked it off?”
“See, now you’re just disrespecting cinema.”
That earned a real laugh from her.
Quiet.
Warm.
Close enough that Nick felt it more than heard it.
The movie rolled on while the rain softened outside.
Eventually Judy shifted a little closer beneath the blanket until her head rested fully against his shoulder.
Nick’s good paw settled lightly against her side without either of them thinking about it.
The movie eventually ended, leaving the apartment washed in the muted glow of rolling credits.
Neither of them moved.
Rain hissed softly against the windows.
Judy’s paw tightened slightly in the blanket gathered near her lap.
“Nick…”
His ears tilted toward her immediately.
“Yeah?”
Judy lifted her head just enough to look at him.
For a second it genuinely seemed like she was going to say something.
Nick could see it in the tension behind her eyes. The slight uncertainty in the way her ears lowered.
Then her gaze dropped instead.
“…Nothing.”
Nick looked at her quietly for a moment before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against her forehead.
Judy’s eyes closed briefly at the contact.
“Okay,” he murmured softly.
After that, neither of them tried to speak again.
A little later they migrated to bed more out of exhaustion than intention.
Rain still drifted softly against the windows while the apartment settled around them in dim blue-gray darkness.
Judy curled instinctively toward him beneath the blankets, one paw resting lightly against his chest while Nick laid carefully on his back beside her, mindful of the brace still wrapped around his wrist.
Within minutes her breathing evened out.
Asleep.
Nick wasn’t even close.
His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling while the quiet filled every corner of the room.
Beside him, Judy shifted slightly in her sleep, ears twitching faintly before settling again against his shoulder.
Nick turned his head slightly toward her in the darkness.
At how peaceful she looked.
How familiar this felt.
Slowly, carefully, he rested his head back against the pillow again.
And stayed awake listening to the rain long after midnight passed.
Sometime around four in the morning, Nick gave up on sleep entirely.
Carefully, he shifted beneath the blankets, trying not to disturb Judy curled against his side.
The mattress moved anyway.
Judy stirred faintly, nose wrinkling for a second before settling again deeper into the pillow. One paw remained loosely against his chest even in sleep.
Nick went still immediately.
After a few seconds her breathing evened back out.
Only then did he gently lift her paw and guide it back beneath the blankets.
For a long moment, he just sat there on the edge of the bed, elbows resting against his knees while the brace pressed awkwardly against his thigh.
His eyes drifted back toward Judy.
Even asleep, she’d curled instinctively toward the side of the bed he’d just left behind.
Something tight pulled quietly in his chest.
Nick looked away first.
By the time the coffee maker sputtered to life in Judy’s kitchen, dawn had only barely started softening the darkness outside the windows.
Nick stood near the counter in sweatpants and an old academy t-shirt, one shoulder leaned lightly against the cabinets while steam curled upward from the mug in his good paw.
Rain slid softly down the glass beyond the sink.
His phone rested beside him.
Unlocked.
Blank message screen.
Nick stared at it quietly for several seconds before locking it again.
Behind him, soft footsteps crossed the apartment.
He glanced over his shoulder just as Judy appeared in the hallway rubbing sleep from one eye, ears uneven from sleep and fur still mussed from the pillow.
For a second her expression softened immediately at the sight of him.
“Hey,” she mumbled quietly.
“Hey yourself.”
Judy shuffled into the kitchen wrapped loosely in one of Nick’s old hoodies she’d stolen months ago and never bothered returning.
She stopped beside him long enough to lean sleepily against his shoulder.
Automatically.
Nick closed his eyes briefly before relaxing into the contact.
“You’ve been up long?” she asked softly.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Judy’s ears lowered slightly.
Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the brace around his wrist.
“Hurting?”
Nick followed the glance before giving a small shrug.
“A little.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Judy stayed leaned against him for another quiet moment before eventually pushing herself upright enough to start another cup of coffee.
The apartment remained still around them in the soft way early mornings sometimes are.
Rain against the windows.
Coffee brewing.
The low hum of the refrigerator.
Judy leaned against the counter across from him while her mug warmed both paws.
Nick watched rainwater trail slowly down the kitchen window behind her.
“You heading straight to the precinct?” he asked after a while.
Judy nodded faintly. “Briefing starts in an hour.”
Nick hummed softly into his coffee.
The silence settled again.
Gentler this time.
Judy looked at him over the rim of her mug.
“You could stay, you know.”
Nick’s eyes lifted toward her.
Judy shifted slightly against the counter, fingers tightening briefly around the mug.
“Until I leave for work, I mean.”
Nick held her gaze quietly for a moment before looking back down at the coffee in his paws.
Every part of him wanted to say yes.
Wanted another hour of this.
Another quiet morning where things almost felt untouched.
Instead he pushed gently off the counter.
“I should probably head home,” he said softly.
Judy’s ears dipped slightly before she caught the movement.
“…Okay.”
Nick stepped closer, leaning down just enough to press another soft kiss against her forehead.
Judy’s eyes closed briefly at the contact.
“Get through your shift without tackling anybody,” he murmured lightly.
That earned the faintest twitch of a smile.
“No promises.”
Nick smiled back automatically.
It faded a little too quickly afterward.
A few minutes later Judy stood quietly near the apartment doorway while Nick pulled on his jacket.
Rain still tapped softly against the hallway windows outside.
“Text me when you get home?” she asked.
Nick hesitated only slightly while adjusting the sleeve near his brace.
Then nodded.
“Yeah. I will.”
Judy watched him for another second like she almost wanted to say something else.
Instead she stepped aside so he could pass.
Nick paused briefly beside her in the doorway.
Then left.
The apartment felt strangely quiet again the moment the door clicked shut behind him.
The next few weeks slipped back into the chaos of police work.
Or at least they tried to.
Nick still found himself checking the cafeteria entrance around noon out of habit.
Most days it stayed empty.
His phone buzzed against the table beside his tray.
Judy:
Sorry. Captain grabbed us right before lunch.
Nick looked at the message while absently turning a fry through ketchup he’d already stopped eating.
His thumb hovered briefly over the keyboard.
You owe me fries, Carrots.
Sent.
The response didn’t come for another forty minutes.
Add it to my tab.
Despite himself, Nick smiled faintly at the screen before locking the phone again.
The smile faded a little quicker afterward.
Across the cafeteria, a group of officers burst into laughter near the coffee station while somebody loudly argued with the vending machine again.
Nick glanced once more toward the entrance before finally standing to throw his mostly untouched lunch away.
A few days later, Nick sat at his desk finishing reports while the bullpen buzzed with overlapping conversations and ringing phones.
His brace sat discarded beside the keyboard now.
The wrist still ached occasionally.
Mostly when he forgot about it.
Across the room, Judy stood near the precinct entrance shrugging into her jacket while another officer rattled off details from the call they’d just cleared.
“…and then the skunk actually tried to bite the paramedic,” the officer said.
Judy barked out a laugh.
Nick looked up automatically at the sound.
Her ears lifted when she spotted him watching.
For a second both of them smiled without thinking.
Easy.
Familiar.
Then Judy’s radio crackled sharply.
“Unit Seven, possible disturbance—”
The moment disappeared immediately.
Judy’s ears twitched toward the radio before she looked back toward him with a small apologetic shrug.
Nick lifted a paw casually like it was nothing.
Judy disappeared out the precinct doors a second later.
Nick stared at his monitor for a while after that without typing a single word.
Eventually he reached for his coffee only to realize it had gone cold.
Again.
Three days later, Nick got cleared for patrol.
He rotated his wrist carefully beneath the clinic lights while the otter doctor looked over the final scan results.
“Sore?” the doctor asked.
Nick flexed the paw once.
“A little.”
“Expected.” The otter adjusted his glasses. “Take it easy another week and try not to tackle anybody.”
Nick slid off the exam table with a crooked grin. “No promises.”
The moment he stepped back into the bullpen carrying the clearance paperwork, Judy spotted him immediately from across the room.
Her ears lifted higher than Nick had seen in weeks.
“You’re cleared?”
Nick held up the papers dramatically. “Try to contain your excitement.”
Judy smiled before he even finished speaking.
Warm.
Immediate.
Real enough that Nick felt something loosen quietly in his chest.
For the first time in weeks, her expression looked unguarded around him again.
“That’s great, Nick.”
And for a little while after that, things almost did feel normal.
Their shifts lined back up.
Morning coffee runs came back naturally.
They traded sarcastic comments across paperwork like they used to.
One evening they responded to a noise complaint involving two raccoons, a karaoke machine, and an aggressively territorial goose.
By the time they got back into the cruiser afterward, Judy was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her notepad.
“Oh my god,” she wheezed, one paw pressed against her chest. “Did you see the goose chase that raccoon through the hallway?”
Nick grinned across the center console. “Carrots, I’ve seen organized crime operations with less violence.”
That only made Judy laugh harder.
She leaned briefly against the cruiser door trying to catch her breath while rain misted softly beneath the streetlights outside.
Nick watched her quietly for a second too long.
The sound of her laughing this freely around him again felt like sunlight after weeks of cloud cover.
And for a moment—just one moment—it honestly felt like maybe they’d found their footing again.
Then the laughter faded.
Judy settled back into her seat, still smiling faintly as she pulled the seatbelt across her chest.
Nick started the cruiser.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence that settled afterward wasn’t hostile.
Just familiar now in all the wrong ways.
Outside, rain streaked softly across the windshield while neon reflections blurred along the wet pavement.
Judy stared out her side of the cruiser for a while before quietly reaching for the spare coffee resting in the cupholder beside her.
Without a word, she held it out toward Nick.
Nick accepted it automatically.
Their paws brushed briefly in the exchange.
Both noticed.
Neither reacted.
Nick rested the coffee against his knee, watching steam curl upward through the dim light of the dashboard.
“You ever feel like we keep almost talking about something?” he asked quietly.
Beside him, Judy went very still.
Not dramatic.
Just enough for Nick to notice.
Her eyes stayed forward on the rain sliding down the windshield.
“…Yeah,” she admitted softly after a moment.
Nick’s grip tightened slightly around the coffee cup.
The radio crackled quietly somewhere between them.
Neither of them answered it right away.
Rain followed them almost the entire rest of the shift.
Not heavy enough to flood the streets.
Just steady enough to turn the city gray and reflective beneath the cruiser lights.
After Nick’s question, neither of them really knew how to go back to normal conversation.
They still worked the calls.
Still handled reports.
Still joked when they had to.
But something quieter sat beneath every interaction now.
Waiting.
By the time they finally pulled into the precinct garage near the end of shift, the exhaustion between them felt heavier than the rain outside.
Nick shut the cruiser off.
The engine ticking softly into silence suddenly sounded very loud.
Beside him, Judy sat with both paws wrapped loosely around the coffee cup she’d never actually finished.
Neither moved to get out.
Finally Judy exhaled slowly through her nose.
“You still wanna talk?”
Nick stared out through the rain-speckled windshield for another second before nodding once.
“Yeah.”
Judy’s grip tightened slightly around the cup.
“My place?”
Nick glanced toward her briefly.
“…Okay.”
The drive to Judy’s apartment felt strangely familiar.
Streetlights reflected across the wet pavement while the wipers swept steadily back and forth through the rain.
Neither of them spoke much.
Not because they were angry.
Because every conversation felt like it was circling something larger waiting at the end of the night.
When Judy finally unlocked the apartment door, warm light spilled out into the hallway.
Nick stepped inside quietly behind her while Judy kicked off her shoes near the couch.
Everything looked exactly the same as the last time he’d been here.
Blanket still folded over the armrest.
Coffee mugs still sitting in the drying rack.
His hoodie still draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
For some reason that made his chest tighten.
Judy disappeared briefly down the hallway before returning in an oversized sweatshirt and soft sleep shorts, ears still damp from where she’d splashed water across her face.
Nick had seen her like this hundreds of times before.
Tonight it felt strangely harder to look at her.
“You want anything?” Judy asked quietly, moving toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea?”
Nick shook his head once. “I’m good.”
Judy nodded faintly before leaning both paws against the kitchen counter.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke.
Rain tapped steadily against the apartment windows while the silence stretched between them.
Judy stood with both paws braced against the kitchen counter, shoulders tight beneath the oversized sweatshirt while Nick leaned opposite her near the sink.
Neither of them looked entirely sure how to stand around each other anymore.
Finally Judy lowered her gaze toward the countertop.
“We can’t keep doing this.”
Her voice sounded tired more than anything else.
Nick swallowed once before nodding faintly.
“I know.”
Judy rubbed one thumb slowly against the sleeve covering her opposite wrist, ears lowered slightly as she searched for the right words.
“Every time I tried to bring it up…” She paused, jaw tightening briefly. “You looked so exhausted already.” Her eyes lifted toward him for a second before dropping again. “And every time I thought maybe things were getting better, I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Nick looked down at the floor between them.
“Yeah.”
The quiet that followed felt rawer now.
Less avoidant.
More honest.
Judy drew in a slow breath.
“I am sorry about your wrist, Nick.” Her ears dipped lower immediately after. “But I know that’s not really what this is about.”
Nick’s eyes closed briefly.
“No.”
Judy shifted slightly against the counter, folding her arms tighter across herself.
“I keep replaying that scene in my head,” she admitted quietly. “Over and over.” Her voice wavered slightly before steadying again. “And every single time I get to the same point.” She swallowed. “I saw him move and I reacted before I stopped to actually look at him.”
Nick stayed quiet.
Judy watched him carefully now, reading every little shift in his expression the way she always had.
“You saw something different.”
Nick’s jaw tightened faintly.
“I saw a scared fox.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Judy’s ears lowered almost flat at the honesty in them.
Nick rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck with his good paw before continuing.
“And I know why you reacted the way you did, Carrots.” He finally looked at her directly. “The crowd was escalating. Everybody was yelling. He looked like he was gonna bolt.” His gaze flickered downward briefly. “I understand all of that.”
Judy’s eyes had already started shining slightly.
“But after everything calmed down…” Nick’s shoulders tensed subtly beneath his jacket. “I couldn’t stop wondering if things would’ve gone differently if he wasn’t a fox.”
Judy physically flinched that time.
Not dramatically.
Just a small sharp inhale and a tightening through her shoulders like the words landed somewhere she already feared they might.
Nick immediately regretted how blunt it sounded once it was out loud.
“I don’t know if that’s fair,” he said quickly. “I don’t even know if I believe it.”
“But you thought it.”
Nick didn’t answer immediately.
Because he had.
Rain slid softly down the dark windows behind Judy while she stared at him with hurt sitting openly across her face now.
Not anger.
Hurt.
“That’s what’s been bothering you this whole time?” she asked quietly.
Nick nodded once.
“And I hated myself for it.” His ears lowered slightly. “Because I know you.” His voice tightened faintly. “I know how hard you’ve worked to be better than that.”
Judy looked away first then, one paw rising to rub shakily beneath her eye before she folded her arms across herself again.
“But maybe you weren’t wrong to think it.”
Nick’s head lifted immediately.
“Judy—”
“No.” She shook her head once, ears still pinned low. “I need to say this.”
Nick went quiet.
Judy took another slow breath before continuing.
“When we first met, I profiled you.” Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere near the floor now. “Not because I hated foxes. Not because I wanted to hurt you. But because somewhere in the back of my head…” She swallowed hard. “I expected certain things from foxes before you ever gave me a reason to.”
Nick’s posture softened slightly.
Judy laughed once under her breath, humorless and small.
“And after everything with Bellwether, I told myself I’d gotten past that.” Her paws tightened against her sleeves. “I thought recognizing it meant I fixed it.”
“You did work on it.”
“I know.” Her eyes finally lifted back toward him again. “But that day…” Her voice cracked softly. “I saw a fox moving toward an opening and I reacted before I stopped to think.” Tears gathered visibly now though she kept her voice controlled. “And the worst part is I don’t know if instinct made me react faster than I would’ve with somebody else.”
Nick’s chest tightened painfully at hearing her say it out loud.
Judy shook her head slowly.
“That’s what’s been eating me alive, Nick.” Her ears lowered fully now. “Not that you thought it.” A tear finally slipped free despite her trying to stop it. “That I can’t honestly promise you you were wrong.”
For a long moment neither of them moved.
Then Nick slowly pushed himself away from the counter.
Judy looked up just in time for him to stop directly in front of her.
Carefully, he reached up with his good paw and rested it gently against the side of her face.
Judy’s eyes closed immediately at the touch.
“You wanna know what’s been killing me?” Nick asked softly.
Her ears twitched faintly beneath his paw.
“I knew you were tearing yourself apart over this.” His thumb brushed lightly against the damp fur beneath her eye. “And instead of talking to you, I pulled away.”
Judy opened her eyes slowly.
Nick’s gaze dropped briefly.
“I kept waiting for tomorrow.” A faint, tired shake of his head followed. “Tomorrow we’d talk about it. Tomorrow things would feel normal again. Tomorrow I’d stop thinking about it.”
Judy’s breathing hitched softly.
“But every time we got close…” Nick swallowed. “I got scared saying it out loud would change how we looked at each other.”
Judy’s paws slowly unfolded from against herself.
“You could never make me stop loving you,” she whispered.
Nick’s expression cracked slightly at that.
Because somewhere deep down, that had been the fear the entire time.
Judy’s breathing still trembled slightly beneath Nick’s paw.
The apartment had gone quiet except for the rain against the windows and the soft hum of the kitchen light above them.
Neither of them moved for a long moment.
Then Judy finally stepped forward.
Not hesitant this time.
Just tired of standing so far away from him.
Her forehead pressed gently against Nick’s chest while his arm wrapped carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close enough that he could feel the tension still lingering through her frame.
Judy let out a shaky breath against him.
“I hated this,” she admitted quietly. “These last few weeks.” Her paws tightened lightly against the front of his shirt. “Every time you pulled away I kept thinking maybe I’d already broken something between us.”
Nick rested his chin softly against the top of her head.
“You didn’t.”
“I hurt you.”
Nick closed his eyes briefly.
“Yeah,” he admitted honestly. “You did.”
Judy’s shoulders tightened immediately at the words.
“But not the way we kept acting like.”
Slowly, Judy leaned back just enough to look up at him.
Nick’s paw remained warm against the side of her face, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye again.
“We got hurt,” he said softly. “Both of us.” His ears lowered slightly. “And instead of talking about it, we just kept giving each other space until it started feeling normal.”
Judy swallowed hard.
“I don’t want normal to feel like that.”
“Me neither.”
The silence that followed felt different now.
Not heavy.
Not avoidant.
Just quiet.
Judy’s gaze drifted briefly toward his wrist before returning to his eyes.
“I still need to work on this,” she admitted softly. “On myself.” Her ears lowered slightly again. “Because I never want you looking at me and wondering if I’m seeing you differently than everybody else.”
Something in Nick’s expression softened immediately at that.
“You know what the dumb part is?” he murmured.
Judy blinked faintly. “What?”
“I think part of me already knew the answer.” A tired little smile tugged weakly at the corner of his muzzle. “But I was too scared to ask the question out loud.”
Judy’s eyes shimmered again.
This time when Nick kissed her, neither of them held anything back.
It wasn’t desperate.
Wasn’t rushed.
Just months of exhaustion and fear and love finally collapsing into honesty all at once.
Judy’s paws slid upward against his chest as she kissed him back, leaning fully into him for the first time in weeks without hesitation lingering somewhere between them.
Nick felt her relax against him little by little with every passing second.
Like both of them were finally setting something heavy down.
Eventually they pulled apart just enough to breathe.
Judy laughed softly through the last remnants of tears while Nick rested his forehead against hers.
“We are really bad at this sometimes,” she murmured.
Nick huffed a quiet laugh.
“Emotionally constipated?” he offered.
Judy snorted despite herself and lightly shoved his chest.
“There’s the fox I know.”
The warmth that spread through Nick’s chest at those words felt almost overwhelming after weeks of distance.
Carefully, he drew her back against him again.
This time neither of them pulled away.
Much later, the rain finally stopped.
Soft city light filtered through the bedroom curtains while Judy slept curled tightly against Nick’s side, one paw resting across his chest beneath the blankets.
Nick woke slowly to the warmth beside him and the faint orange glow of morning creeping across the room.
For a moment he simply laid there listening.
The quiet hum of the city outside.
Judy’s soft breathing.
The absence of that terrible distance that had followed them for weeks.
Beside him, Judy stirred faintly before blinking sleepily up at him.
“Hey,” she mumbled.
Nick smiled softly.
“Hey yourself.”
Judy shifted closer automatically, ears brushing lightly beneath his chin before she noticed the sunlight filtering through the curtains.
“You’re still here.”
Nick’s expression softened further at the words.
Instead of answering immediately, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead.
Judy’s eyes closed briefly.
Outside, morning sunlight slowly pushed aside the last traces of rain over Zootopia.
And for the first time in weeks, neither of them was waiting for tomorrow anymore.