September 6th, Monday – Savannah Central
"You comfortable in there?" Nick called out, while carefully balancing the steaming carrot casserole held in an oven mitt in his right paw. In his left arm, he cradled the youngest of the bunny kits, Kara, as she cried, having fallen down while chasing her four brothers and sisters in the apartment, leading to skinned knees. "If not, I'll be right in."
"I'm fine, Nicky," his mother grumbled back, sounding more annoyed than the last time he had asked. "I'm sick and old, not an invalid. What's the trick for dealing with Michael? He's trying to chew on my arm again."
Nick sighed and set the casserole down on the stovetop, so he could more easily bounce Kara. She settled almost immediately, burying her face against his shoulder. "Mom, give him the stick alongside the couch. His teeth are bothering him, because no one taught him how to take care of them until now. Also, he's Mike, not Michael. Michael sounds like an angel, and I can rule that out after he chewed on my tail this morning."
"The little piece of wood near the remote?"
"Yes," Nick said over his shoulder. He quickly spooned one glob of the orange casserole onto each of five plates already lined up on the counter. "The stick with the very obvious bite marks. That's the one."
"Don't be sarcastic, Nick… Michael, not my cane, honey. Here, take this… Oh, almost lost a finger. I have no idea why bunnies were ever afraid of us."
Nick set Kara down on the floor, only to have her immediately jump for one of the plates, pulling it off the counter and almost onto her head. Before he could scold her, she was already out of the kitchen and running to hide with her stolen meal, likely in the small pillow fort near the couch she and her sister, Amy, had built earlier that day.
"Kits, dinner is—" Nick started to yell, only to have four bunnies race into the kitchen and scramble over each other to grab plates. "Amy, stop stepping on your brother. Mike, no biting. Mary…Mary?" Nick grumbled and went to the kits, pulling Mary off of Seth, who she had been about to knock down. "Mary, no fighting."
"I'm not Mary," the bunny grumbled, as she squirmed to get out of his paw.
"I refuse to call you Fidget, even if it's true," he insisted, holding her in front of his face. "We use real names here. If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."
Mary scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest, despite still dangling off the floor. "You got small ears, so how're you all ears?"
"Oh, you are going to be loads of fun as a teenager, aren't you?" Nick muttered, putting Mary down on her hind paws once the others were done grabbing their plates. "All right, kits, everyone out in the main room to eat. No one's hiding under anything tonight. We're eating like a real family."
One of the kits—Nick wasn't sure which of the males—announced behind him, "You aren't family. Neither are any of them."
"Not wrong." Nick stared at the casserole, realizing he had entirely forgotten to make himself anything. Sighing, he pulled out another plate and tossed some of the mashed carrots onto it. "I don't have to be blood to be family. I love you all and am taking care of you. That's pretty good, as far as family goes. Anyone going to try to question whether I love you all?" With his plate full, Nick glanced down at the kits, all standing near the door to the hall. Five sets of big eyes stared at him somewhat sadly. Apparently, they had not expected the sentiment, and he realized it was the first time he had voiced it. "That's what I thought. Everyone go sit down near the TV. Gramma will want to tell you a story while you eat, so she can pretend she's older than she is."
"I can hear you, Nicholas," Marian replied from the front room.
"I should hope so," he replied, grinning.
The kits hurried from the kitchen, bounding almost over top of each other as they made their way to the front of the apartment. Nick followed more slowly, eyeing the casserole warily, wondering if perhaps he had messed up the recipe, as it did not look or smell even remotely edible, despite the bunnies already nibbling at it before they had found their seats.
Nick walked into the front room last, only to find that Seth had taken the seat alongside Marian, while Mary and Kara were sitting on her legs, already eating. Mike and Amy had at least been kind enough to sit on the floor with their plates on their laps.
Going to the couch, Nick picked up Seth by the scruff of his neck, sat down in his place, then put the kit on his own knee. "Okay, now you can dig in."
Five bunnies looked up at Nick with confused stares, their mouths already full and plates half-empty.
Marian chuckled and shook her head. "That's a lost battle, Nicky. They still think someone will steal their food if they don't eat fast enough."
"No one in this household is stealing carrot casserole," Nick assured the bunnies, holding up his own plate. "If they do, they're getting a smack on the rump. Understood?"
All five kits nodded, as their ears and heads sank. They pulled their plates close to their chests, huddling down nervously.
"And that came out all wrong," Nick said, feeling ashamed of himself instantly. "What I meant was that you'll get scolded if you take from each other. I won't ever hurt any of you. This isn't like where you're from."
The kits seemed to relax ever so slightly, but remained hunkered down over their food, eating quickly. Seeing this routine repeated every meal never failed to break Nick's heart, making him wonder what had been done to children to make them so fearful of everyone, including each other. Much as he wanted to ask, he really did not want the answer.
Shifting his plate to his free knee, Nick spooned up a large bite and shoved it into his mouth, hoping he could swallow it without tasting it. No such luck. The mushiness of the carrots and particular flavor made his muzzle crinkle and he choked down the bite hurriedly. As bad as it tasted, there was simply no way he could think of anything but Judy when smelling and tasting carrots. That, in turn, made him even more sick to his stomach to even have her cross his mind when eating, given the first meal he had been given at Katrina's home.
"You sure you don't want any, mom?" Nick asked, as he tried to let the flavor fade before trying to force down another spoonful.
Marian laughed and shook her head. "I had leftover bugburger stew late this afternoon."
Nick cocked his head, eyeing her warily. Despite her voice sounding strong, she looked weak. When he had left Zootopia, his mother had been thin but healthy. Now, even with the winter fluff of her fur, he could see the lines of her skull and all four of her paws looked boney. She had difficulty moving her tail without conscious effort, and the walk to the kitchen or bathroom exhausted her to the point of needing a rest. Still, she put on a good act—at least for anyone who did not know how to read her as well as Nick did. The last few days, Nick and Finnick had taken turns making sure she had someone close at paw at all times, despite her objections. That had meant checking her out of her condo permanently.
"You're staring again, Nicky," she warned, without looking his way. Somehow, she always knew. "I'm feeling better each day. The doctors said I was fit enough to go home. You don't need to keep watching me."
Nick opened his mouth to argue, but realized there was no point with Marian. She would win, no matter how much logic or trickery he used. In that, she was more like Judy than anyone he had met.
The doctors had been quite far from calling her "fit." Instead, they had urged Nick to call in any relatives they had—which meant himself and Finnick—and take her home to be comfortable and loved. They had not explicitly said that she was facing death soon, but they had not needed to, either. That conversation had happened during her first stint in the hospital, when they had gone into great detail explaining how the virus racking her body would keep weakening her, one bout at a time, until she passed. This round had been especially hard, and Nick could not help but blame himself for the extra stress he had put on her. He would hate himself for the rest of his life if she died because of his mission.
"Still staring," Marian chided, bouncing one of the kits on her knee. "Something you want to say, Nicky?"
"Nope, not a thing," he lied. There was no point saying it. He would only worry the kits, and they had enough on their minds already. "Just thinking you should eat something."
"Already said I wasn't hungry."
"I'll fix you some more stew after we get done eating."
Marian finally looked at Nick, giving him a chiding stare that he knew was meant to make him back down. After so many years dealing with her, he had no intention of doing so. "Fine. I'll have some stew once everyone's settled in for the night."
Nick thanked her, and without thinking put another spoonful of casserole in his mouth. His throat fought back immediately, nearly choking on the carrots. With great effort he forced the food past his gag reflex. Despite his desire to never have another carrot in his mouth, he was still hungry, and the plate of food was all they had in the apartment, other than the stew he was saving for his mother. A trip to the grocery was sorely in order, but would have to wait until Finnick could come over in the morning.
Reaching for another spoonful of the bunny-food, Nick froze when his cell phone rang across the room on the table near the window. He was tempted to ignore it, but the kindness Bogo had shown him by putting him on paid leave until everything with the ZBI had been settled mandated that he pick up if called.
Nick slid Seth over onto the cushion beside him and got up, heading for the table. He set aside his plate as soon as he saw the picture of Bogo posing with Gazelle flashing on the screen, and picked up the phone, hoping there was some good news.
"Hey, chief," he said, as he answered the line. "Please tell me you've got everything under control."
Bogo's warm chuckle relieved Nick's fears instantly. "Not entirely, but we're well under way, Wilde. I've got access to the ZBI tracking systems, per mayoral orders. If Hopps calls, we'll know instantly. The news is picking up the story about your death having been a case of mistaken identity by the morgue. It should be safe for you to be seen in public. We're almost past this. Cannus, Spetz, and Delgato are returning to active duty once the department councilor clears them, though they've been advising Delgato to wait until his mane has started filling in. None of them have quite forgiven me for darting them during the raid on the ZBI."
"You skipped over a few things," Nick noted, sitting down on the chair near the table. "The kits?"
Bogo sighed. "That wasn't an easy sell, but I think you'll be fine keeping them, until you're ready to adopt or not. The ZPD has put in a recommendation signed by twenty officers. If that's not enough, the assistant mayor has signed a recommendation, too. I doubt there's an agency in the world who wouldn't approve the foster home now. Put those worries behind you."
Nick wanted to let the conversation drop there, but he knew there were other items on his list. "What about the ZBI? Snow and Milo have been in the county jail since we got back. I'd like to speak with them."
"Impossible for now," Bogo replied sharply. "Milo, I think I can get released later today. Snow's in more trouble than I can make go away. Signing off on the statement about what she had done to you and Hopps isn't something we can ignore. She did ask for a quick trial, though. I'd say you should stay away—"
"We both know that's not happening, chief."
"I thought as much. If you need to be there, the trial's Thursday. You don't need to testify, Wilde. We've got this. Take your time off."
Nick could hear the determination in Bogo's tone. He intended to throw the book at Skye. "I'll testify to her intentions. The jury can sort out the rest."
"No jury." Bogo paused, as though letting that sink in. "This is a bench trial. Given that most of the ZBI's actions are outside public view, we can't sit a jury. The mayor is pushing for harsh punishment for her."
Nick's shoulders sank at the realization of what the lack of jury meant. One mammal was going to decide whether Skye went to prison for life, or whether her intentions outweighed the laws she broke getting there. This was going to be too close of a verdict to even wager on. He knew she had done everything for good reason, but convincing others would take months or years. He had only the length of a trial, likely a few hours at best.
"I'll be there. Put me on the stand," Nick insisted.
"You're one of the victims, so that's easily done. You sure about this, Wilde?"
"Very sure."
Bogo's huff left little doubt of what he thought of that decision, but he had the decency to keep his thoughts on it to himself. "When do you think we can expect you back at the precinct?"
Nick glanced over at his mother, who was softly telling the kits a story to keep them distracted while he was on the phone. He lowered his voice, hoping they would not overhear him. "Psych still wants to clear me, but I need some time. Mom's not doing great, and the kits need to settle in. Give me a week?"
"I'll give you two," Bogo replied immediately. "After the summer and fall you've had, I'll give you plenty of time. Besides, the mayor says you're some kind of hero. Bringing attention to the problems in the south was a big deal. Doesn't matter that we've been filing reports for years about it, your actions down there have the whole region watching and worried. With luck, we can avoid another Podunk. You and your team will be taking the credit for it."
Nick mumbled his understanding, but turned his attention to the stack of ragged papers he had taken from the Ursian government building. They had lain on the table since he had gotten home, as he had no real idea what to do with them. "Here's hoping we can avoid another Podunk, sir. I'm no hero, though."
"Take care, Wilde," Bogo said more gently. "I'll see you at the courthouse Thursday. If you need anything between now and then, say so."
Nick thanked the chief and hung up, then put on his best smile. "Okay, kits, good news. I can stay home a few more days. No one gets to run rampant over gramma just yet."
The kits all looked over at him and frowned. Two of them even going so far as to pout. Clearly, Marian was managing to spoil them already, despite him being there the whole time. He could only imagine how bad it would be once he had to go back to work.