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It was a peaceful night.
Or, rather, it was for everyone else. Pawbert could hear the other inmates of Zootopia Correctional Facility snoring away in their respective cells, though in the Lynxley family's shared cell, it was, for the most part, quiet. And yet, here he was, wide awake in the middle of the night.
He’d had trouble sleeping ever since he was a kid. Pawbert vaguely remembers crawling into his parents bedroom as a child, his mother calming his father down before he could start properly yelling at him for waking them up, and taking him into her arms, where he felt safe from whatever he was afraid of back then.
Nowadays, he'd consider these Late Nights a reprieve. It was just him, his thoughts, and a calmer, better world. He'd usually stare up at the ceiling (or the “roof” of his desert getaway) and simply let his imagination wander. He'd picture himself going on walks through the city, wandering through the different districts of Zootopia, not as Pawbert Lynxley, the eternal screw-up of the Lynxley Family, but simply as Pawbert, the Lynx.
Tonight, however, was different.
Not only was Pawbert now stuck in a tiny cement box within an even bigger cement box, with the people who hated him the most and a family name he'd never be able to live up to, putting him in a constant state of uneasiness, staring up at the ceiling of the cell, Tracing over every Little crack in the cold stone with his eyes, over and over and over again…
…He couldn't even escape into his own mind to forget about it for a couple of hours.
Because now, his thoughts were occupied by memories of his greatest failure to boot.
Blue scales shimmering in the sun, Pawbert suddenly wanting nothing more in that Moment than to gently trace his paw over them.
A half-fanged, fully-joyous smile, Pawbert smiling back as both guilt set in his stomach, heavy as stone, and, terribly, a fuzzy, uncontrollable fondness spread through his chest.
The two of them, watching the sun set over the desert dunes, the snake’s body draped over his shoulders like a scarf, Pawbert simultaneously feeling like he was about to throw up and still longing to lean into that touch, to be enveloped by it, to melt into it, forever and ever and-
Pawbert turned himself onto his stomach and growled into his pillow in frustration, which earned him a slurred "Shut up!" from his brother across the room, just in time for the usual shame to kick in, but it was nothing against the wanting, the smiling, the longing he felt in that moment.
If only he were here, Pawbert thought to himself, ignoring the faulty logic of how someone like Gary DeSnake would end up in a place like this, in his arms again, willingly. It was so clear in his mind's eye that he was willing, even eager, to look past everything else and to just let himself have this.
To imagine a world in which he wasn't Pawbert Lynxley, the Traitor, who had very nearly succeeded in his scheme to destroy the original patent and the murders he'd attempted along the way. A world in which he was simply Pawbert, the Lynx. A good, true friend of Gary's and maybe even something more-
He shifted towards the wall in a sharp, quick turn. This time, it was his Father, muttering something Pawbert couldn't quite make out from the bunk beneath him. He still flinched at the Sound of his voice, a familiar Panic rising but then falling, quicker than usual, within his chest.
He was absolutely transfixed by the way the moonlight reflecting against the wall on that particular night.
It was a magical sort of moonlight, turning the drab gray into a brilliant silver, slightly blue, maybe even a bit Purple. He could see his own shadow on the wall, studying it with a mild interest, like a mediocre part of an otherwise beautiful painting. But, for some reason, the Darkness didn't drag the rest of the light down with it, it simply made it even more Beautiful. And that, somehow, made even more sense to Pawbert.
The glow of the moonlight and his own shadow on the wall.
A Color he had never even dreamed of before and the absence of any Color at all.
The only one who had ever shown him true kindness, and a dark silhouette where a real Person should be.
But there, in a cell, facing the wall, looking at the rays of moonlight that had made it through as if they were a lifeline, Pawbert realised something.
This was the sort of Night where anything was possible.
...And so, for once in a Lifetime, Pawbert supposed it was possible to let himself dream, too.