Chapter 2—The Race We Run

A/N: There existed here a note about my opinions of the way that the site is run (or rather mismanaged) and how my posting song lyrics was one way to express my discontent even though (or rather because) it's against the (absurd) rules, in accordance with the spirit of this story's take on Locke's theory of social contracts and how rebellion is both a right and duty. After talking over the matter with my beta readers, I decided to remove the song lyrics (more or less kicking and screaming the whole time because it's the principle of the thing), but you can still see them on AO3.

Enjoy chapter two.

Day 1: Monday, June 16th, 2016, 7:25 p.m.

The back door of the van slammed open. Finnick glared down at Nick. " 'Bout time."

"I'm sorry," Nick said sincerely. "Things got… complicated today."

Finnick raised a questioning a brow as he stood aside so that Nick could clamber up. "Complicated?"

"Lost my job, had to find a new one," Nick explained, tossing his duffle bag to the side. He almost mentioned his new roommate as well, but it occurred to him that it might make his friends uneasy to know that a stranger was suddenly living with the brains of their operation. That would lead to an argument that he really wasn't in the mood to have, so he left that part out.

"And did you find one?" Finnick inquired.

"Yep," Nick answered simply. Then he spotted Duke lounging against the back of the front seat, a can of beer in his paw and laptop on his legs. They greeted each other with curt nods, and then Nick looked back at Finnick, who was swinging the van door shut. "What did you find on the USB?"

At that, Finnick granted him one of his rare smiles. "Everythin' seems to be there. We can present the files at the next Den o' Thieves meetin' and figure out what to do from there."

"Did anything come up in the news? I haven't had a chance to check it today."

Finnick shrugged. "All that the media reported was that a fire broke out at City Hall this mornin'. I'm sure they don't anyone knowin' the details."

"Of course," Nick smirked, though it quickly gave way to a more hardened expression. "Let's see them try to keep all those predators falsely imprisoned without their records."

Sighing, Finnick reached into the cooler at one side of the van and offered Nick a can of beer, which he accepted. "It's not like they'll just release 'em, but at least we've shown 'em that we won't stand for the abuse anymore."

Nick nodded in agreement, settled himself next to Duke, and peered at the laptop screen. Duke was scrolling through the files of hundreds of predators who'd been accused and convicted of various crimes without sufficient evidence. It had taken months to gather all the information that they needed, but once they had it, they'd put their plan to make a statement into action—stealing the electronic files, deleting them from the computer system, and destroying the paper ones. As long as they didn't have a techie savvy enough to recover the deleted files, all those predators would get to start with a blank slate—once they could leave prison, anyway.

That reminded Nick that it was time to start formulating the next plan. He set his beer on the floor and rubbed his paws together. "So what do you think we should do now? I still think a prison break is a good idea, as long as it's tightly controlled. It should be possible to only break out the innocent predators. We can leave the rest."

"Always gettin' ahead o' yourself, Wilde," Duke sneered. "We gotta consult with the senior Thieves first."

With a displeased grimace, Nick grabbed his beer and took a swig. "Well, when is the next meeting anyway? I haven't heard anything for a while."

Duke shrugged. "Dunno. Probably soon."

Squinting and letting his head fall back against the seat behind him, Nick took a moment to think as Finnick opened his own can of beer and sat down next to him. He broke the silence after about a minute. "Have you heard about the missing mammals?"

Finnick looked at him quizzically after taking a big gulp of beer. "Missing mammals?"

"Yeah," Nick affirmed. "I've heard a comment or two about them over the last couple of weeks. Today, I found out that one of the cooks at the diner where I was hired went missing a few days ago, which is why they needed to fill the position."

"Diner, huh?" Finnick remarked. "Which one?"

"Basic Instinct."

Sticking out his lower lip in an impressed expression, Finnick nodded approvingly. "That's a good one."

"Yep," Nick agreed, taking another sip of beer. "Anyway, all the missing mammals are predators, and the ZPD apparently isn't doing too well at finding them." He paused as both of his friends huffed knowingly, then let a mischievous smile creep across his face. "So what do you say we help them out a little and do their jobs for them?"

Day 1: Monday, June 16th, 2016, 9:03 p.m.

Grunting and rolling her shoulder, Judy walked slowly down an alleyway in Savanna Central. The self-defense classes she had taken and martial arts Ewetube videos she had watched religiously were certainly paying off, but she still had so much to learn. There was a sizeable bruise on her ribs that she would be nursing for a while, and it had been totally avoidable. Still, she had to smirk when she thought of the hyena purse snatcher and hog sexual harasser she had already incapacitated and left for the police to find.

Letting out a tired breath, she leaned against the brick wall of the alley and slid to the ground. Just a five-minute break. That was all she would take, and then she'd get back out there. She closed her eyes.

The sound of glass crashing mixed with alarmed yelling startled her eyes back open. Never mind, she thought with a sigh, jumping up and sprinting toward the source of the commotion. Her heart froze for a moment when she found it.

The ZPD, Precinct One.

Since her childhood, it had been the workplace of her dreams, denied to her simply because of her species. The revolving front doors and windows had been shattered, and she could see officers running around inside, shouting orders at each other as gunfire rang out from multiple directions. But that wasn't the reason why she stepped back for a moment. No, the doubts that she had been taught to harbor suddenly came down on her like a deluge. The reason why those police officers were in there and she was not was because she was a bunny. They could handle this. She wasn't needed.

Then her sensitive ears picked up someone screaming, "Officer down!" That was all it took for her to ball up her fists, a burst of courage, determination, and maybe even a smidgen of smugness rocketing her forward.

Bounding inside, Judy immediately surveyed her surroundings. In an instant, she processed the cracked tiles where stray bullets must have hit them, the frantic (and very rotund) cheetah receptionist calling for help on the communicator, the shrill sound of alarms, the tigress officer bleeding from her side on the floor, the wolf officer keeping her calm while putting pressure on the wound, and a few more officers raising their tranquilizer guns at a ferociously arguing trio of mammals jumping on top of the receptionist's desk, dressed head to toe in black turtleneck sweaters, gloves, boots, and utility belts with numerous pockets and pouches. Their ears were pressed flat on their heads under ski masks, eyes protected by colored goggles. Small gray boxes with speakers held against their mouths with straps around their heads crackled, distorting their voices. Like Judy, every inch of their bodies was concealed except for their tails, from which she could tell one was a jumpy weasel who was being severely remonstrated by a red fox and a fennec fox. They were all brandishing pistols—very illegal in Zootopia—and the fennec was keeping one trained on the cheetah to discourage the other officers from firing at them. Despite the tense situation, the foxes were both gesturing heatedly at the gun in the weasel's paws.

Before Judy could focus on what they were saying, they suddenly swung around and pointed their guns at the police officers who were screaming orders to drop them. The weasel lunged forward wildly, planting a few more bullets in the tile and provoking the officers to leap backwards, cursing vehemently. The fennec fox hung his head in a show of exasperation while the red fox muttered something and then darted toward the stairs leading to the basement, carrying a dark gray briefcase with him. The officers frantically aimed their tranquilizers at him, but he dodged them all, twisting his body to almost casually shoot the tranq guns out of the officers' paws with his own pistol in rapid succession as he dashed away. The tranq guns broke apart upon landing several feet away. Grimacing in both shock and fear, the officers threw their arms in the air, pinned where they stood by the weapons leveled in their direction and next to the cheetah's head by the weasel and fennec, respectively.

All of this having occurred in the space of mere seconds, Judy hadn't yet been noticed by anyone. She moved hastily but silently to hide in a shadowy corner behind the two dangerous mammals. They were both small and would be easy for her to take out, provided she retained the element of surprise. Watching them closely, she tiptoed to a spot that would give her a running start directly behind them.

After yelling at the officers to get on their knees, the fennec kept one gun trained on them and the other on the cheetah while the weasel went around swiftly binding their wrists together, including the cheetah at the reception desk. He instructed the wolf who was aiding the injured tigress to keep doing what he was doing but still made sure he was tied up. Even the bleeding feline officer wasn't spared, being forced to endure the bullet in her side with her paws held fast.

Once the criminals were standing next to each other again, they spoke quietly but angrily between themselves, too distracted to register the soft, rapid taps of Judy's feet against the hard floor until she was almost upon them. With an expert leap onto the reception desk and a strong, well-timed split kick, she knocked both their guns from their paws, grinning when she beheld their bulging eyes and dropped jaws. She only allowed herself a moment to gloat, however, before bending lower to grab the fennec by the arm, twisting it around as she turned her back to him and then throwing him over her shoulder to make him smash into the torso of the weasel. They landed with an immensely satisfying "Oof!" several feet away and made excruciatingly slow movements to get up—so slow, in fact, that Judy had no trouble rushing over to pull some rope from her belt and tie their wrists together in a single tangled knot before they fully realized what was happening. They were clearly unaccustomed to physical combat. It was just too easy.

"Whaddya think you're doin'?!" exclaimed the fennec indignantly, though Judy could barely understand him through the voice distorter on his face.

"Enacting justice," Judy answered, panting lightly as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "What else?"

The two criminals struggled fiercely against their binds, but they stopped to gape when she kicked their guns toward the flabbergasted cops, who were still nearly prostrate on the floor as they witnessed the scene.

"I'm just here to help, guys!" she proclaimed proudly. "Just let me get the last one, and then—"

Just as she was turning to head toward the basement stairs, she yelped and jumped back in surprise as a bullet bounced right between her feet and ricocheted harmlessly to the side. Looking up, she saw the red fox studying her with narrowed eyes, his gun looking so at ease in his paw that he may as well have been holding a doughnut for all the concern he showed about it. In his other paw, he clutched the briefcase that she'd seen him taken to the basement; she could only assume he'd filled it with something.

"Who's this joke?" he cocked his head lazily and sighed like a parent walking in on his toddler throwing around toilet paper in the bathroom. The distorter made his voice sound deep and throaty, sending a tingle down Judy's spine that she ignored.

Instead, she widened her stance and positioned her clenched fists at her sides. "My name is Crossfire!" she announced, remembering at the last second to change the quality in her tone so that she sounded more alto than mezzo-soprano, adding a farmer's drawl just to be extra sure that she couldn't be recognizable to anyone. She tried not to flinch at how silly it felt. Her accent would clearly need some work, but that would have to wait.

As she was trying to hide her embarrassment, she saw the fox's eyes slowly blink at her. "Really," He said flatly, then used the gun to idly indicate her bodysuit. "You make that yourself?"

Judy almost looked down at it but managed to keep her gaze fixed firmly on her foe. "Is there a problem?"

He only raised an eyebrow at her, then inquired, "Why Crossfire?"

Elated that someone asked for the first time, Judy drew herself to her full height—which wasn't very tall, she knew, but she hoped it would make her speech as impressive as possible. "Our world is saturated in darkness, and it's short on heroes to combat it. I place myself in the space defining the exchange of destruction and noble struggles constantly being traded between the guilty and the innocent respectively, protecting the truth and justice with my very life. I am the first line of defense, the buffer between good and evil. That's why I'm called Crossfire."

Behind her, she heard the fennec and weasel groan, and even a couple of the officers snickered. Heart pounding, she fought off a blush—though they wouldn't have seen it under her mask anyway—and tried to keep up the illusion of confidence. The cheetah at the receptionist's desk let out an excited but muted squeak. Her eyes remained locked on the red fox, however, and she thought she could see a real smile in his eyes, though he chuckled.

"Well, you don't let things get to you, I'll give you that," he stated. "Not bad for a cute little bunny."

The word "cute" immediately irked her. Judy glared and pointed at him. "Enough talk. You've attacked police officers at the ZPD and stolen what isn't yours. You won't get away with it."

The fox's eyes hardened. For a moment, all they did was stare at each other. Then they both moved at once.

Judy darted forward in a quick jig-jagged pattern, certain that her speed should outmatch the shots she anticipated the fox would aim at her. They never came, however. Instead, she saw him stick it in a holster at his belt and cross his forearms together just in time to block her as she jumped high and tried to slam her foot into his face.

The next minute or two passed in a flash as they engaged in a dance of swipes, lunges, punches, kicks. The fox was clearly far more well-versed in fighting than his companions; his movements were smooth and calculated in contrast to hers. He restrained himself in an effort to conserve energy, she could tell, while she was pouring as much strength as she could into everything she did. Though neither landed a hit on each other, Judy found herself exhausting everything she had ever learned and taught herself trying to push an offensive on him. To her relief, he seemed to be tiring out rather quickly. His skill level was high, but his endurance was low.

He seemed to realize this as well; his movements suddenly grew more desperate. When he dodged one of her high kicks, he took a risk, stepping closing to her and swiping a paw near her face. It would be easy to avoid, but as it neared her, a flashback charged through her mind—memories of another fox's paw, claws sharp and extended, leaving a mark on her cheek and a reminder of—

No! Judy shook her head to chase it away, but the momentary distraction cost her. Although she managed to evade his paw, the darkly clad fox followed it up with an open-palmed hit to her stomach with his other paw, sending her several feet back. He paused to see if she would get up, and with a growl, she did, picking up the offensive with a new sense of rage.

After keeping him busy with moves aimed at his upper body, Judy surprised the fox by dropping into a sweeping kick that sent him crashing to his back. As they both panted heavily, she set one foot triumphantly on his chest and bent her face toward him with her fists on her hips. "Who were you calling a cute little bunny, fox?" she drawled.

"All right, you got me," he said, but Judy's ears perked up when she noticed a hint of amusement in his tone. "You're not just cute. You're positively adorable."

With that, he held up a canister of fox repellent, aiming it at her. The second that she realized with a panic that he had taken it from her belt, he sprayed it directly at her face and rolled away after she leaped off his chest and before the cloud could descend on him, leaving her coughing, sputtering, and blinking away tears. Even with such a tight suit and closed-off mask, the repellent was remarkably potent, and Judy suddenly wondered if she'd ever actually be able to bring herself to use it on anyone. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that it would hurt so much.

Over the sound of her own gasps, she heard the fox yell flippantly at her, "It's called a hustle, sweetheart!" When she took in a sharp breath to formulate a furious response, she accidentally inhaled more of the spray and coughed even harder.

By the time she could compose herself and see properly again, neither the red fox nor his companions were anywhere in sight. However, the red and blue lights of police cars and ambulances were flashing outside the precinct. Despite feeling a certain pride in her accomplishments in her first night as a vigilante—her failure to apprehend these criminals notwithstanding—Judy wasn't naïve enough to think that the police officers would thank her. While the attention of the officers on the floor was turned toward the lights, she slipped away to hide in the stairwell leading down to the basement, stopping to hear what would happen.

Judging by the footsteps, she guessed that maybe a dozen cops swarmed inside, tranquilizer guns ready. Some mammals announced that they were paramedics, urging officers to move out of their way; Judy knew that they would be tending to the wounded tigress. Faintly, she could hear the officers discuss everything that happened. She couldn't help but grin when she picked up the delight in the cheetah receptionist's voice when he mentioned her. It was with some reluctance that she moved to hurry silently down the stairs when someone with a particularly deep, gruff voice commanded a couple of officers to look for her.

After studying online pictures of the precinct's layout so often back in Bunnyburrow—back when she thought she still had a shot of being accepted to the police academy—Judy knew that she could escape through some ventilation shafts in the basement. In fact, there would be one in the—

The records room.

The door was wide open, though it appeared intact. The fox must have jimmied the lock.

She ran inside and glanced around. It didn't look like a lot of damage had been done; a few filing cabinet drawers were hanging open, and one was halfway empty. Guessing that it was the one that had interested the fox, Judy peeked inside and read the label of the divider that no longer had any case files nestled inside it: "Missing Mammals, June 2016."

Her eyes widened. Missing mammals? The ones from just the last couple of weeks? That would include Randol.

What could they want with those?

She had no time to wonder; heavy footsteps were clomping down the stairs. As quietly as possible, Judy jumped to the top of a filing cabinet that was positioned right in front of a ventilation shaft. To her relief, it opened readily, and she scurried inside. Just before closing it behind her, she noticed a scribbled message on the opposite wall.

"Courtesy of the Hustler."

There was a stick figure of a fox drawn next to it.

Glaring at it, Judy closed the ventilation shaft, whipped out her flashlight, and began navigating her way to the surface.

Day 1: Monday, June 16th, 2016, 10:15 p.m.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't ice all three of you right now."

The portly arctic shrew dressed smartly in a three-piece suit and sitting on a leather chair atop a desk before Nick, Finnick, and Duke was leaning one cheek into the palm of his paw as he spoke, his tone and expression indicating that he expected to be bored by their answer. They knew better than to believe that, though.

Nick cleared his throat just a tad nervously as he eyed the polar bears flanking the shrew. "Because, Mr. Big, we didn't actually lose any of your guns?"

"But you were so close, and there's no guarantee that you won't lose them next time." Mr. Big frowned deeply, his lip curling and breaking his façade of nonchalance. "Especially since you're clearly so prone to bouts of imbecility, evidenced by your willingness to attack a police precinct directly on a whim."

"First of all, it was after dark, and the precinct is relatively empty at that time of night, so we knew we stood a good chance of success," Nick protested, hoping he still sounded polite. "Secondly, I'm not sure I'd call it a whim, sir. We had a purpose there."

"And it was?"

Keeping his movements slow so as not to alarm the polar bear bodyguards, Nick slid his briefcase onto the desk beside Mr. Big and opened it to reveal a pile of case files. They had been jostled around when the bears had scooped him and his friends from a street a few blocks away from precinct and loaded them into a limo, but for the most part, they were still organized. The shrew scrutinized them, then quirked an inquiring eyebrow at Nick.

"These are the case files for the mammals who've gone missing in the last couple of weeks," Nick explained. "They're all predators, and the ZPD hasn't found them, either because they're too incompetent or too apathetic. Maybe both."

"So?"

Furrowing his brow, Nick balked for a moment before looking back at Finnick and Duke, who demonstrated their unwillingness to get involved by shrugging and shaking their heads. He drew a deep breath and returned his attention to Mr. Big.

"I think it's within the parameters of the mission of the Den of Thieves to try looking into rescuing these missing mammals ourselves," he said, trying not to sound frustrated by how obvious it was to him.

Mr. Big chuckled. "We make statements to our government through our actions, Nicky," he said, "but we are not vigilantes. Not like that bunny who confronted you this evening. Does she have a name for herself, by the way?"

"Crossfire," Nick answered, smirking. "Something about putting herself in the line of fire between the innocent and the guilty."

Now Mr. Big actually slapped his knee and laughed, a harsh, wheezy noise that Nick rarely heard. It was somewhat grating to the ears. Slowly, the shrew's mirth tapered off, and he tapped his cheek contemplatively with a single finger.

"Well, as ridiculous as she sounds," he rasped, "Kevin and Raymond did witness her capabilities, and the three of you have firsthand experience with them, obviously. We will have to regard her as a real threat." He looked at Nick, Finnick, and Duke each in turn. "If any of you have the chance to bring her to me, do it immediately. In the meantime," he continued, waving his paw dismissively at them, "get out of my sight, and don't let me hear about you using my gifts for such foolhardy things again."

Nick hastily shut his briefcase and snatched it up before Raymond and Kevin sauntered over to forcefully usher him and his friends out of Mr. Big's elaborately decorated (and absolutely freezing) study. As soon as they were in the red-carpeted hallway accented with the occasional expensive painting, they each let out an anxious breath. While Nick set his briefcase next to him and slouched against the opposite wall with his paws in his pockets, Finnick turned to Duke to point a stern finger at him.

"That is the last time I ever let you have anything more dangerous than a baby spoon!" he spat with the air of someone who had been holding it back for hours, which wasn't far from the truth. "You almost killed a police officer for no reason!"

"He was gonna shoot me!" Duke insisted.

"She," Nick corrected calmly. "She was going to shoot you."

Duke snorted. "Anyway, I was defendin' myself."

"You coulda scared her with a warning shot instead o' pumpin' a bullet in her," Finnick snarled. "We don't kill unless we have no other choice."

Nick felt his fur bristle, but he kept his voice low and cool. "We don't kill at all."

He felt the eyes of his friends resting uneasily on him, but he ignored them, keeping his gaze thoughtfully trained on the floor and his expression carefully neutral. At length, Duke intruded on the silence.

"Anyway, there's no point in gettin' upset 'cause I didn't kill her," he sniffed.

"Only 'cause your aim is crap," Finnick grumbled.

"I don't care what Mr. Big or any of the other senior Thieves say," Nick cut into their argument, although he wasn't sure whether he cared if they listened to him. "I'm tired of just blowing things up and drawing graffiti. I'm going to find those missing predators."

As Duke rolled his eyes, Finnick scrutinized Nick from head to toe, as though he were looking for the wrench that got stuck in his gears. "Ya wanna get kicked out?"

"No, but—"

"Then stick with the program, Nick."

"But why?" Nick implored, throwing up his paws. "Why aren't we doing more than just making our discontent known, creating explosions, stealing things, and causing chaos? Why aren't we really taking control of what happens to us?"

"Your head is in the clouds again," Finnick scolded him, but it was without heat. "We got sucked into your daydreams tonight, Nick, but we nearly ended up in prison for it. Or worse. No more crazy crap like that. We do what we can, and what we can do is make trouble. That's it."

Already tired of this conversation, Nick sighed and checked the time on his phone. "Well, it's getting late," he said, kicking lightly away from the wall to stretch and then pick up his briefcase. "As much as I love arguing and getting threatened by mammals who are smaller than me, I've had enough excitement for one night."

His friends—whom Nick silently thanked for not commenting on how abruptly he changed the subject—muttered their agreement as they all started ambling down the hallway toward the front door, which was, unsurprisingly, guarded by even more surly polar bears. They passed without incident.

By the time they had slinked through alleyway shadows and reached Finnick's van, Nick was forced to acknowledge the strain that was put on his body by fighting with Crossfire. He knew a lot about paw-to-paw combat mostly by theory and a bit of private practice, and it was honestly a relief that he had managed to keep up with her despite having precious little experience applying it, but the soreness in his arms and legs would be a high price to pay for his safety. In the end, he was lucky that he'd managed to pilfer the fox repellent, as disgusted as he'd felt to actually use it. His utility belt seemed especially heavy where he had placed it for safekeeping.

His mind lingered on the vigilante and her explanation for her actions. He snorted softly to himself as he thought of all the responses he had for her. If she were so concerned about justice, why would she fight to support a system that perpetuates oppression? She was either ignorant, insane, naïve, or—worst of all—totally aware. Somehow, though, he would put his money on naivety.

In any case, her idealism and determination had been laughable, yet it also stirred something like admiration somewhere beneath his contempt. Enemies they may be, but he still found himself harboring a grudging respect toward her. In a better world—or perhaps if he simply weren't a fox—he might have done what she was doing.

After changing into his normal clothes, stuffing his hustling outfit and equipment into his duffel bag, and bidding good night to his friends, Nick trudged the journey back to his apartment. Unlocking the door, he fantasized about how gloriously hot the water would be when jumped into the—

The shower. Which was taken, judging by the light under the closed door and the sound of water sprinkling into the tub.

He had momentarily forgotten that he had a roommate now.

The first thing he did, of course, was to stash his duffel bag and briefcase back in the secret compartment of his closet. Then, with a mighty groan, he flopped onto the living room couch and plopped his forearm over his eyes. After a few minutes, he heard the shower water abruptly cease. Not long after that, the smell of steam, lavender body wash, and damp bunny filled his nostrils when the bathroom door swung open.

"Hey, Fluff," he rumbled without moving. There was a pause as Judy's footsteps halted between the bathroom and her bedroom, and he was certain she was peering over at him as well as she could from her vantage point.

"First 'Carrots,' now 'Fluff'?" she scoffed. "Do you even remember my real name?"

"Sure, I do. It's Ears, right? That's what I heard a customer call you earlier," Nick quipped.

Grinning, Nick could swear he could actually hear her rolling her eyes. Once her bedroom door clicked shut, he swung his feet off the couch, picked out a comfortable change of clothes from his room, and then made his way toward the bathroom. Soon enough, he was stripped and standing under the shower water, grateful that there was still enough heat left for him after the bunny had taken her turn.

He took his time, only leaving when the soreness in his muscles was mostly relieved. As he stepped out, he heard faint voices coming from the living room and scowled. Had his new roommate already invited someone over? The last thing he needed was more strangers in his space.

After scrubbing the towel all over his fur and making an effort at brushing it into something resembling neatness, he quietly opened the door and peeked around suspiciously. His sharp eyes didn't pick up any new shadows or forms, but his ears twitched as he continued hearing someone talking. It sounded different now, though, like it was in the room, but it also wasn't.

It only took another minute or two for him to throw on the red t-shirt and black gym shorts he had brought with him into the bathroom, and then he padded cautiously to where Judy was lounging languidly on the couch, her laptop set in front of her on the coffee table. It was immediately apparent that the voices Nick was hearing were coming from a film she was playing on it. Chiding himself for his paranoia, he smirked amiably and returned the jovial little wave Judy sent him when he appeared. Then he wandered into the kitchen in search of something to eat.

"I got some vegetables," he heard Judy say. "Feel free to help yourself."

"Thanks," Nick replied, keeping to himself the fact that he was desperate for some juicy protein.

Finding a salmon patty in the freezer, he unpackaged it, slapped it into a pan on the stove, spiced it up, squirted a bit of salad dressing to let it sit in something with flavor, and just watched it cook for a while, his brain too tired to do much else. He let the scent of the patty conquer his nose, and it took him a moment to realize that Judy was standing just a couple of feet away, curiously observing it sizzle as she clutched a celery stick.

"Uh," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "It's salmon. You probably won't want to be around while I eat it."

"Oh, I don't mind," she shrugged, her eyes still on the salmon. After a beat, she added, "I hardly ever see meat."

"Well, you don't really have a reason to, do you?" Nick responded. He turned off the stove, though he wasn't sure if it was because he really thought the salmon was done or because it distracted him from feeling anxious about her staring. Rather than transferring it to a plate, he decided to simply grab a fork and eat it straight out of the pan, keeping his eyes averted from Judy as he did so.

At length, Judy asked, "Are you okay, Nick? You seem stressed."

Suddenly feeling defensive, Nick scowled at her. "I had a long day. Anyway, it's kind of unusual for prey to stick around when a predator is eating meat."

Judy's paws flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! You must feel weird."

"A little," Nick mumbled.

"Weeeeell," the bunny leaned forward and dragged out the word. "I just wanted to ask you something. I mean, when you've had a long day, nothing wraps it up better than a movie night, so why don't you join me on the couch? You're already almost done with that."

"Please, I know how emotional bunnies are," Nick said, rolling his eyes with his mouth full of the last chunk of fish. "I'm not interested in watching some sappy, sentimental—"

The sounds of screaming and gunfire erupted from the laptop. Judy fixed him with a half-lidded gaze, arching her eyebrows while taking a slow, thoughtful bite from her celery stick. She chewed pointedly, mouth open.

"I stand corrected," Nick acquiesced, bowing his head humbly.

Immediately, Judy's face broke out into a grin. To his surprise—and not altogether an unpleasant one—she grabbed Nick's paw and dragged him to the couch. Although she kept a respectful distance from him once they were both seated, she grabbed a fleece carrot-printed blanket that she had laid over the couch's arm and covered both their legs in it.

It wasn't until the movie was almost over and they had both spent time poking fun at the star's overdramatic lines that Nick suddenly realized something was missing. He frowned for a moment, glancing around the room as he tried to place it.

"That's what I'm going to start saying whenever I leave an order at the service counter!" Judy exclaimed and whipped her head around to face him, one ear draped gracefully over her shoulder and her lips pursed dramatically as she squinted at him. Her voice was comically deep. "Hasta la vista, baby!"

It hit Nick then that fear was what he had been expecting. He was in close proximity to a bunny he'd just met that day, one that had given signals of her nervousness at least twice already, but now, she offered no hint at all that she was afraid of him. There was no sign of anxiety anywhere in the air. It was clear.

Feeling strangely liberated, especially after the day he'd had, he actually laughed. Really laughed.

Judy grinned and playfully smacked his arm. "Okay, it's not that funny."

Wiping a happy tear from his eye, Nick said, "Oh, you have no idea."

A/N: As a reminder, the story will be updated every weekend, probably on a Friday or Saturday. I've already got some buffer and have continued writing regularly, so there shouldn't be any late posts or hiatuses.

Also, thanks again to Camoss and The StarsShadow15 for their warm encouragement and advice. I'm especially grateful to Camoss for making sure that the exciting parts of this chapter weren't completely ridiculous. Again, please check out their wonderful stories, "A Ray of Hope" and "The Faded Line," respectively. Camoss writes with tailored passion, and The StarsShadow15 mixes sweetness with a great sense of humor. They're awesome, and I'm lucky to call them friends.

Thanks for reading. I'm loving the reactions so far. :)