The door opened with a slight creak—it didn't matter how many times she had entered the dwelling, she could never get used to that particular sound. Her black-tipped ears would always shoot straight up at the slight sound, despite telling herself beforehand that the noise was imminent upon her opening the door.
A torrent of rain threatened to follow her indoors but was halted by the slamming of the door. Ears dropping as quickly as they had risen, her surprised expression shifted to that of relief. She was home after a particularly long day. Clawhauser's brief tenure in the records room proved disastrous—she loved her friend dearly, but it baffled her how he could muck up simple record keeping.
As she hung her police hat on the rung, she made note of the slightly larger one already on the rung next to hers. He was home early it seemed. A warm smile graced her features, purple eyes staring nostalgically at it. When she had first moved to Zootopia, her salary hadn't been able to cover certain necessities, a coat hanger for one of her stature for example. Instead she had to make do with one for an animal three times her size. Granted, her recent promotion would have allowed her to upgrade it, her current housing situation made it a moot point.
She hadn't expected it to get to this point. What her parents had told her growing up—what that horrid bully—no, she had to stop herself mid-thought, Gideon Grey was proof that stereotypes were born in ignorance, not facts. Moving to Zootopia, she still had been hesitant about foxes. There were numerous species there, yet she carried a spray to get 'rid' of one of them, as if it would solve any incident. As if no other species could do her harm. She had held off—until in a moment of fear and uncertainty lead her to almost using it against him. She thought he had left her in that moment for good.
Yet, he hadn't. He stuck by her when no one else did. She had already been ostracized by the Zootopia Police Force before solving the case, and had left it afterward out of shame. Shame at what she had subjected him to. Of course she had blackmailed him, gone against the fabric of the law that she had sworn to uphold. She had been no better than the criminal she had sought the help of.
Yet even after the case had been solved, she had reverted to those previous prejudices, those fears. As if the affirmation of what frightened her somehow made the world a more surer place—as if having something. no—something to fear, somehow validated her existence. She had apologized soon after, of course, and given the derision she expected of him, but she always wondered what if. What if she had not gone after him, what if she had lost him, in that instant, forever?
The thoughts that swirled about her ceased to be as a familiar figure stepped out from the room beyond—the kitchen, wearing a silly pink apron that she had given him to wear to do the dishes. The ever familiar smirk and look as if everything in the world amused him—Nick Wilde. He stood, apron flaked with soap suds, dripping dish in hand, gazing at her. Raising an eyebrow and with a swish of his tail, he said the first sentence.
"You're late for once."