A/N: This is me exploring a little idea. I have a few bigger Zootopia projects in mind that I'm excited to create, but I wanted to test the waters a bit first and see the reaction to this one-shot.
Obviously, I own nothing related to Zootopia, much to my dismay.
Judy spent several minutes crying under the bridge while Nick kept his back turned to her, not speaking a word after hearing her apology. Eventually, her legs lost their strength, and she collapsed into the dirt as she hugged her knees and continued to sob. She only looked up and quieted when Nick padded over and stopped beside her. His paws were thrust into his pockets, and his eyes were cold.
"You're right—I can't and won't forgive you," he said. "There's just no way that you can really make up for what you've done—and what you ran away from with your fuzzy wuzzy tail between your legs," he went on, tone dripping with disdain. He seemed completely unaffected by the way Judy hunched her shoulders in shame. "Yeah, you got to wallow in self-pity back in Bunnyburrow while the rest of us continued to deal with the fallout of your speciesism. Now you've come back, and the first words that leave your mouth when you find me are to ask me for something. I'm not fooled by your crocodile tears, Hopps—it's the case and your own hurt pride that you care about, not me," he sneered. Then he sighed and shook his head, seemingly at himself. "Yes, I'll help you catch whoever is making predators go savage, because unlike you, I still have to live here. But we won't speak again afterward. Are we clear on that?"
Gulping, Judy knew it would be useless to argue, to try and explain to him how deeply she did care. She couldn't think of a reason for him to trust her again. Instead, she simply turned her gaze to the ground and nodded meekly.
"Good," Nick said. He turned and began sauntering away. "Then get up. Let's get this over with. What's the plan?"
As Bellwether was led away by the ZPD, Judy was taken to medics who began administering aid to her injured leg. However, she hardly paid attention to them. Instead, she was trying desperately to figure out where Nick went after they were both pulled up from the pit exhibition. She finally spotted him making his way toward the main exit. Apologizing profusely to the nice caribou who was about to bandage her up properly, she scrambled onto her good foot and jumped as quickly as she could toward him.
"Nick, wait!" she exclaimed.
He kept walking without answering her.
"Please, Nick! I—" She nearly slipped on the floor, so she stopped and fought to keep her balance, her injured foot held up in the air. "I just—I just want to thank you for your help and—and for not leaving me behind. You could've gone ahead without me, and it was—"
"Yes, I know, Hopps," Nick said, pivoting to walk backwards and spreading his paws at his sides. "It's probably boggling to your little bunny mind that a fox can have the moral decency to not leave an injured mammal to be killed by a psychopath, but don't read too much into it." With a single wave, he turned back around. "It's been fun. Have a nice life."
As he disappeared into the crowds outside, Judy found herself unable to conjure any sort of reply. She didn't resist when the caribou medic caught up with her and carried her back to finish being treated.
"Hopps, are you sure?" Chief Bogo pushed, studying her from across the gigantic desk in his office. Judy sat slouched in the seat before him, her paws folded limply in her lap, refusing to look at him as he spoke to her. "It wouldn't be a problem to get you reinstated, and as I've told you already, we need more good cops like you."
After a moment, Judy slowly shook her head.
Bogo clenched his jaw. "If this is about the way I treated you before, then you should know that I understand it was wrong of me to do so."
"It's not that," Judy said quietly.
"I wasn't fair to you," Bogo reiterated. "Your fox friend was right about that, and—"
"He was right about a lot of things," Judy interrupted, her eyebrows rising despite the rest of her form remaining listless. A beat passed, and she turned her eyes up to Bogo. "He was right that I'd never be a real cop. Not if I can't keep my promise to make the world a better place."
"Hopps, every cop makes mistakes," Bogo assured her.
But Judy shook her head again, this time a little more adamantly. "Not every cop makes a mistake that destroys everything they're supposed to protect. And not every mistake can be forgiven. Not every mistake can be fixed," She sighed shakily, fighting back another onslaught of tears. "I can't be a cop if I can't fix things."
Bogo was staring hard at her, his brows crunched together, but she didn't have the energy to shrink away from his scrutiny. He let several seconds pass before he said, "What's gotten into you, Hopps? After finally nabbing Bellwether, I'd think you would have every confidence that you could become one of the best cops the ZPD has ever seen. It doesn't seem like you to give up like this."
With a small, one-shouldered shrug, Judy replied, "The damage has already been done. Having Bellwether behind bars won't make things better overnight. I don't—" She nearly choked on a sob, but she pushed it down. "I don't think I should be trusted with the kind of responsibility that makes me capable of hurting other mammals again. Not at this scale. There's no coming back from that. I can't do it, Chief. I can't be a cop."
Silence clouded the room as Bogo stared at her. Eventually, Judy slid down from the chair and offered him a brief, kind smile.
"Thanks for the offer," she said softly, "but I'm going home now."
Upon returning to Bunnyburrow, Judy settled into a position as a permanent helping paw at the family farm. Thanks to the seemingly endless parade of mammals who asked how she was doing or what her goals were now that being a police officer wasn't going to work out, she became an expert at fielding such questions with a polite smile and just enough believable cheerfulness to get them off her back. However, she'd retreat back to her perpetually subdued mood as soon as she was left alone. It wasn't so hard. All she had to do was remember what Nick had taught her—don't let them see that they get to you.
Before leaving Bunnyburrow to chase her dream, she had usually been too busy to go to the local bars very often. Since moving back, though, she found herself dredging up any possible excuse to get away from her relatives and drink as much as she wanted. She quickly gained a reputation for not being the best company when she had alcohol in her paw. Not that she was belligerent or obnoxious. She was just quiet. Sullen. Withdrawn.
Other mammals would whisper about it, and she would hear them, of course. She hadn't been the same since she came back from Zootopia, they said. See, this is why bunnies shouldn't be cops, they said. She'd snap out of it eventually; after all, it's not like she really did much wrong, they said.
She would drink a little more to drown them out.
This went on for one year. Then two. Then a third. The days passed by in blurs, so indistinctive that Judy sometimes forgot what day of the week it was. It didn't seem to matter. Every day was taken up by farming, then drinking. No vacations, not even day trips into Zootopia. Just clockwork labor and then searching for a buzz to assuage the ever-present pain.
Her parents became increasingly disturbed by the difference in her personality. She kept promising them that she would see a therapist, and she even made appointments sometimes, but she always had a "reason" to cancel.
It was one random night at her favorite bar that she finally snapped.
There she was, sitting at her usual spot with her drink, and in he walked.
Three years without seeing Nick's face hadn't dulled her memory of it. He was still wearing those gaudy shirts and mismatching ties. Although he had sunglasses perched on his muzzle, she could tell that his gaze lingered for a moment on her. Breath caught in her throat, she tried to calm her racing heart, not sure what she hoped for him to do.
She didn't have to wonder for very long. Without even acknowledging that he recognized her, Nick turned to the bar and tapped the table to get the bartender's attention. She didn't hear what he ordered, but he sat on a stool and waited patiently for it. He didn't look at her again.
The pain that crushed her chest was nearly unbearable. She watched him closely. It wasn't clear why he had shown up, but Finnick eventually joined him, so she wondered if it had something to do with a new hustle. Or maybe they just wanted to get out of the busy city. Who knew? Not her. And she couldn't bring herself to ask.
In any case, it was obvious that he wouldn't deign to notice her. He had meant it, apparently—they would never speak again.
After half an hour of sitting there, unable to keep herself from staring, she started to find it difficult to breathe. She closed her eyes.
Don't let them see that they get to you.
When she opened them again, Nick was drinking idly from his mug, chuckling at something that the sour-faced Finnick was saying. She and he were almost perfect strangers now, even though she felt as drawn to him as a magnet to a fridge. Still, he never looked at her, not once. She wrestled with the urge to break down in tears and cause a scene.
Don't let him see that he gets to you.
Another half hour passed. Then a whole second hour. Judy watched him out of the corner of her eye, even when she was pretending like she was focused on something else. Part of her kept hoping that he would turn around, that he would walk over, that he would sit down and talk to her. Part of her dreaded it. What did she really want to happen?
It wasn't until he and Finnick paid for their drinks, stood up, and left without so much as a backward glance that she realized what she really wanted.
She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to accept her. She wanted him—the mammal she had hurt the most, who had become so close to her in such a short period of time—to see something worth forgiving and hoping for in her. She wanted him to help her find it, because she couldn't see it herself, not anymore. She wanted to know that she could change, and it would be all right, that it would mean something. She wanted him back.
But he left.
And so did whatever emotion Judy had still been able to feel up until that point.
She stared into the liquid amber in her mug.
Don't let yourself see that he gets to you.
She raised it to her lips.
Don't let yourself see that he gets to you.
When the bartender told her she'd had enough, she slowly navigated her way back home and somehow managed to stumble into her room without anyone noticing. There, she pulled out a six-pack of beers that she had hidden away under her bed, just in case she couldn't make it to a bar one night, and she downed each of them, one by one.
Don't let yourself see that he gets to you.
Oblivion wasn't far behind.
Don't let yourself see that he gets to you.
Don't let yourself see that he gets to you.
Don't let yourself see…
Hazes of lights passed rapidly across her half-opened eyes. It hurt. She immediately closed them. Underneath her was something soft, and it seemed that she was moving somewhere quickly. The air felt cold.
Someone was shouting, but it sounded like everyone was underwater.
"… symptoms of alcohol poisoning…"
"… need an IV, stat…"
"… according to her medical records…"
Soon, she was dimly aware of being laid onto a mattress. She heard beeping all around her. There was poking. Prodding. Clamping. More shouting.
It didn't matter. Nothing could get to her now.
So she didn't really care when she felt herself sink further and further into the mattress as one of the machines suddenly carried out a sustained one-toned beep.
The alarm clock was going off.
Judy blinked blearily when she recognized it. Rolling over to stop it, she squinted at the time. Indeed, it was 5:00 a.m, as expected, though it hardly seemed possible. It felt as though she had barely fallen asleep.
Normally, she felt fairly chipper first thing in the morning, but after the emotional exhaustion her subconscious made her endure, she couldn't quite bring herself to leap out of bed with her usual zest. Instead, she closed her eyes and settled back on her side, hugging her pillow for comfort. At length, she snuck a peek at the fox across from her.
He was snoring softly, apparently not having heard the alarm at all. Although the feelings of despair from the nightmare still pervaded Judy's mind, she couldn't help but smile affectionately at him, especially when his leg twitched as he let out a happy whine. At least he seemed to be having good dreams.
An overwhelming sense of gratitude flooded her heart as she considered her reality against the contents of her nightmare. The fox with whom she shared a bed was nothing like the twisted version that her deepest fears had conjured up, and she found herself reflecting on her astoundingly good fortune. Even after all this time, if he had reacted like the Nick in her nightmare, she wouldn't have blamed him.
And is that really what would have become of her as a result?
She shuddered as she realized it was possible.
Sleepiness gone, she slipped out of bed and felt a strong urge to make a nice breakfast. Blueberry pancakes and eggs were Nick's favorite, and she certainly didn't mind pancakes herself. With a self-soothing sigh, she got out the pancake mix, bowls, syrup, and eggs, and turned on the stove. As her paws busied themselves and she lost herself in all the details of cooking, her nerves gradually calmed.
Just as she was transferring the last pancake from the frying pan and onto the platter, she heard Nick trudge into the kitchen. A grin broke out across her face at the sight of his groggy half-opened eyes and sleep-ruffled fur. He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly, although he raised his eyebrows when he saw the plates, silverware, and food set out so neatly on the table.
Hurriedly tossing the spatula into the sink, Judy turned, leaped into his arms, and planted a kiss firmly on his muzzle, prompting him to release a surprised but pleased grunt as his arms instinctively enveloped her.
"Well, good morning," he mumbled around her lips, amused.
"Good morning!" Judy sang as she pulled away, giving him a tight squeeze before letting herself down. "Ready for some pancakes?"
Nick's wagging tail was all the answer that she needed.
Once they were both sitting down, she contented herself with watching him eat happily for a moment. He noticed her staring when he lifted his glass of milk to drink from it. As he set it back on the table, he raised a curious eyebrow at her.
"May I help you, Miss Fluff?" he asked.
Judy shook her head with a smile. "Nope. Not right now. Just looking."
Nodding, Nick moved another forkful of pancake to his muzzle. "Then how about you tell me what I did right yesterday to earn this amazing breakfast so that I can do it every day from now on?"
With a chuckle, Judy let herself compare him for a moment to the Nick of her nightmare. That dark, cold Nick probably treated her the way that she deserved, or so she felt, but this Nick—the one smirking at her now in that fond, familiar way—was the one she needed. He often told other mammals about how she had saved him, or "pulled him out of the gutter," as he liked to put it, but in reality, he had saved her, too. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him.
"Nothing in particular," she finally answered him gently. "Just keep being you."