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Peach waves dazzled through the windows from the comfort of his bench.
The sight wouldn't last for long. Nick knew that much. Forecasters had predicted a heavy sleet to trample down Savannah Central in the upcoming hours. Best to fight traffic and find shelter to avoid risk, they said.
And Nick, for once in his life, would follow instructions—if only a certain bunny didn't make him wait.
She didn't expect him to, of course. He's his own fox; he could've passed by those doors hours ago and forwarded a text, and she would oblige and catch up with him at roll call tomorrow, expressing her thankfulness with an espresso and black coffee in hand.
But such a concept never occurred to them. Day one of Nick's enrollment in the ZPD and already they silently fought to meet each morning and leave together each night, familiar though its novelty. Bundled up with newfound realizations and near-death experiences, and ever since extinguishing the Lynxleys' reign and reestablishing the foundations of Zootopia, an unspoken agreement was inscribed between the star officers: to stick together, forever and always, or so forsake anyone who dared sever their bond.
Nick might as well have considered them wedding vows. Till death do us part could sneak itself in, and nobody would be the wiser.
That said, he would've done all of that for her regardless.
Such sentimentality would've befuddled past Nick, the version of him that hid behind spiked shields, comfortable in years-long solitude even if it meant barring himself from genuine connection. It was safer, more tolerable—significantly more lonely—than waking up each morning with the fuzzy, grey firecracker, who lit his interiors and blitzed a part of his chest he once believed to be dormant.
The sensation warmed him as time passed on the bench, which resided next to Chief Bogo's office, a welcomed replacement to the shoddy chairs that resembled more like seats waiting for a disgruntled school principal. Above it was a bulletin, one among its brethren in the break room and lockers; it listed events, phony encouragement posters, and the sporadic ad.
Crowds abundant in the ZPD's working hours now dwindled significantly, leaving Clawhauser and the occasional janitor to dust off the day's remaining load. Outside, the sky's plump clouds drawled as an impeding dark encroached below; an unsettled dusk. Rumblings of thunder echoed in the far, far distance. It wouldn't be too long, now.
Nick fiddled with the buttons of his newly-acquired trench coat. Like his floral tie, Judy had gifted him it: a soft, sage-green, light but comfortable. The subject came about when she, in her horror, found nothing close to winter wear filing his closet. I have to make room somewhere for all my Pawaiian shirts, he had teased, which only earned him an exasperated look.
He thought back on it, then, reflecting on the fondness she failed to hide. On the surface, not much had changed in the six months since caging the Lynxleys. Nick and Judy were the same mammals they'd always been, albeit more knowledgeable, more refined in what constituted a healthy partnership. No, it was the quieter moments that filled in the spaces: each significant touch, every considerate glance, built the foundations of a relationship neither had ever planned on maintaining, but continued to out of dedication.
Nick hoped, in the recesses of his mind reserved only for him, unreachable from reality—that their relationship would last forever.
Thoughts staggered to a halt at the sound of a door creak. He spun his head to find his partner, ready to greet her kindly, but the sight silenced him.
Judy's countenance, ebullience personified, now resembled as though one was haunted by something unseemly. Her paw hung exhausted on the overhead knob, as if undecided on whether to forfeit or succumb to the sharp rocks below.
Her eyes caught his and nearly jumped, startled. He blinked in response, about ready to send her his concern before a stoic presence loomed behind her.
Bogo, heavily-built and broad shouldered, calmly let Judy aside to close the door. He ambled by, clasping a hoofed-paw over his coat for the upcoming storm. Nick was spotted watching him and he gave a subtle nod, expressing…
Nick wasn't sure. Sympathy? Solemn, almost? It itched at his fur but was left with no answer as Bogo trod down the stairs.
A beat. Then, when the chief was out of earshot, Nick turned to his partner.
Judy remained muted. She glanced at him before darting away, appearing to skim through every possible answer to his inevitable questions. Languorously, she dragged her feet to the bench and slumped down; her body heaved forward, her elbows on her knees.
"So…" Nick started, "What did Gruffalo Buffalo tell you?"
She huffed softly, a small smile creasing her lips; it promptly dragged down not a second later. She didn't answer right away. The silence passed between them until finally she squeezed her eyes, puffing her chest for a long, dreadful moment before she spilled out against the bench.
"Chief Bogo wanted to promote me."
He lit up. "Really?"
A nod. Triumphant, it isn't.
"That's great, Carrots, I…!" Realization stirred. "… Wait, you didn't take it?"
A shake of her head.
No. Of course she didn't.
"No?" he doubted suddenly, edging on incredulous.
"No," she reaffirmed.
Nick stuttered. He scrutinized Judy every which way, waiting for this ill-timed joke of hers to spin around, but no laughter rose among the one-fox audience. "But, Carrots…" He combed the fur on his head, stunned, trying to make reason out of illogic. "You've wanted this position ever since you saw the opening."
"I expressly stated I'd only take it if you were also considered."
His ears folded back, confused.
Judy withered and collapsed against the back of the bench. "Chief Bogo felt I was ready to move up a rank. Up to detective. Like we wanted." Her lips curved down, utterly despondent. She found his eyes. "But without you."
Without you.
An icy pike drove through his chest; he just barely stopped his insides from pouring out. Unwillingly, a sort of sardonic mirth sputtered from his lips. "It couldn't possibly be that I'm a—"
"No," she cut in. "I won't let it."
The bunny repositioned herself, her knees on the bench as she faced him. Her warbled tone made way for ire, brows furrowed and eyes sharp at such a ridiculous notion. Obviously, it's ridiculous, but not…unheard of. Not unlike anything Nick hadn't been subjected to before.
What did he expect? His kind weren't seen alongside the top dogs. Anyone who tried was promptly shut down or backed into a corner, the whip of scorn flaying them. Nick just happened to be one of the lucky few who skulked past just unscathed enough to be given such a position; he was only offered the opportunity because she saw right through the mask he wore to maintain a sliver of survival.
The world was changing; that much was clear, and both of them knew it wasn't an automatic fix nor a sudden shift in renewed understanding. Yet the physical, hopping spark of his life stirred fretfully at abidance, dreading the merest possibility of being struck down and denied any chance of trying again.
"You…can't help these things, Judy," he mumbled. Her ears flicked attentively at the sound of her name but said nothing. In the far distance echoed a dark swarm, creeping through the once pleasant canvas of pinks.
"It's not right," she stated bluntly.
"'Course it isn't, but—" he stammered, "—I mean, I wasn't exactly 'top of my class.' Bogo isn't going to enlist me as detective for barely scraping by in the academy."
"Don't say that," she gently scolded, facing him. "You know just as well as I do that your scores were in the top five in a class of twenty. If anyone deserves this position, it would be you."
Nick's lips tried to refute, to shut the whole thing down, but were promptly sealed. He marinated in Judy's words, praying futile prayers that, if he just let her, if he was more willing and daring, then maybe her objections toward the injustice leashing him could soothe the rope and free him entirely.
But such wanting, he knew, led nowhere but dissatisfaction. His gaze cast elsewhere.
Judy searched, ears alert for a sign—till seeing right through him with startling clarity.
"You're not upset."
It lingered between a statement and a question; she knew he was and had every right to be, but….
He drawled out a sigh and slumped by her, an arm over the bench. "It's just not worth me getting upset over, Judy," he responded. The words were bitter on his tongue in disagreement. "Besides, I don't…" He hesitated, sifting at the dwindling responses afforded to him. None would satisfy her, but what other choice did he have?
"I don't want to hold you back from what you want."
Judy's eyes rimmed, shocked, and immediately he wished he bit them down. His deep-seated doubt resurfaced for his partner to see—a shameful display, he knew, and regretted it.
Emotion threatened to plunge him before the bunny took his paw formerly on his lap; it's an uneven weight in her little ones.
"You know better by now," she admonished, voice soft. Nick found himself entranced by her gaze, bright amethysts illuminated midst the progressing dark. "You're more than my partner, Nick. You're my equal. And I know you feel this sense of…inevitability? Like somehow it's useless to show everyone who you could be."
The sentiment was an all-too-familiar one between them. Nick had become painfully cognizant of her journey, unfurled before him a sea of life experiences battered by hardship and dismissal. She bemoaned such inequity by doing what she always did: revolting with stern words and harsh kicks. Compared to his juvenile cowering and soon rejection of both the curdling stigma and whispers of aid thrown his way like a bone, she had always been the bravest between them.
"But you are so much more than that. You're clever and loyal—and gentle when you want to be." She offered a shy smile. "You came into my life when I least expected it, and every so often I reflect on what you taught me and made me realize things about myself that I'd never stopped to consider until you came along. I owe you everything."
"Besides, it's—it's not impossible," she urged, imploring him for the future. "Nothing says you can't be. The chief can't rule it out, and regardless of whatever anyone else thinks, neither can they. I told him directly that I wouldn't take the position if you weren't assigned alongside me. I refused it then, and I'll continue refusing it until he sees you for the fox that you are."
Said fox processed her speech through timid, steady swallows. It was getting hard to see her, the mist clouding his sight.
A small, sharp pain lingered in the back of his mind, a part of him that originally dominated his perception of the world that threw him to the crib. If he didn't ask now, the knife would greet itself once more.
Licking his lips, he tittered awkwardly and sorted through his catalogue of words. Verdant eyes found her paws; they clung desperately onto his singular.
"Hypothetically, if you really were made a detective, and I wasn't there beside you…what would you do?"
The self-deprecation evaporated. Left in its wake was Judy, who, after scooting back and placing her hands on her lap, severing their comforting hold, stared him down, completely and utterly affronted.
"Then I won't be part of the force."
Thunder slashed the buildings below, carried by eminent pouches in the turbid sky. The last remaining rose gold was wilting.
But Nick couldn't throw his attention away, not when he stared back, inarticulate.
If anyone else had been bestowed the challenge that was being Judy's partner, her staunch refusal for a rank up would deem her unreasonable. Unmanageable. Delusional. He recalled, months ago, ribbons of pink and violet blurred upon the edges of the stammering, shivering light of his life before him, candid then as she was now, leaving no room for disbelief.
You're the only partner I would ever want.
Sometimes late at night, when darkness made it susceptible for doubt to take root and sprout, he had to remind himself that such a notion existed. That she valued him so highly that she refused to be partnered with anyone else. That she felt pinioned at the mere idea of being asunder from him. That she staked against the chief and would've stowed away her badge if it meant not having Nick and Nick alone.
He wished her confession was recorded on that carrot pen instead.
Nick didn't realize his eyes were running until Judy's demeanor shifted, somber as she reached forward. His titter returned, rising in volume alongside his tears, and he urged her into his arms. She reciprocated without hesitation.
The bonded pair sank in their united embrace, unbeknownst to the weather beyond. The fox held his bunny close, so diminutive, burrowed within his larger frame. He could hear the quiet, choked sobs spill out from her, overtaken by her declaration like he had. What a surge of power and comfort she was. How did he get so lucky?
Nick composed himself a moment later, riding the last wave of their repose, and pulled his head back to face her, keeping her interlocked. They exchanged a gaze, attentive to the other. Judy appeared…content, a familiar countenance she shared in his company, so considerate and wanting of his presence.
The wave quietly resurged, awakened as a new shape. A new calling.
Nick—instinctively, unconsciously—raised a paw to cradle her cheek.
Her nose twitched, but otherwise she didn't object. Gingerly, he brought his other paw and brushed a thumb in the space between her ears, soothing.
Judy instinctively squeezed her eyes shut at his action. Not exactly leaning into his touch. She just let it happen. Fighting back the urge to scatter and not let the warmth flooding her ears be known—except Nick had always been candidly aware of her more than anyone else had.
Looking at her like this now, he fought back the urge to call her by the moniker she hated.
So pretty, he settled on.
Then he leaned down, reason folded away for desire, a spring of unadulterated indulgence, and pressed his lips to her forehead.
Tendrils of warmth spread through his fingertips and spilled below, softening her cheeks. It was the most gentle of kisses, feathered and chaste. A salve to any enduring worries. A token of gratitude for all this embodiment of light had granted him, and asked for nothing in return.
If anyone was unwise and disbelieving, they would say his kiss was blessed by an angel; Nick would never classify his acts as such heresy.
Yet when he leaned away, searching for her face, he found Judy looking at him in a way he had never seen from her before.
Judy—framed by the remainder of light from the peach sky—gazed back, awestruck.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no—
"Oh, boy," Nick sputtered abashedly, eyes blown up as he promptly started his leave from his now-shambling side of the bench, "would ya look at the time, w-we should really be—"
"Nick."
He halted. Standing up from his seat, he found his coat sleeve tugged on. A sharp dread pressed down on his ribs. Why now, even after everything, did he fear the worst?
With prolonged effort, he turned around and faced her.
Judy was nothing but bright. Her effervescent smile bubbled to the surface, giggling once, before hopping down and relinquishing her grip. Her paw lowered down to his, caressing it with delicate care, and, looking up at him as she brought it to her lips, kissed it.
Nick's chest spiked at the sensation. Only when she held his arm close and drew him toward the stairway did his breath relinquish, eased by her encouragement. She wouldn't ask for anything in return if he didn't want to; that much was clear. He promised himself from now on that he wouldn't keep her waiting.
As they ambled down and made their way to the doors, Judy affectionately bumped his side, looking up at him with an assured purpose. From the tail end of the storm, the moon awoke, shining down on her.
"Silly fox."