"What is that?" her father asked her.
Judy looked over at him from where she stood. She had been reaching for a bag of flour, on a high shelf in the pantry. It was swiftly approaching bedtime, and her family was making sweet rolls for breakfast the next day. This was a mammoth undertaking, especially when one considered the size of the Hopps clan. To cook for the whole family, there was a huge kitchen in the back of their big white farmhouse. It could be compared most accurately to a school's cafeteria kitchen; there was a great deal going on. There were three industrial sized ovens, a pair of huge refrigerators, several stovetops, and a singular microwave. There was a big pantry in the kitchen, and several more throughout the house and within the warrens that criss crossed underneath the building. It was difficult to feed a large family, but after several generations, the Hoppses had it down to a sort of science.
That evening in their huge kitchen, Judy was not the only sibling helping, and several of her brothers and sisters were walking around the kitchen, fetching supplies, mixing ingredients, or pulling sheets of warm pastry out of the oven. When they heard their father speak, they all stopped their tasks, however, and looked to see what he had commented on. It was not often that their dad was distracted from the task at paw. He was single-minded like that. So when he spoke during such an involved task like measuring out ingredients, or greasing up a pan, it was a little extraordinary. And as it turned out, extraordinarily bad for Judy.
There was silence. Stu's lip was quivering, looking like he was about to weep, or maybe shout. Her siblings had fear in their eyes. Whether it was fear of Judy's small rebellion, or fear for the tongue lashing she would receive as a result of it, it was hard to tell. When Judy had reached to the top shelf of the pantry to get another bag of flour, her sweater had ridden up past the waistband of her jeans, revealing a small strip of her back and her furred belly. On that pale stretch, just along the hip, almost hidden by thick white fur, was a tattoo.
It was tiny, about as big as her thumb, but the orange was bright enough for it to be noticeable. It was a stylized carrot, and Judy had forgotten that the tattoo was to be kept a secret. She had had no one to hide it from for months. There was no issue with it at work, where she always wore a uniform that covered her torso. It was the same thing off duty. She was not like her more rebellious sisters, who wore crop tops in defiance of their parents' conservative and constant flannel. She kept to her ZPD tee shirts that swallowed her frame, or shirts from Nick's closet that had migrated into hers. The only mammal who had seen the tattoo was Nick.
Judy was only in Bunnyburrow for the weekend, to celebrate her mom's birthday. Bonnie had protested against it, for several reasons. She didn't want to pull Judy away from work, not after her big promotion— Judy had recently been appointed sergeant. Not a big step up, but still further than anyone would ever expect a bunny to get. She had new duties that were harder to leave. Judy assured her mom that it was alright, that she hadn't taken any of her vacation days for three years.
Bonnie still protested: it was approaching the end of the year, and the weather was getting worse and worse. The harvest had been brought in and the first frost of the year had already happened two months ago. It was just a matter of time before the snow started, and who knew how Judy would get home if the train tracks got covered in snow, or if the roads froze over? Judy insisted that it was no problem. She wanted to celebrate her mom's birthday, she wanted to see her siblings, she wanted to see how Bunnyburrow had gotten along in her absence.
As it turned out, there wasn't much of a change. The same flat fields, the same crops growing, the same heavy green curtains over the windows. Chipped white paint on the outside of the house, tacky and outdated wallpaper on the inside. There were the same petty squabbles between her brothers and sisters, the same songs her parents sang to when they picked their way through planting rows or when they were cooking meals. The same dirt that stubbornly stuck under claws and in fur, despite all the washing and scrubbing.
Yes, the house was the same, but for two differences. Her bed had become a receptacle for her siblings' junk, rather than a place to sleep. The second was that there were more empty beds than there ever had been: some of her siblings had started to have children of their own. Most of Judy's litter were moving out, getting their own homes in Bunnyburrow or moving away. Not that they were going very far— Deerbuck County was the furthest anyone got besides Judy.
And it seemed like her father was suddenly more grateful for this than he had been before. For if he had let all his children go so far away from him, maybe they all would have gotten something wild like a tattoo.
Judy had quickly given up on grabbing the flour, pulling her shirt down as she came back down to rest on her feet. But Stu did not look away. His eyes were fixed on the spot Judy had tried her best to cover up. The effort was futile. No matter what she did, her father would never look at that spot on her hip the same way again. She had not even wondered about how her family would react to it, had not even stopped to wonder as she packed for her trip home. She regretted her lack of forethought. She berated herself in her head, though she did not respond to her father's question. If she had just made one of her taller sisters reach for the flour. If she had just worn her high waisted leggings!
"Judy," said her dad, voice getting slightly louder. She winced. Her parents almost never raised their voices. "What in the heck is that?"
She wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously, dropping her eyes so she would not have to look at her father. A tattoo just wasn't something a bunny got. It wasn't something most furred mammals got. They were mostly reserved for pachyderms, or mammals with sparser fur. Or maybe naked mole rats. It was too much trouble for animals with longer and thicker pelts to get all marked up like that. You had to get the spot shaved to have access to the skin to be inked, which took ages to grow back. Once all the fur had grown back, the ink is hardly noticeable, hidden by thick and sometimes dark hair.
There was no point for it. And in Bunnyburrow, it was all just a little taboo. Tattoos were for big and rough mammals, rockstars, bikers, or maybe for the more free-spirited sort. Tattoos were not meant for respectable folk. They were not meant for farmer brats. Especially not farmer brats employed by the city government, being promoted by the city government, and representing the city government in a widespread advertisement campaign.
Judy smiled weakly, and let out a noise which only can be described as a nervous giggle. "It's… uh…" She trailed off. She knew very well what it was, but she did not want to bear her father's response once he got verbal confirmation of his fears.
She wondered if she could tell him that it was temporary, or airbrush. Her mind ran quickly through her options. Maybe she could say it was henna. It would be like those designs Officer Delgato had on her paws when she had gotten married a few months before, that mehndi Judy had admired so much. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong. They wouldn't work as excuses. Judy had never been the type to get those sort of things done, and the ink was most obviously on her skin, not on her fur. But then again, she wasn't the type to get a tattoo, either. Nick was a bad influence. She sighed inwardly, acknowledging that she should tell her dad the truth. Judy wished there weren't so many of her siblings in the kitchen.
"It's a tattoo, Dad!"
Her bright tone did not soften the statement. Stu groaned loudly, throwing his face into his paws, muttering something unintelligible into them. Several of her siblings stepped forward, murmuring to him comfortingly, patting his shoulder, and looking at Judy with either judgement or approval in their eyes. She winced.
It had been a quiet weekend, before Judy had gotten the work done. Nick was doing some grand Boys' Night Out with Finnick. This meant they were going to get intoxicated at some trashy bar, make bad decisions for three consecutive, and come tottering back the following Monday groaning about their aching heads and a sour taste that refused to leave their mouths. This left Judy in her apartment, alone.
It was not a terrible thing, to be alone. She had become very talented at tuning out her noisy neighbors, and there was a care package sent from home to keep her fed. Fresh stalks of rhubarb, some early plums, a package of crumbly oatmeal cookies, and a few paw-fulls of dried blueberries that were only a little unpleasantly crunchy was enough to last her the weekend. She had a few books from the library to keep her occupied. If all that failed, there was Nick's apartment, which would likely be empty the entire weekend. He had enough space for a television, a refrigerator, and a stove, as well as a couch that was much more comfortable than her rickety bed. Though Nick had given her a key to his apartment, she was not sure if she wanted to bridge that gap, to go to his apartment while he wasn't there, almost like it was hers as well.
Judy wasn't sure how to define her relationship with the fox. He was her best friend, there was no question. She had never been closer with another mammal, even when keeping in mind her family and the various friendships she had had throughout her school years. But he was more than her friend. He was her rock, just as she was his. He was her closest confidante, her partner; they were two peas in a pod. Clawhauser jokingly referred to him as her "other half", a title which did not bother Nick one bit, a title that had made it's way into the Bullpen. Bogo was by no means a joker, but it was not uncommon to hear him assign a case to "Officer Hopps and her other half". Of course, it was just as likely to hear a case assigned to "you two", but Judy was not deaf to the jests, the assumptions.
He was more than a friend, though Judy was not sure how much her coworkers and her boss knew about their exact relationship. And if they did know, she would gratefully ask them to explain the exact ramifications of what was going on. Best friends did not exactly cuddle on the couch after a long day at work. They did not sit with paws intertwined, did not duck their heads or brush their mouths against the back of a paw like it was the most natural thing in the world. From her experience, she had never had a drawer of her own things at another friend's house.
They were much more than friends, if she thought long and hard about it. But it was easier to not think about it, and to just be. She was not sure how her family would react to her being so close with a fox, how the department would feel about something like a workplace romance. She had no idea how things would change between her and Nick if he suddenly became her boyfriend, lover, partner, whatever he would be called. Judy just knew she felt comfortable and warm in his arms, and that she liked the way his chest rumbled a bit when he talked. That there was nothing better after a long day at work than to have him tucked in front of her, her arms around his larger form as they both dozed and waited for dinner time to come.
It was after his weekend with Finnick, and Nick walked into the station like he was still half asleep. His uniform rumpled, shirt not tucked into his trousers all the way, badge on a chain around his neck so his pained head wouldn't have to deal with the process of pinning it over his left breast. He wore his sunglasses inside the building. Judy was not the only one to notice his state. Clawhauser called out, "Great job, bud!" across the lobby in a way that was almost disgustingly cheerful. Grizzoli and Fangmeyer started cheering as Nick shambled to his shared cubicle with Judy, pounding their desks for the express purpose of getting a rise out of the fox. He showed them a rude paw gesture. They clapped in approval.
Judy was not cruel, but she did smile at her coworkers antics once Nick laid his head down on his desk in defeat. She laid a paw on his shoulder, asking him in a soft voice if he wanted a cup of coffee before they started work. He groaned something like an affirmation. She gave her fellow officers a thumbs up as she headed towards the little coffee machine that was tucked in the corner of their collective work space.
Nick was, as a rule, not very pleasant to be around when he was hungover. He was short-tempered, rude, and generally just plain awful. He put forth an effort for Judy, though. He did not get angry with her for existing, as he did with their other coworkers. He did not growl at her every time she opened her mouth, though he did when she started humming. The complaining was unavoidable. About his head, his back, his shoulders. He only had to leave their cubicle twice to vomit, but he complained enough to make that nine trips to the toilet.
By midmorning, he was much more pleasant. He actually did work, interspersed with long periods of goofing around. This was not due to the hangover. That was just Nick at work. He rolled back and forth incessantly on his office chair, made paperclip chains, and pretended that he was about to flick rubber bands at Judy. He never did, though. He drummed on Judy's desk and on the back of her chair. He read through his case files in different voices and imitations- somehow making a traffic ticket something to laugh at. He sang oldies, complete with his interpretation of guitar solos and drum beats, but only loud enough for Judy to hear. That didn't make it less bothersome.
Life was back to normal, even though Nick swore up and down that his weekend with Finnick was phenomenal. Despite the bad decisions her fox may or may not have made, he was now settling back into routine. They were going through some paperwork, a regular start to their week. They would fill out some files, check in with the Chief, and try to latch onto a case, to avoid other dreaded duties that came along with working on the force. Detective work was preferable to watching for speeders, or filling out complaint forms for disgruntled citizenry. It was for the sake of the mammals of the city that they did their work, but getting yelled at because of inescapable red tape got old very quick.
Judy had picked up their lunch that day. A sandwich for herself, a salad with extra croutons for Nick. Precinct One had its problems, like traffic and air pollution, but it had its pluses. There was always something to do, and always something good to eat, all close to work and home. It was what allowed Nick to get into so much trouble, legal or otherwise. As she walked back into the station after grabbing lunch, Judy was thinking of what she could do with Nick in their part of town, now that he had gotten all his trouble-making out of his system.
Then, she nearly dropped the bag their lunch was in.
There was a bandage on Nick's torso.
She rushed forward, crying out. Nick was stretching out in his office chair, and, as usual, his shirt was untucked. He was yawning loudly and dramatically, and his toes curled as his shirt rode up. This allowed Judy to see a white square of gauze at his hips, right where they met his abdomen. She rushed forward through their office, ignoring the bustle and Trunkaby's protests when she set two sodas on his desk. She didn't throw Nick's salad on his desk, but it was a close thing. It landed with some force. A pack of saltines were left to the cruel fate of getting tread on, but that was the only collateral damage.
"What happened?" she asked, moving her paws to hover over the spot on his hips. She couldn't reach out and touch there, so he pressed her paws against his chest instead. He just looked at her, bemused, as she panicked over him. Judy gnawed on her lip, letting her mind cycle over the worst things that could have happened to Nick over the weekend. There were no good conclusions. Nick was a law abiding citizen, but there was no denying that he had a criminal streak. And as much as she liked Finnick, there was no denying that he exacerbated some of those qualities. There were certainly seedy parts of Zootopia, and Judy thought of them all. There were bad things a mammal could get up to, and she knew all of them thanks to her job. She resisted the urge to gnaw on her claws and groaned aloud as her she leapt to the worst case scenario. "Were you stabbed?" she hissed.
If she kept thinking about this, she would start panicking. Already, her breath was coming a little erratically. The thought of Nick getting hurt was terrifying. It made it worse that she had just spent her whole weekend vegging out on her couch. While she watched unreasonable amounts of Project Trotaway, Nick was in a dark alley, getting a blade in his gut. Or while she was eating snap peas by the pound, her fox was getting into a bar fight with girthy sheep twice his size. She groaned again.
Nick raised his eyebrows, snorting slightly. "Please, Carrots," he said. He stretched out his words so it was 'puh-lease'. "You know if that were the case, I would be complaining more."
"Then what happened?" Judy demanded. Her paws strayed towards the bandage, and Nick slapped them away.
"Its called a tattoo, sweetheart. Quit worrying."
Judy sat down heavily in her chair. "A tattoo?" she asked. "And you let me worry!"
"I didn't let you do anything. You did that yourself."
She ignored that. "I didn't even know we could get that sort of thing done."
"It is very possible."
"When you're very drunk."
Nick rubbed his muzzle. "That's not always the case, but yes. They just have to shave the fur, and bzz, you've got a tattoo."
"I want to see it," Judy said. She pulled her sandwich out of its bag, now that a crisis was averted. Her heartbeat was slowing down to a regular rate. Still fast compared to other mammals, but normal. Her paws stopped drawing themselves irrevocably to Nick's hips, though they might be tempted there later. She was curious to see what was under the bandage.
"I do need to clean it," Nick said. "After lunch?"
"Eat quickly?"
"Eager beaver," he remarked, cracking open his salad.
"Rabbit," she corrected, mouth full of sweet potato.
"Geez."
After they finished lunch, Nick grabbed a little knapsack from underneath his desk. Judy was amazed he had the forethought to bring anything with him to work that day, considering the raging hangover he had had that morning. Judy trotted after him into the personnel bathroom, ignoring Del Gato's cat calls. She drummed her paws against her thighs impatiently as Nick positioned himself on the rim of the sink.
"Get the ointment out of the bag," Nick said, pulling his shirt up. He lifted the gauze off his torso, and took the tube from Judy. The spot his bandage covered was hairless, and slightly stubbly. Judy couldn't see anything else. Nick spread the ointment liberally on the shaved spot, wincing a little. Judy only got a look at the ink once he wiped his cream-covered paw on a paper towel.
She grinned at the sight of it.
"Is that a carrot?" she asked slyly.
Nick looked a little embarrassed, but he still smiled.
"It's something to remember you by," he said.
"That's stupid," Judy replied. She crossed her arms, unimpressed. She also crossed her arms to keep her paws from touching the little carrot inked on his hip. It was tempting, but the skin was obviously sensitive. And covered in foul-smelling ointment. She would pay closer attention to it later.
"How is that? I thought you would think it was cute." Nick looked slightly put out. Judy reached out a paw and patted him on the leg to reassure him.
"It is cute. You just don't have to remember me."
"Why not?" Nick questioned. He already sounded pleased, like he knew what Judy was going to say.
"Because I won't ever leave."
Though he smelled like ointment, she still dragged him down by his collar and kissed him. Then, she pushed him away.
"We aren't making out in the office bathroom," she declared, turning tail and leaving the room. Nick, figuring this meant Judy would be kissing him later, was happy to follow her out the door.
It took a few weeks for the tattoo to heal, long enough for Nick's fur to grow back over it. But the fur on his belly was a few shades lighter than the red that covered the rest of him, and if one looked closely, they could still see the little carrot. Judy highly valued this. Instead of laying listlessly with Nick in her arms on weekday nights, Judy always knew where her paws would stray. She knew what shapes to trace in the thick fur on her fox, which bones to ghost over. Nick certainly did not mind the extra attention. He curled into it, letting Judy hook her arms around him and slot her head between his neck and his shoulder.
The thing was permanent, and that made Judy feel very warm inside. This thing was forever, and it was for Judy, dedicated to Judy. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about it, talking about it, or touching it. No one had ever done such a thing for her, and it populated all her thoughts. The two weren't even properly dating, and Nick was still willing to do something like that for her. Of course, he had been drunk. But the sentiment behind it was real, and that was what mattered.
When Judy really thought about it, it only made sense to return the favor. It was just a little scary, thinking of her fur getting shaved off, and a needle placed on her skin. Judy was proud of her thick grey fur, and she loved the way Nick combed through it with his paws, sometimes exclaiming at the softness of it. She was in no way vain, but it was nice to get complimented. And she was no coward, but she was still averse to being poked with sharp objects. Excluding Gideon Grey's claws and syringes that came along with vaccines and immunizations, she had done a good job at avoiding them. But she would do it for Nick. The only question was when.
After doing a lot of research, and several agonized days wondering whether or not she should let Nick know about it, the opportunity arose for Judy to go ahead and get her tattoo. Chief Bogo called her into his office one Monday afternoon, his tone of voice unclear. Judy had just had a very relaxing weekend, watching movies in Nick's apartment, curled up in his lap. Bogo was a bit of a rude awakening, and she panicked slightly as she made her way up to his office. After a bit of conversation, however, there was obviously no reason for Judy to fear. She was not being reprimanded, or fired. She was being promoted, to sergeant.
As she shook Bogo's hoof in thanks, she steeled her will and decided. Today was going to be the day.
It was not so bad, getting the tattoo done. She had done a lot of research. She knew every way a tattoo could go wrong, and she knew all the proper ways to take care of one. She had looked up hundreds of reviews for parlors around the city, making sure she knew which places were the safest, and with the best service. She was much better than Nick in this respect: Judy assumed he had just walked into the first shop available. But Judy wanted to make sure everything would go right.
Her careful planning worked out, as usual. She had a pleasant time, despite the initial pain of getting work done on her. The tiger producing the art had a calming voice and steady paws, and Judy did not worry, despite the hoop that pierced the cat's nose. The needle hurt a little, but the worst part was the overheating. Even with a fan, the room seemed overly hot while she was getting the tattoo done. The discomfort was not a bad thing, once Judy considered the results. She liked the little carrot on her hip. It held meaning for her, and for Nick. Also, it was just cute. That obviously played a large role.
If she had been hesitant about it before, everything was worth it once she saw Nick's reaction. His face after pulling off her bandage to reveal her own ink was priceless. She almost wished she had had a camera, so she could look back on the surprise and delight he had shown whenever she wished. The memory was nice enough, regardless. She and the fox were a match now, two of a kind. Now, it was Nick who couldn't keep his paws off her. It was he who got much more handsy during cuddle sessions, and he who was getting teased for it. It was nice to have the tables turned, and it was nice to get the extra attention.
She wasn't complaining.
Though her father certainly was.