Dear Nick,
Today had been a good day. I woke up at six with nary an ache to pain me, made myself a cup of coffee and somewhere down the line I decided I wasn't going to spend my Saturday moping around and feeling sorry for myself. So I went out, and it wasn't until I felt the crisp pre-sunrise breeze tickling against my nose that I realised that I hadn't left the house for three days.
I hadn't the foggiest idea what to do with myself at first - It'd been so long since I'd really been anywhere or done anything just for the sake of it that I'd almost forgotten how. So... I improvised. I went to the bus stop, hopped on the first bus that came along and let it take me away to wherever.
Wherever turned out to be TundraTown.
If you were to ask me now I wouldn't be able to tell you why I got off there. Maybe it was because it'd been forever since I'd felt the snow beneath my feet or maybe the cold agreed with me in some way or maybe I was just feeling adventurous. It was like I was on autopilot - my legs were moving and my brain just sat back and let them take me away. I went shopping and blew two hundred dollars on trinkets, I ate a three course meal at one of those niche roadside diners, I made snow angels and giggled to myself like I was a little girl again. It'd been so long since I'd actually enjoyed myself that it almost overwhelmed me with how good it felt.
By the time I caught a taxi back home my back felt as if someone had worked it over with a hammer, I'd caught the mother of all colds and I couldn't stop smiling. For the first time in months I'd actually managed to eke out some happiness. I told myself I'd go to Sahara Square tomorrow, and then the Rainforest District the day after, and the day after that who knows!
Then I got home.
I checked the mailbox.
I found a parcel from you, stuffed with a crumpled wad of money, and suddenly the whole day went down the toilet.
Just as I was beginning to pick myself off of the ground you knocked me back down with a harsh dose of reality: my son was still out there somewhere, maybe homeless, maybe hurting, and I was running around making snow angels and pissing my money away on worthless trash. I felt like a criminal - going out and living the high-life while my baby could very well be rotting in some decrepit gutter. The guilt got me crying, and I curled up on my bed and sobbed myself to sleep, just like I always did.
Today had been a good day, Nick, until you went and ruined it all.
Sometimes I hate you, Nicholas Wilde.
Love,
Mom
Bonnie trod meekly down the hall to her bedroom, her mind a steaming wreck, peppered with shards of shattered innocence and populated by the mutilated carcasses of fond memories - Judy's first day at school, watching Saturday morning cartoons with her, trying and failing hysterically to teach her how to use an oven - all of those sweet little memories were listed among the casualties, forever tainted by the horror she'd just witnessed.
Her trembling paw found the doorknob, and she shuffled into the bedroom, staring ahead owlishly, shellshocked. She felt dirty. As if she'd just tripped and fell face first into dirt, only this wasn't the sort of dirt that'd clean off with a good shower and a scrub. No, this was the sort of dirt that'd stick with her forever, no matter how hard she'd try and wash herself clean. Some day, years from now, when she was laying old and decrepit on her deathbed, this moment, this horrendous little moment would come rushing to the forefront of her mind, and she'd die remembering the night upon which she spied upon her daughter doing lewd things with the fox D.
Stu lay in bed with his nose buried in a copy of Carrot Farming Weekly, reading by the light of his bedside lampshade. He looked at her and balked.
"Marmalade and biscuits Bon', you look like you just saw a ghost!"
'No, no ghost. Just my sweet, innocent daughter jerking off her pred boyfriend in the same bed I'd laid her in when she fell asleep on the couch all those years ago. Just my darling little girl talking dirty to a fox as she rubbed one out of him. Just my own flesh and blood moaning like a banshee whilst dear, charming Nick buried his face between her thighs.' She didn't say. Shocked as she was, some fleeting little scrap of common sense left over from the carnage of her mindfuck stopped her from telling Stu what she'd seen. Her knowing what Judy got up to with her boyfriend behind closed doors was bad enough. If Stu caught word of this, there'd be hell to pay.
"I'm fine, Dear," she lied, stumbling into bed next to him. She wasn't fine. In fact, she was pretty goddamned far from fine. She'd passed fine about an hour earlier on down the road, and now she was speeding down the highway full-speed towards madness.
Stu slid his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose and eyed her, unimpressed. Unfortunately for her Stu was, and always had been, a walking, talking lie detector. His stare crushed down upon her, as if to squeeze the truth out of her. "Oh really?" he grumbled disapprovingly.
"Yes, perfectly fine, dear." she answered insistently, adding a hard edge to her tone to ward off any other attempts to coax the truth out of her. She met Stu's stare with one of her own, and he backed off with a weary sigh.
"Alright, guess you're 'fine' then." he said in surrender. As much as he disapproved of lying he trusted her well enough to know that if she was keeping something secret, then chances were she was going it for a good reason. He snapped his magazine shut, flicked off his lampshade and tugged the sheets over his shoulders. "If you wanna tell me what's really bothering you, don't be afraid to wake me." he said bluntly before effortlessly nodding off to sleep.
And so, as the light of the lampshade faded, Bonnie was left alone in the dark with naught but her thoughts to keep her busy.
It was going to be a long night.
To Nick, who'd been waking up to the shrill ring of an alarm clock at five-thirty ever since he'd joined the ZPD, there were few things in this world worth appreciating more than a late morning.
Outside the sun fought its way out from behind the clouds and lathered the fields, cottages and burrows of Bunnyburrow in a majestic, golden light. It shone through the window in crisp amber bars, like a beckoning finger inviting them to come outside and enjoy its warmth. Nick spared a lazy glance at the clock, saw that it was only eight in the morning, and politely told the sun to go fuck itself. He reached over and pulled the curtains closed before burying his nose back between Judy's ears and making an effort to nod off back to sleep.
If being a lazy bastard was an art, then Nick was a master.
He squeezed Judy tighter into his chest, relishing in her presence. She wriggled between his arms, mumbling, and Nick cursed himself for holding her too hard. It was rare for Judy to sleep past six, and her laying in bed after seven was practically unheard of. You see, Judy was one of those perplexing and unusual people who actually liked getting up early in the morning - something that Nick reckoned could be classified as a mental illness. If he wasn't getting up at five thirty on a work day, then Judy was dragging him out of bed on a weekend, demanding that he get his ass into gear and spend the day with her. It'd been cute the first five or so times. Now it was more of an annoyance than anything else.
"Nrrmph... Nick?" yawned Judy, coming awake. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep, hoping against hope that Judy would do the same. She yawned again, stretching limberly, only to freeze as she caught a glimpse of the clock.
"Nick, wake up!" she said, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking. "Nick? I know you're faking! Get up!"
"No," he grunted stubbornly. "I'm sleeping."
"You're awake and you're getting out of this bed," Insisted Judy. "You've got a family to impress and you aren't going to get any headway lazing around."
"Daaaw, but I wanna snuggle!"
"Later," said Judy, and the serious edge to her tone stopped him short of another witty remark. Nick propped himself up on his shoulders and looked at her, suddenly concerned. Her mouth was pinched in a small frown, and her brow was knitted in something that could've been determination or anger. He'd seen that face before. 'Judy-on-Duty', he called it. It was a face she usually saved for Bogo's briefings and the investigation of crime scenes - a face that said 'alright, I'm done playing around. What's the problem and how do I solve it?'
He reached out and laid a paw on her shoulder. "Hey, What's up?"
She tensed beneath his touch, riling up and turning on him, some stern remark teetering on the edge of her tongue. She stopped short of snapping at him and deflated with a weary sigh, suddenly exhausted. "Sorry," she huffed. "I'm just... Just nervous, is all," she admitted, bashfully rubbing at the back of her neck. "It's just that yesterday went so terribly..."
"'Terribly?'" repeated Nick. "Come on Carrots, it was 'unpleasant' at best."
"Unpleasant? Nick, my Dad hates you-"
"-He dislikes me," Nick corrected. "Totally different. Besides, I've got all day to win him over, haven't I? And I'm nothing if not a charmer," he soothed, coiling his bushy tail around her waist and coaxing her gently into his arms. "It'll be fine, I promise. You're just being a pessimist, is all. Lighten up, Judes, You're prettier when you smile."
Judy huffed, not entirely convinced. "Just swear that you'll try your hardest... For me, okay?"
The bitter tinge of distrust loomed behind her words, needling him with cold blades of guilt. She doubted him. of course she doubted him. He'd screwed her over when he'd came out about their relationship to her parents and turned what should've been a sweet family reunion into an afternoon of awkward conversation. The guilt clawed at his heart briefly before being crushed beneath the weight of his determination.
"Scout's honour, I'll be swapping shitty jokes with your Dad before the week is through," he swore, meaning it. He broke out into a confident, toothy smile. "Besides, the battle's half-won already-" he boasted, bounding out of bed and tossing on his shirt.
"Last time I checked, your Mom loved me."
