Forks
By Shahrezad1
Summary: "Oh, I'll be fine. I don't feel like murdering him with a fork or anything. Much. I'll get back to you in the morning." Judy receives another grim reminder that she's single. Nick tries his best to help, in his own way. Based on a true story.
Disclaimer: Pffft, as if I own anything Disney-related. I don't even own the puns I use as currency!
This chapter's theme music: It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To, by Lesley Gore
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Chapter 2: Cry Me a River
"My soul hurts."
-Jennifer Elisabeth
Previously:
"Just watch, months from now this will be nothing but a blip on the horizon."
"I certainly hope so. I wouldn't want to have to experience this all over again."
Two Months Later…
Judy Hopps generally lived by-the-book. Especially at the Zootopia Police Department, where she worked. So, for example, she never took personal calls during the day—except on lunch break—and she most certainly never checked her Furbook account during working hours.
But those few times she bent the rules—not quite breaking them, just bending them—she blamed it on Nick's influence.
So when her iCarrot buzzed the rabbit frowned, noted absently that she'd received a message, and returned the device back to her pocket.
At the desk parallel to her, Nicholas Wilde's eyebrow rose pointedly. They'd been spending most of the morning catching up on a backlog of paperwork, due to a mass kit-napping in Little Rodentia by someone who called themselves "The Pied Piper." They'd solved the case, but with all the leads involved it was absolute murder to organize the data.
As such her partner was more than ready for a little break.
She ignored him, hoping that he would take the hint and keep his focus. Thereby helping her retain her own.
For all that her fox of a partner often put on a lazy, uncaring persona, he was great at remembering details. They stuck with him, the way the particulars of a hustle seemed to fall into place as he neatly and efficiently found loopholes in the law.
Obviously those days were done, but in the usual logical way she approached most aspects of her life it made perfect sense to apply said talents to their responsibilities on the Force:
She worked on tasks that required a divided sense of attention—small things that piled up easily. Judy could burn through a mountain of quick paperwork in the same length of time it took Nick to stare at the disorganization in open-mawed horror—while he put his talents toward elaboration.
So that day, as she was busy documenting a photograph here, and sorting a reimbursement there, Nick was writing out a description of the 'The Rock-Battle of the Pied Piper.'
Sure, Judy knew that Chief Bogo less-than-appreciated his, "It was a Dark and Stormy Night,"-style of narrative, but she was grateful for the effort he put into documenting their cases. It was his way of showing that he cared about their work, never mind the front he presented to the world. (Plus, it meant that she didn't have to try and sort events out on paper. Heaven knew that she couldn't keep her mind focused on one thing for that long—it was just always rushing ahead.)
However, once Nick's interest was lost, it was gone for good. And if that happened, well, he would drag her down with him and then absolutely nothing would get done for the rest of the day.
Leaning toward her with his arm dangling over the edge of his desk—in reality Francine Pachman's old bedside table with sawed-off legs—Nick prompted her, "so. You gonna answer that?"
She briefly looked up at him from her own jerry-rigged writing table, a donation from McHorn until their new, scaled-down desks arrived. They'd been on back-order for months. It was what happened when you had a government job that didn't normally hire mid-sized to small mammals, "of course not."
His expression was skeptical, "you're not even curious?"
Judy shrugged, "I can find out at lunch."
"But what if it's an emergency?"
She gave him a bland, violet-eyed look, "I'm pretty sure that it's not."
Ignoring the possibility of ink-stained paws, he lifted his feet up onto the desk, slightly overlapping his report. As for his other limbs, they went behind his head as the fox lounged comfortably, "are you sure about that, Carrots?"
Judy huffed and rolled her eyes in his direction, "if there's a problem at home then they have over two hundred other kits to call on for help. I might be in the third-oldest batch, but I am by no means the first bunny Mom would contact in an emergency. There are at least sixteen of my siblings that live a lot closer, distance-wise."
"You have over two hundred siblings?" the stunned expression on his face was a bit much, she thought. After all, he had seen the family photos she'd put on the fridge, even if they didn't include the youngest third of the Hopps herd.
He blew out an impressed breath, "your mom must have high pain tolerance."
Ignoring him, and opting not to explain that rabbits were tiny when born, she continued, "and other than you, the rest of the Force, the Bigs and maybe a couple of our neighbors here in town, there's not really anyone else to worry about. Meaning NO other emergency texts."
"And what if it's the Chief?"
This time she actually turned in her seat to give him a deadpan look, then waved expressively toward the tiny supply-closet-turned-office door. True, their boss had a hard time clearing his shoulders past the entryway, but he still took the opportunity to lean his head in every once in a while and yell at them, "c'mon, Nick, you know that he prefers the personal touch."
"It was worth a try," the vulpine pointed out with a smirk, "seriously, though, two hundred?"
"It's closer to three at this point," she corrected with disinterest, "anyway, you're missing the point. If it's a text, it can wait. If it's a call, and it's someone actually important like, I dunno, my mom or something, then that might be a different story."
Shrugging as if to say, 'fine, it's your traumatic news story,' Nick returned back to the document he was writing up by hand. In cursive. With a fountain pen, complete with authentic ink splotches. He'd explained once that it was the simple things in life that brought him joy, and there was nothing more joyful to him than watching Chief Bogo pull out his reading glasses while glaring at the sheet. Then usually at him, as well.
But when her cellphone buzzed a second time his triangular, pointed ears immediately swiveled her direction. The rest of him soon followed.
"You really need to work on that insatiable curiosity of yours," she reprimanded lightly without looking up, "it might get you into trouble one day."
"You worried about 'curiosity killing the cat'?" he prompted with little regard for his politically incorrect joke.
She gave him A Look.
"Of course, I could remind you of all the times a certain bunny I know decided to hop into the fray…" his words were interrupted by a startling sound. It was soft at first, beginning with a delicately played piano before moving into thoughtful singing that belied the meaning of its lyrics as the artist started describing how they were admitting that they had killed someone to their mother.
The song continued several more seconds as her brain tried to catch up and understand what was happening. As well as the fact that it seemed to be coming from her pocket.
Nick's smirk widened as Bohemian Rhapsody continued playing, one paw propped on his slouchy hip.
That was NOT the ringtone she'd programmed for her parents!
Horrified, she snatched up her phone, if only to turn off the song. Across from her, Nick was hooting and howling with laughter, slapping his side to add rhythm to the music being played. Judy glared.
Pressing the 'accept call' button, she moved the screen into view and tried her best not to look flustered.
"Hi, Mom. I'm at work right now, so I can't really talk-," she started with, but was quickly interrupted.
"Sweetheart, how are you? Are you doing okay? How are you handling things?"
She shot a glance at her best friend, who had managed to fight down his laugh attack and was left wiping away tears. No help from that corner, "yeah, of course I am. Did…did something happen? Is everyone alright on the farm?"
"On the farm?" her mother paused in her own concern to blink rapidly, "I mean, yes, we're all fine. I'm more worried about you. How're you doing, Bun Bun?"
"Um, I'm okay," Judy stated plainly, frowning slightly in confusion, "why wouldn't I be?"
"Haven't you been on Furbook recently? Sarah sent me a tex—oh, Hello Nicholas, dear."
Unnoticed, the fox had slunk up behind her in order to hear the conversation better. However, now that his presence had been given away Judy sensed Nick pulling himself up straight and giving her mother a respectful nod.
The whole process didn't involve a lot of movement but, for some reason, becoming abruptly hypersensitive, she distinctly felt the brush of his uniform against her back, the fur on her head ruffled slightly by the lift and drop of his chin. Both touches left a tingle behind them.
"Good morning, Ma'am. You are of course looking lovely today."
Judy had introduced Nick a month or so back as her friend and partner. They'd been politely congratulatory regarding his graduation from the Academy, and tentatively approving of the idea that she would be working in the police force with a natural predator of theirs. (Largely due to Nick charming the pants off of them. Who knew that compliments on their blueberries could have such an effect?)
Of course, that had lasted only as long as it took for Bonnie and Stu Hopps to discover that they had become roommates. Never mind that (1) he was a vegetarian, (2) they were best friends, and (3) he most definitely wasn't going to 'take advantage,' of the situation (her father's words). From that conversation onward all bets were off when it came to parental approval.
It was like they expected for him to eat her in his sleep or something! She had a brief mental image of Nick as a brain-eating zombie, and it caused her to zone out for a minute as she mentally analyzed the particulars. After all, why the brain? Why not everything else, too? It seemed like such a waste…
The combination of her inattention and his appearance caused a lull in what was probably meant to be a private conversation, she realized abruptly, and apparently her partner had come to the same conclusion. He cleared his throat and prompted:
"I really hate to tail in on your discussion, but you said something about Furbook? So there's no disaster at home, then?"
He poked Judy's shoulder. She wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was to underscore the necessity that she check her phone more often?
Bonnie Hopps blinked and moved to pick up an amber-colored kit, who had apparently been tugging on her skirt with increasing frequency, "no, everything's fine here. Well, other than your brothers filling the whole 3rd Floor Basement with silly string."
Judy had to laugh, momentarily distracted, "was it Scott or Phillip?"
"Neither," her mother said darkly, "it was the Zachs—Zachary and Zacharias."
She could feel Nick's hiccup of laughter in response to the names, but if he was thinking humorous thoughts he didn't share them.
"I didn't realize that they were old enough to be getting into that kind of mischief yet," Bonnie's most independent daughter remarked fondly.
"Well, you know that they're just following the example of their elder brothers. And sister. You know who I'm talking about. Between the lot of them we had plenty of chaos at the 'Z'-Litter's 8th Birthday party," her mother said with some ruefulness. Then she paused a moment, sadness just barely making an appearance, "We could have really used your help that day—you know how the kits listen to you."
It was things like this that made her feel the most guilty. To a rabbit, family was everything. You worked, as a family, to support the family. And when crops didn't work out, you scraped together enough food and money to survive until the next one came in. It was an, "All for One, and One For All," mentality, to quote the Mouseketeers. Yet without fail Judy had opted to stay in Zootopia on her weekends and days off, while the rest of her siblings—even the ones that had moved to neighboring towns—made themselves available for family events. She was starting to feel like the black sheep of the family—no offense meant to her school friend, Darla, who even now battled the stereotype.
But there were a lot of them. Events and siblings. Not to mention extended family. She just couldn't hop to her family's beck and call, especially with how exhausted she often found herself.
"I know, Mom. I just…don't have enough vacation time yet to make a visit…worthwhile," when that sounded like a poor excuse, and her mother's disapproving look seemed to echo the sentiment, Judy continued somewhat defensively, "I mean, I wouldn't want to come over only to leave right after, right? And that's a two-hour train ride."
"I understand, Sweetheart. Just remember that no matter how little time you have, it's still quality time to your brothers and sisters. They all look up to you so much," the lingering disappointment abruptly disappeared as her mother refocused on the figure behind Judy, "as for you, Mr. Wilde, I've heard that you have some clout with both Judy and that boss of yours. If there's any way possible, see what you can do about getting my girl home once in a while. You catch my meaning?"
Being directly addressed was a bit of a shock, but it didn't last for long as the fox once again straightened and let out a bark of laughter, saluting the older female, "loud and clear, Ma'am. I'll certainly do my best."
"Call me Bonnie," it was the first time Judy had seen her mother smile so unreservedly at him, "and you're welcome to stop by the farm anytime, as well. Especially if it means that my Judy'll be tagging along," she said with some dryness, "I'll make sure to serve you up whatever seasonal fruit we've got in stock. We Bunnyburrowers like to treat our guests right."
The rabbit cop nearly groaned in horror. Now that the idea had been planted in her partner's mind there was no turning back—sooner or later Nick would finagle her into visiting the Burrow. She was absolutely doomed, feeling it in the way that Nick leaned forward eagerly, his claws resting on the back of her chair. Judy nearly jerked in shock when she felt his bottom jaw brush along the crown of her head, against the fur, then wondered about the reaction—it wasn't as though this was the first time he'd rested his head on hers.
Shoving the feeling away, and rushing to speak before he could comment on the invitation, she said, "sure. Visit home. Got it, Mom. I'll make sure to do that," Or her partner would, at the very least, "now, I've really got to get back to work now, sooo…can I call you tonight? Or tomorrow? Night?"
"Sure sweetheart. And then we can talk about…whatever you need to talk about. Later, of course. I'm always available. You can even call me on your lunchbreak," although there was a speculative look in her amethyst eyes, just a shade off of Judy's own violet. She said the next part almost absently as she seemed to gaze at the space above her daughter, "that is, if you need to."
"Um, okay Mom. Thanks," she murmured, a puzzled smile still on her face.
Whatever this Furbook post involved, it must be a real foot-thumper given the way her mother was acting.
After the call ended she continued holding the phone, staring at the blank screen for what seemed like an hour, but that didn't stop her partner from leaping back to his desk in an instant, shaking his computer mouse until the screen popped into wakefulness, and pulled up a new tab in Firefox.
"Your password has something to do with your niece, right?" he prompted, tongue sticking out to the side of his mouth.
"Ye—no! Nick, what are you doing?" she huffed in instant irritation. She slapped a paw down hard on her desk.
He frequently had that effect on her.
Nicholas P. Wilde's open-mawed grin revealed several rows of shiny pointed teeth, "I'm just answering the question that we both are thinking, Officer Fluff. You don't actually think that I'm going to leave this hanging after all that thinly-veiled emphasis there, do you?
The fox's tone was dryer than the Sahara District, "and you might as well check those texts of yours. Just think of it this way—it's like Christmas! You never know what you're going to get."
Her little bunny mouth was open to disagree, to argue, and maybe to scold her partner for his lack of professionalism. But it closed with a carrot-cutting snap.
"More like April Fools Day," she muttered.
Across from her, the rabbit's partner just grinned and kept typing.
He was incorrigible. But he did have a point. Her mother's comments and the messages were similarly timed, and she could imagine them relating. Additionally, Bonnie had mentioned getting her information from Sarah and Judy just couldn't see her friend bypassing their friendship in order to speak to Mrs. Hopps first. No, it was more likely that she had tried to get in contact with the cop first before going to Bonnie when Judy failed to respond.
But why? Her mind first went to their mutual friend, Felicia, and she wondered with a spike of fear if the bold bunny had gotten in an accident. The thought led to action, and pushing away her natural reluctance she clicked on her messages folder.
Sarah. As expected. But the questions were cryptic.
'Um…did you see furbook…?'
Then, a couple of minutes later:
'Can I call you soon?'
Judy stared at her phone blankly. What in the world had caused her to send texts like this? It sounded like Sarah had seen something shocking. Dodging a glance at her companion, who had frozen while peering into his screen, mouth slightly open and brows furrowed, she opted to shoot her friend a reply.
'What happened? (Sorry I didn't reply sooner. I'm at work.)'
A second possibility popped into her mind, subconscious putting together what her mother had said—plus how she had said it, as though Judy was going to fall to pieces any second—and what had happened the last time she and Sarah had spent time together. Her friend had been just about as upset as she'd been! So there was always a possibility…
No. No way. It couldn't be… It was too soon. Especially as they had only just…
Then again, she'd seen it happen faster before, especially when she'd been growing up. Besides, while the situation was "new" to her, that didn't make it new for them.
Across from her the bunny heard rather than saw a flicker of movement. Her long ears turned first and then eyes followed to Nick, his form having morphed into a stony monolith, pointed ears swooping backwards and expression flat and emotionless. As though he'd just found out that his pawpsicle was made with yellow snow.
"I think," the fox cleared his voice, attempting 'casual' and landing smack dab in, 'I'm afraid it's cancer.' He tried again, arms folded, "I think I may have an idea why your mother called. That jerk from a while back, his name isn't 'Steven' by chance?"
"Yes," she practically leaped off her chair with a powerful bound, "why do you ask?"
He sighed a moment. Pinched the bridge between his eyes where his snout drew outward. Then turned the mid-sized screen her direction, "he's got something to announce to the world."
There, at the top of her screen, sprang the name 'Steven Harrison.' He'd posted a new profile image. And a cover image, despite the fact that he seldom used Furbook, much less posted photographs.
Both showed him in a nice shirt, sleeves rolled up, and wearing a dark grey vest. Dress pants. Which was actually shocking, given that he was a bunny who hated dressing formally and took pride in only owning two ties, both silver.
He was kneeling in front of another bunny, a slim female with wavy, light brown fur, dressed in a pretty black blouse and a white patterned skirt covered in stenciled flowers. The simplicity of their outfits caused them to match, a spot of black and white and grey in a background of springtime park greenery. They stood in the center of a stone walkway, a small pond glistening to their left as the photographer caught the moment from across the water.
The moment was perfect, the lighting casting a warmth on their faces.
It was a lovely still shot.
It was also an engagement, caught in the act.
And there were three other photos like it. First of the taller rabbit standing, his long grey ears looming high over her as they drew together. Plus a close-up of their clasped paws, fur mingling as a silver band glittered in the afternoon light.
Her first thought was, "oh."
Then Judy's heart seemed to lurch in her chest. The chambers which had been calmly pumping blood mere moments ago clogged, froze, then withered. She had to remind herself to breathe.
She wondered if this was what a heart-attack felt like, but then recognized the symptoms from just two months prior.
No. Not a heart attack, just a heartbreak. Another one.
It would only be temporary. She would spend a week listening to Kelly Cluckson breakup songs on full-blast, screaming them in the shower just like she did last time, and then life would move on as usual. With some careful application of chocolate and ice cream.
But somehow her heartbreak cure-all didn't seem quite so sure this time around. Maybe because, well…
Was it petty of her that she'd thought their relationship wouldn't last, when she'd first found out about it? She'd taken on sort of a, "well, forget you," kind of mentality during Round One, because the incongruity of the pair just hadn't made any sense at the time. So a part of her (she wasn't sure if it had been the jealous part of her or the logical part of her at this point) had assumed that eventually they would fall apart instead of falling together.
Not that she was aiming for a second chance at Steven. He'd already indicated his lack of interest quite forcibly.
But maybe she had gauged the relationship wrongly? Leaving her, essentially, petty and single at the age of twenty-five. Pretty much an old maid by Bunnyburrow standards.
While two of her school mates—another set of them—were getting married.
"Carrots. You all right?"
His words broke her free of the frozen state she was in, and Judy took in several deep gulps of stale ZPD air. Looking over, Nick's green eyes were concerned.
Judy forced a smile, patting his arm, "I'm fine. I'm just…surprised, is all."
She was clenching her phone in her grip, she realized. Forcing the digits to loosen, she briefly thought about replying but ultimately decided to wait until later, when she was calmer.
He gave the paw a pointed look, to which she shrugged and turned back to her desk.
"Oh, I'll be fine. I don't feel like murdering him with a fork or anything," she stated wryly. Then, with a darker bite, "much. I'll get back to you in the morning."
After she had a whole day to think things through.
Her fox looked at her intently for a few minutes more before nodding, solemnly, "well if you do, make sure to remind me to grab a spoon."
It took a couple of seconds for the thought to sink in. Then she huffed a laugh, "why a spoon? Do you want to scoop his eyeballs out or something?"
"Nothing so gruesome, my vengeful Killer Rabbit," the bland, supportive practicality of his voice merely underscored his point, "I just think that we'll need something to bury him with."
Only one or two seconds went by before she was laughing, his friendly support of her, well, 'future endeavors', voiced if a tad unrealistic. The image of Nick digging three feet deep into the ground using only a spoon also became permanently etched into her brain as she hoisted herself up into her chair.
Although the eyeball-scooping wasn't a bad plan, either.
Time crawled as Judy tried to focus on what they had been working on before they'd been interrupted—what was it, an hour ago?—but couldn't manage more than a blank stare at the folders in front of her, paws twitching slightly.
This went by for several minutes, the hurt hollow of her ribcage inching into the foreground until all she could focus on was the bone-deep ache in her middle. But the warm emotional weight of someone's eyes falling, and staying, on her caused the bunny cop to sigh and turn, meeting her partner's gaze with a sad smile, "look, Nick, I'll be okay."
"You're sure?" he asked, paw lifted as though trying to reach out to her. When he realized what he'd been doing he dropped it to his lap.
She tried for a light-hearted shrug, "what's the worst that can happen? I listen to breakup songs for a week and eat all your OtterPops?"
He huffed slightly at her attempt at light-heartedness.
"Hey, look at it this way—maybe I'll even write a book about my experiences. 'The Many Romantic Failings of Judy Hopps!'"
She ran her paws through the air as through reading a movie title.
Nick just laughed and shook his head, starting back into tale of the Pied Piper.
"Alright, just let me read over it before you send it to the printers."
"You got it, Partner," she said cheerily. While ignoring the heavy weight pressing down on her.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
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AN: A shout-out to my sister for helping edit this. ;) I love your face, Little Sis.
Honestly, I had a hard time writing this chapter. I think that it's because it was from Judy's POV. :| Nick is fun to play with because I'm exercising my "sarcastic muscle." It just felt like it needed to be a "Judy Chapter," as a lot of what happens is from her perspective, and involves Nick more as a spectator.
The events in this chapter not only happened, but a lot of the dialogue is in its original format (especially 'Sarah's texts). Only it occurred in real life just one month after the events in the previous chapter. Which came just a couple of weeks after I told him I liked him. Don't worry, though, I didn't take things as hard in Act 2 as Judy did. I was surprised, then thought that the situation was ironic enough to base a fanfic off of it, at "Sarah's" encouragement. ;-)
My (lack of) love life has great entertainment value, let me tell you.
Judy's dilemma with her family is based on my roommate's family. They have 12 kids total, one is married with a kid, and there are two more that are engaged. So that's a lot of people, and a lot of events. You have to pick and choose which are most important to attend, otherwise you'll get burned out.
The ringtone is of course Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen. ^^
Computer Mouses, Firefox, and OtterPops were all left alone, due to already being animals. ;) Mouseketeers (Hidden Mickey!) and Kelly Cluckson were fun additions, even though there doesn't seem to be any poultry living in Zootopia (maybe all the birds moved to the town that movie "Sing" is supposed to be set in?).
I've decided that Judy, for being an optimistic, 'people'-oriented person, has a rather gory sense of humor. (Given her wonderful acting abilities.) ^^ So I tried to include some of that here.