moments in sleep
platonic
1. Night Cap.
"You're drunk, Carrots."
"Psh… no I am naht."
"Yes. You are. C'mon. It's bed time."
"But I wanna partay!"
"We're not doing that. Drink this coffee."
"You drink this coffee."
"I would, but you need it so much more than I do."
She palms his face. Or tries to. Her hand sort of lands on his chin. "You're stupid."
He pats her hand. "Thank you, Judes."
"Your face is stupid."
"Have you seen yours right now?"
She makes a noise that's half between a laugh and half between a burp. And then she throws up on his feet.
And then, after that, she passes out.
All in all Nick learned, as he's taking his third shower of the evening and still somehow smelling like carrot vodka, Judy was never to take part in a drinking contest against Del Gato ever again.
Unless, of course, he remembered a camera.
2. Forced Sleep.
He throws a pistachio at her, and it bounces off her ear.
"Judy. Go to sleep."
"No."
"Carrots."
"No."
"I'll throw another pistachio at you."
"And I won't be cleaning them up."
He does. Throw another pistachio at her. And then he eats the next one.
She glares at him before ducking down into her book. It's a mystery novel (figures) and when she wasn't raving about it to him in the squad car that day, she had her nose buried in it, eyes scanning the pages at a speed that had him hugging the wall for support.
The next pistachio bounces off her other ear. It twitches.
"If you don't go to bed now," Nick says with purpose (and doesn't he sound just so dignified when he says things with purpose) "then tomorrow you'll sleep in and I'll have to bang on your door in the morning and get you up because you decided to not listen to me and be a nerd."
"Reading isn't nerdy, Nick. And go away."
He throws another pistachio.
It takes the entire bag (half thrown, half eaten) to finally get her off the couch and to bed. She promises not to read in her room ("I can see the light, Judy. Don't try to trick me.") and he promises to vacuum the next day ("It's about time too. You shed" - "I do not!")
And the next morning she's banging on his door to get up. And all is right in the world.
3. Deep Sleep
It's been ages since she's actually slept, and Nick isn't the only one to notice.
"Hey there, Hopps!" Fangmire dangles a bag of her favorite donuts (carrot, cream cheese, artificial orange sprinkles that burn her mouth and leave a foul, chemical taste on her tongue) in front of her face. She looks up from the case file, blinking at the bag dotted in grease, dusted in powdered sugar. "Looks like you could use a pick me up!"
Her smile is slow and a little syrupy, but it's there, and she gently reaches through the air and takes the bag. The grease mats her fur. "Thanks Fang…"
"You've been here for a while!" The bag rustles in tune with the desk chair behind her as the Wolf takes a seat, leaning his front against the backrest, watching her. "Wilde went home hours ago, you know."
"No… I know…"
"He know you're here?"
"He doesn't watch my every move, Fang."
He flinches through his grin, and she almost feels bad. "No. I know. Just wondering."
"No." She'd told him five minutes. But Nick had known it was a lie. She knew he knew. "He's home. Our- his… shift ended. He needed a break."
"So do you."
"I'm fine. I'm a Rabbit. We're built for long nights, you know?"
"Is that a fact or is that something an asshat rookie told you?" She flushes, and he's got her pinned. She doesn't respond, though. Digging her hand through the bag, breaking half a donut from its body.
"Thanks for the donuts, Fang…" she says, nibbling on the edge before turning away, flicking to the next page. "I gotta work now. See you tomorrow."
The team takes care of one another. And really, she should be flattered if she wasn't so damn tired and so completely wasted of energy. But when Nick strolls in with a purpose, fur mussed and eyes still misted, she doesn't even stop him from tugging her off the chair and silently leading her back to his car.
"Fang tipped you off… didn't he…" she mumbles.
"The team takes care of you, Carrots. Because you're inept at doing that yourself."
"… dumb Fox…"
"No. Caring Fox. You're dumb tonight, Darlin'. Come on, we're going back to my place. I'm not dragging you all the way upstairs. You can sleep in one of my old shirts or something."
He means to put her on the couch, but by the end of the night she's crawling into bed with him, and he's too tired to say otherwise.
4. Cat Nap
"You know," Nick's mother tells her as Nick snoozes at her side, "he hasn't slept like that in ages." They're on the balcony of Mrs. Wilde's little fifth floor apartment. It's a small, dingy thing and Nick told Judy that he's tried more than once to get his mother to move, but the Wilde stubbornness ran through the family. It's where she raised me. She's apparently not gonna leave for anything less than the moon.
But it was a nice place. Covered in photos of him before his smile had straightened and his eyes had gone dark.
The sun is setting over the buildings, reflecting off the smog. His mother sits in a tiny chair by a potted plant, knitting a scarf. They're happily situated on a couch facing the setting sun. Or… they had been. Until Nick, leaning against Judy, had slowly slipped away, eyes winking heavy before they'd closed altogether.
"Really?"
"Mmhm. In fact, I couldn't tell you the last time I saw him sleep. We're nocturnal, you know. But he's always preferred strong coffee to time." She's sad for a moment, and her needles still, glinting in the evolving stars. "He used to say that he couldn't trust anyone. And… sleep wasn't good for him like that. Can't chance it…" A tilt of her head, a glint of her green eyes. "Does he sleep around you?"
"He naps. He's a light sleeper. But, you know.. whenever there's a documentary on or I talk too much about work…"
Sometimes all it took was a puddle of sunshine on her carpet to tempt him into a stupor.
"He's been getting better!" Judy adds quickly. "In case you're worried."
"No… not worried… Just curious." His mother hums again before looking down. "I should get you more tea," she says. "Would you like more? I have chamomile."
"I can make it."
"No… no you stay there. Nicky doesn't look like he's gonna want you to move."
Judy chuckles and scratches behind his ear. He lets out a long, deep sigh, and the gust ruffles her fur. "Chamomile sounds lovely, Mrs. Wilde… And… if you have anymore of those almond cookies?"
Mrs. Wilde smiles, and Judy can't help but feel like it's for another reason altogether. "I think I can manage."
5. Crying to Sleep
She finds him sitting up in bed, wiping away evidence fast enough for her to notice it.
"Nick…?"
"Carrots!" He tries for a smile. Tries to work through the kinks in his voice. But by that time, it's clear that nothing will work and he falls back on what he knows. "You came all the way here to check on little old me? That's sweet."
"I heard you crying."
"Those ears are gonna end you one day!"
"We're roommates, Nick. You live a few feet away."
He swallows, and she watches his smile falter in the dim light of the hallway bulb she'd flickered hastily on. His fur is all mussed and matted and rumpled and the spaces around his eyes are sheen.
"You wanna talk about it?"
He does. Even if he doesn't say. And she turns off the light before moving to his bed, crawling beneath the covers. he's got at least a foot and a stone on her, but she does her best to cover all of him when she winds her arms about his lithe frame, and it doesn't take him much longer to hug her back.
He tells her, then, about dreams. About shock collars and Rabbits without mercy. About fear. Her fear. About blood and about control.
He tells her about things he's afraid of, and he does it all while watching the shadows grow.
And at the end; "You're not afraid of me… right?"
Because something tells him that she should be. There were moments in museums where teeth fell to neck and blue burst into a shower of unsurity and he'd seen the way her eyes had fallen into a pupil and she'd had to keep herself still as her neck was bared and then found.
She doesn't answer for a moment, and his chest tightens. "Right?" he asks again, and everything is slipping into dreams.
But then she turns her head just enough to press her little nose against his jaw, and buries herself there until his pulse sings tales into her blood. "Nick?"
"… Yeah…"
"Dream me sounds like an ass." Another nuzzle. "Next time you see her, tell her to meet me when I go to sleep. She needs to hear how much you matter from a reliable source."
He doesn't tell her that it's enough. But by the time he's crying again and she's pressing little sure kisses to his neck, he's sure she already knows.
6. Crying Awake
Some nights, she has nightmares.
About Manchas. About new rooms that smell like anesthetic and are made to look sharp and clean. About blue and blue and blue and blue-
But most nights (all nights), she has them about him.
Not the him with the sly smile and the quick eyes-
Nick.
The him of museums and forgetful promises-
Fox.
A while ago they'd scraped together six months of their earnings and bought a nice little place near the precinct. A two bed, half bath sort of deal with bigger windows and closet space for all his ties and a shower that, compared to the communal one she'd had at her old apartment, was practically plucked from a spa- glass door and adjustable water settings and all.
But the walls between their rooms were thin. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn't help but listen.
The lock on her door didn't work. And even if it did, she wouldn't have used it. So on those nights it was easy to duck through the darkness and pad his way to her bed.
She tosses. And turns. And winds herself up in the sheets until they're dragging her down. Some days it doesn't last long. Others they last hours.
Sometimes, when it's especially bad, she wakes without seeing. Dream and reality blended together and countered into something he can't help her surface from.
On those nights he holds her.
Her eyes open, and she's there. Speaking a language that sets his teeth on edge and revs instinct forward with a hiss and a growl. Squeaking and keening and twisting in his grasp. She's Prey. That's all she is then. And all he is (Predator Predator Predator) is less than Nick.
Fox.
Rabbit.
She kicks. She screams. She sobs. She pleads.
The blows never hurt half as much as the begging does, and he tucks his face against the top of her head, breathing her in as she warbles.
(no)
(please)
(I-I'm not ready)
(please)
(nononono)
But he holds her tight against his chest through the thrashing and the crying. Holding her tight enough that she can't escape. Trying to remember the lessons from sixth grade biology telling him that this wasn't her. This was her brain shooting off neurons or stems or whatever the hell else they'd written down in white standard issue chalk on the blackboard.
Tries to also remember what his grandfather (a Fox his mother had avoided when she could) had told him about catching fresh cuts of meat. ("Remember, they fight. Ya gotta hold 'em just so. Keeps 'em from gettin' away an' from hurtin' you or themselves. Ya want 'm fresh, boy. Always fresh.")
He holds her until she can't move. Until she so badly exhausts herself that she's left panting in his arms, her voice -no no… please… no….. please…..- horse and soft and low.
He holds her until she remembers.
"Nick…?" And she does. Looking up at him through a haze. His head tucks back against hers and he nods. Can't talk. Not yet. Can't find the words. "Nick…"
Instead he nips at her ear, leaving little marks like paws against thin, old snow.
She apologizes. Enough times to turn the world she apologizes.
And he'll forgive her (in the morning). At that moment though, he just needs to hold her and not know who the comfort is for.
"I'm sorry…" Her breath is warm, and it heats the patch of fur at his chest. "Nick… I'm so sorry…"
"… Carrots."
"That wasn't you, Nick. It- it wasn't." She tucks herself against him. He smells like sleep and she smells like sweat and together they mingle into something that shouldn't be, but has to be all the same. She sighs. "And… and if it was… you I mean… I'd love him anyway."
"He hurt you."
(I hurt you.)
"He didn't mean it." She shrugs. Wipes away new tears. "It's just… how it's meant to be."
They sit together for another moment. Always another.
And then;
"Nick?"
"Hmm."
"I love you," she says. Because it's true.
"I know," he says. Because he does.
"No… I mean… I love you."
There will be more dream Nick's, he's sure. And all of them will have his name, and none of them will stop. And she's right. It's meant to be, really. The whole thing was designed by a cruel but precise force of nature that watches them and hopes one day they'll twist and be dragged down apart.
But…
But…
"I love you, too."
Some nights (all nights) he envelops her completely in his arms, tail wrapping around them both. And sometimes (all times) he has to remember that even if dreams are intended, there are still things worth fighting for.
"Still not afraid of you," she says against his collar with enough honesty to make him want to cry-
(he might cry)
(he tries not to cry)
(he does cry)
- and falls asleep with trust on the tip of her tongue.
Judy still has nightmares.
But she also still has Nick.
And that's enough.
7. Sleep Together
"You don't need a King Sized Bed," she tells him as the delivery mammals (a hippo and a lion) haul the thing through their door and into his room. "I got a twin."
"Why on earth would you want a twin when you could have a king."
"Because there's one of me, Nick. And that one isn't very much." She gestures to all of her, and he has to agree. There really isn't much of her.
There isn't much of him, either, but that's neither here nor there.
He licks the pawpsicle he's holding, watching as the two larger mammals struggle to fit the frame through the small entrance way. "Look. We all have our reasons, Carrots. You have yours-"
"Mine make sense!"
"-and I have mine." He hands her the red stained stick, tapping it into her waiting fist. She glares at it. "You'll see, Fluff."
"All I see is a vain Fox whose compensating."
He gives her ear a tug. "You'll see."
She does see. Sooner than she'd have liked to
(only 27 days later)
when she's padding through their apartment at 2 in the morning after a rather vicious dream (stay with me Nick… come on… breathe… you're gonna be alright, Nick… don't leave, okay? promise me you won't leave). He sleeps in the middle, spread out and snoring. But there's enough (too much) room left for her, and it's easy to snuggle down beside him, tucking her face into his side.
"… told ya so…" he mutters to her after a moment, and she can feel his smug grin against the crown of her head.
"Shut up, Nick. Go to sleep."
And they do.
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