So.

Judy stays in her apartment for a day, or two, or whatever because she isn't really tracking the days when there's nothing more than static in stuffing her head and snot clogging her airways.

Speaking of, she takes a tissue from the dresser beside her bed and blows her nose. Ugh.

She slips out of her sheets and slides her feet over the side of the bed.

She would like to say that she did not, in fact, throw herself a pity party, but she did not have a good excuse to herself, or anyone who might visit (ha ha) when taking in the view of a dozen empty carrot-related pastry wrappers. And candy. And ice cream. All on the floor.

Judy half-drags, half-limps herself to the tiny desk she has tucked away in the corner, filled nearly to the ceiling with unopened food, passing her half-dead cell phone and collapsing on the chair and letting her head fall on the hard surface of her desk. And again. And again.

Snap out of it—

You can do it—

Shut…UP—!

Because there is a part of her screaming, raging, tearing at herself and her walls and her defense, trying to salvage what is left from her failure and trying to build herself back together again into someone at least half-way presentable to her parents, her family, herself.

She blinks, vision still blurry and looks up because—

Knock, knock.

Ah, yes, her delightful neighbors. Judy sinks back down to the table, eyes screwing shut and paws coming up to pull her ears down. Maybe if she pretends she's not here they'll go away.

Knock, knock, knock.

And so on and so forth, again and again, for a few minutes until even Judy's patience wears thin and she resigns herself to walking over to the door.

She opens it and finds her landlord staring at her. She stares back.

Her landlord is a porcupine named Zed, and his arms are crossed over his chest, and says, "Your pay."

"My…pay?," she finishes, uncertainly, until it hits her. Her pay. Her pay, "My rent pay," she whispers in silent horror.

"Yes," Zed replies, nodding, and saying the next sentence as though talking to a small child, "Your rent. You need to pay it. Your deadline was three days ago."

Judy smiles, ignoring the sharp stab in her chest and the emotions bleeding out in result, gathering at the edges of her eyes and threatening to spill over, "Okay, I'll get it as soon as I can—"

"You have the rest of the day, or I'm kicking you out." he says, curtly, then walks off, leaving Judy to stare the wall, the floor, at nothing at all.

The rest of the day.

And the morning of the rest of the day goes like this:

"Excuse me, I—"

Slam.

"I'd like to see if you can offer me—"

"No can do, bunny, we're already cutting our losses."

Close.

"Could you please—"

"We don't need your dead weight here."

Shut.

"I—"

"I'm sorry," the giraffe behind the counter says, almost sincerely, but not really, "But the offer's been taken off the table."

"Oh," Judy says, ears already down behind her and her upturned lips pulling down, "I'm…"

(Tired, tired, she was so tired)

"I'm sorry too," she finishes weakly, throat clogging again, and walks out the doors.

She looks at the newspaper in her hands, sees so many, many red lines and rejections. She is only half-way through.

There is an ad for ZPD recruitments, the line staring up at her from the paper, almost mockingly, "…Because in Zootopia anyone can be anything! So join—!"

Judy stops before too long.

That doesn't stop her lips from curling and her nose from wrinkling and her fingers from tightening ever so slightly over the paper.

And here we go again:

"You won't be able to handle it."

Slam.

"Please—"

A pair of eyes rolling at her., "Look, just go back home and leave the real professional here, "and shut.

"May I—"

They laugh at her face, "Weren't you that bunny who got fired? Nice going," and close the door.

Judy stares at the door, the floor, at nothing at all.

Her day is over.

She's done.

Shakily, slowly, moving her arm upwards like a newborn bunny, legs hardly supporting her and she finds her list done, her list crossed out with so much red the paper may as well be dripping with it.

Her eyes trail down and her last hope in the form of a small wedding dress shop is crossed out in red, too.

Slowly, unwillingly, her eyes catch ZPD and

Anyone

and

Anything

And—

She looks at her own failure and sees an ad for ZPD recruitment and her lips curl, her stomach twists and something breaks and—

There is nothing, and everything and she snaps—

Can't hear—

"…Miss?"

Nothing but a loud ringing in her ears—

"Holy shit—"

"Someone—…. 911—!"

And—

"…Oh…oh my…miss bunny!...miss bunny!..."

"Get away—no!"

"Don't record, you jackass—!"

And for a while Judy sees nothing but red and tears and the frustration building in her

"Ma'am, please—"

something spilling, something breaking and letting out molten and heat and fire and

she bites down on her lip until it bleeds to make sure the scream clawing up her throat doesn't escape don't let it escape you can't—

"Miss!"

And then Judy comes back to herself, finds blood dripping down her chin and the paper in shreds at her feet and animals, so many animals, standing over her, eyes watching her.

She draws in a shaky breath, ignoring the error flooding her face. She looks at her paws and sees them shake.

The tips of her ears burn, and oh no, she chants, sinking down to her knees and desperately pulling at her ears, oh no no no

"Is the bunny losing it, mom?"

She tries to stand and finds her knees failing her, and oh no no no.

"Let's just go, Tim."

"Damn. Poor kid."

"Can't handle the stress, I guess."

She wants to run.

Someone laughs, "What a loser."

Judy gasps, desperate for air.

"…hey, isn't that the bunny who got herself fired?"

"Oh yeah."

"Karma, man, givin' out those damn tickets like she knows what she's doin'—"

She winces.

"Country hick."

She deflates.

"Failure."

And she curls into herself, trying to disappear and never, ever coming back to this thrice-damned city again but

Something taps at her arms and

Judy feels something faintly wiping at the blood, maybe, and looks down to see a small shrew with really nice hair and a small handkerchief stained red forever.

She chokes, inches back, away from the bears and the shrew and the crowd, horror clawing up her back like tendrils sprouting from the ground to suffocate her.

But.

Her back hits the back of a polar bear's legs, and she watches through blurry eyes as he glares at the crowd. They turn on their heels and leave…mostly.

One of them refuses, holding a phone up and Judy tries to hide her face but a small, squeaky voice growls out, "Hey! Leave already, you jerk!" and it was the shrew. Judy tries to get up.

One of the bears go to her side, catch her arm, almost gently coaxes her from running from them and was she really so obvious?

No wonder she got fired.

"Miss Bunny, do you need to go to the hospital?" the shrew asks, eyes wide and sincere and actually concerned, and it was a novelty, really, in this city where she's been turned away over and over and over.

"I—," and the next word gets choked into the shame clogging her throat, blood coming out from the cut over her lip and Judy tries, tries not to let herself drown.

The shrew rushes forward, laying a tiny hand over Judy's paw flat on the cold, hard cement of the sidewalk and says, gently, "You must not remember me," her tiny voice is soothing, somehow, a kindness in it Judy has gone the entire stay in her city without, "You saved me from that donut, and I saw you then I thought, like, I never did get to thank you for that."

And the shrew smiles, "My name is Fru Fru, and I'd really like it if you can come for dinner with me, Miss Bunny."

And she does (after a quick trip to the bathroom to both freshen up and possibly bang her head on the wall for free), because one, Judy is hungry, hasn't eaten a single scrap of food all day, and two, Fru Fru had threatened to never leave her side until Judy complied, even cracking out a pathetic shadow of a smirk from the bunny, which leads to introducing herself.

(Though there is a part of Judy that suspects the shrew was only half-joking.)

Also because she wanted to leave that street and never come back to it, ever.

One of the bears, Kevin, as he'd introduced himself prior, is standing at their table, staring down people until they either cry or runaway because people recognized her and the other is at the fancy glass doors of the restaurant.

Speaking of.

Judy, despite herself and her reddened eyes, observes the restaurant with awe – all velvet floors and golden chandeliers with the tables, not barring the one they are sitting on, made of polished redwood and undoubtedly more expensive than her apartment.

Furniture included.

Fru Fru sits across from her, tiny chair and table, on the table, a matching tiny version of the gourmet dish Judy could not pronounce in front of her.

Judy looks down and is almost afraid of the way it shines 'rich and expensive' at her.

"Go on, Judy!" Fru Fru says, lifting a tiny fork, "I ordered tonight's special for both of us!"

"…Okay," Judy whispers in reply, not quite trusting her voice, because yes, she has checked the menu, and it says that this dish is worth two months of her rent, and eats.

Judy brightens instantaneously, because it is heavenly.

"Okay!" Fru Fru chirps, clapping her hands, "So, like, I did say I wanted to thank you for saving me."

The shrew pauses and smiles up at Judy.

Judy blinks.

"…It's no problem," Judy tries for a smile and manages to execute something, "It's…It was my job."

Fru Fru frowns, and catches the implication, because she is spoiled, not stupid, "What?"

"I got," oh no, not again, Judy, Judy pull yourself together c'mon, "I got…," she swallows, instead and says, "I don't…work for the ZPD. Anymore."

And somehow saying it makes it all the more real, makes Judy stare at her situation in its unforgiving face.

(But that churning in her stomach somehow lightens, the twists and curls of her insides lessening.)

Fru Fru gasps, fork clanging to the table and says, "What?!—"

And she stops herself, leaving Judy to watch in mild fascination as she calls for Kevin. The bear takes the shrew in his hands and she whispers sharply in his ear, before they both look at Judy.

Judy's stomach sinks.

But it's for nothing, because Fru Fru's eyes alight with warmth when she is put down to stroll toward the bunny, and pats Judy's paw, "I know we've just met," she says, lightly, "But, like, you saved my life. That's not something small, so," and she beams up at Judy, small hands taking in Judy's paw, "I'd really like it if you come for dinner tomorrow, too. Just one isn't enough. Maybe we can be friends, too!"

Judy stares, ears slow perking up before something bubbles up her throat and escapes through her mouth before she can stop it.

She laughs, small and brittle, and says, "I'd…like that, Fru Fru."

And she does.

They wave goodbye after half an hour of chatting about Gazelle and pop trends, Fru Fru leaving in her limo while Judy is left to go back to her building via foot.

But that's alright.

When she gets home she finds her phone's screen flashing at her with missed calls from her parents (she winces) but then it rings and she sees:

[UNKNOWN]: Judy? It's Benjamin.

[UNKNOWN]: Clawhauser, I mean. How are ya? J

[UNKNOWN]: Like, you probably need space or something but here's my phone number if you need anything!

[UNKNOWN]: Um.

[UNKNOWN]: Text back, okay?

[UNKNOWN]: G'night~! :D

And Judy doesn't stop the small laugh from escaping between her lips, falling back on her bed and secretly letting a seed of hope bloom.

A/N:

I swear to god this'll be happy soon (though that last scene with Fru Fru is considered happy-ish by my standards), so don't lynch me, please.

This was heavily based from my own sister's similar experiences, pity party and all.

Thanks for reviews, views, faves and follows!

Oh, can someone please tell me if I somehow missed letters or misused words too? Thanks.

Edit: I completely forgot to mention, this happens after Mrs. Otterton walks in, and Judy demands for the case, and after a string of events I won't mention, gets fired. There's no Bellwether or mammals Forward to really help her, as in this universe Judy got into the force through sheer stubbornness and hard work. So no, no Nick. Not yet.

Edit: Thanks for catching that one, Mike.