Peer back, brave ones, to younger years

When only boogies summed one's fears

And the innocent b'lieved the just

Before they knew of broken trust

"Who's Dr. Cleopatra Lapis?"

John Wilde sat at his kitchen table, in his house in Conifer District, staring at his eight-year-old son Nicky and those bright, green, curious eyes of his. "Umm…" elaborated the older fox, sweeping the otherwise empty kitchen and hallway for his mate, Jackie, since she answered these questions far better than him. With as much composure afforded him in his bathrobe, John ignored his tea to fold one paw over the other, and then switched them the other way around before smiling calmly to his son, "I… heard she works with predators that are a bit… well, a bit 'bad'. Where'd you hear the name, Nickster?"

"Tyler Pounceski at school said his uncle went to go see Dr. Lapis," Nicky reported, leaning up so his small paws gripped the edge of the table, recognizing when his Dad knew something really cool because his ears pointed straight up, "What does she do with bad preds?" Nicky's Dad always had the best answers, especially when he didn't really know, that's why he waited until Mom wasn't in the room to ask them (because she gave boring answers, like "I don't know, sweetie, but let's find out together.") The kit's bushy tail swayed over his pajama bottoms as he watched his Dad's eyes roll up and then to one side, hesitate, and then roll to the other side, which meant it was going to be an amazing answer. Nicky rose up onto his toes and his tail wagged faster when his Dad put his fingers together under his nose, and then when he tapped his pointer fingers together… Oooh, he hoped Mom brushed her teeth all night, because it was going to be one of those answers!

John sat up. It'd been a long day, a long month in the suit shop after those porcupines needed modifications to accommodate their quills, and his poor paws were about to fall off one knuckle at a time. Were it his shop, John wouldn't need to fix the mistakes of the tailor he "apprenticed" under. But… he couldn't say 'no' to Nicky, not when his eyes shone like they did with youthful, innocent curiosity. With a sigh, John gestured a sore paw to one of the kitchen table chairs, which Nicky eagerly hopped into; egad, when did he get so big? Of course, the kit was kneeling up in the chair, but it seemed only yesterday that he still needed hoisting onto a phonebook to see over the top of the table… John leaned back in his chair so that he balanced on the rear legs. Jackie would flay him alive for doing that in front of Nicky, but it wouldn't compare to what she'd do to him if she knew the subject matter of their conversation. Well, she was upstairs, and Nicky was already eight, so it wouldn't hurt to tell a little bit about "Dr. Cleopatra Lapis…

"There isn't a lot known about her," said the older fox, bracing a knee against the edge of the table to keep his balance, "only what's heard from the 'bad preds' that saw her. Rather odd, wouldn't you say?" To this, Nicky nodded vigorously. "After all, the results of her work, mysterious as it is, are undeniable. Some of the baddest criminals - only the predators, though - go to see her, and come back a little worse for the wear but… they are much nicer. Do you remember Mrs. Okami a few streets down? She got in trouble because she was violent when the city tried to take her pups away last year. Well, instead of locking her away, they sent her to go see Dr. Lapis for a few days, and not only did she get to go home afterwards but they also let her keep her pups."

Nicky was in awe at first, but then his eyes fell to the top of the table and his brow furrowed as he sat back on his ankles. Sitting up once more, "But, Dad," he doubted, "it sounds like Dr. Lapis does really, really good stuff, so why's she so mysterious? Mr. Lapis makes my fox-flu medicine, and everyone knows about him." He then gasped as a thought crossed his mind, looked around before leaning over the table to whisper, "Is she like Mrs. Foxglove? Does Dr. Lapis secretly save Zootopia, too?"

Bless his little heart and that puerile grin. Nicky was always sly with his questions, which he got from his mother, of course; John doubted he helped any in that regard. The older fox glanced about with hooded eyes, gently stroking his jaw in that way he knew made Nicky's eyes go even wider with wonder. "Well…" John drew out, letting the gentle creak of his chair punctuate the silence and so bring his son up onto his little toes, "I wouldn't deny there are… some parallels." Nicky nearly leapt onto the table, but his father's palm shot up and guided him back into his seat with a pushing gesture. John continued forward until the front legs of his chair connected with the kitchen floor, thus allowing his elbow to rest on the tabletop as he wove his fingers together, and gave his son a sly grin. Nicky was squatting on the chair now, paws holding the table's edge for dear life, and though his snout was beneath and out of sight, his smile spread up the cheeks and to the eyes (and his tail gave a thorough brushing to the back of his chair). "Why," continued John, "what if Mr. Lapis worked with Dr. Lapis, in secret?" he poised.

Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove were, of course, the coolest ever, but to think that there were bunnies just like them? Nicky could hardly contain himself!

"Now, this is very important, Nicky," he said with a single raised finger, the others held in a loose loop with his thumb, "Dr. Lapis is not the type of doctor you see twice a year for a check-up, or go to when you have a cold. She's a doctor you only see once," he warned, paw closing into a fist but keeping his index high, and his son lifted his head and splayed his ears back, the excitement in his eyes shifting from gleeful to trepidatious (but still excitement all the same) as that finger slowly lowered in Nicky's direction, which, likewise, lowered the kit's tail, "and you can count yourself properly sly if you never, ever see her."

"Never see who, John?" asked Jackie, a.k.a., Mom, whose uncanny ability to simply appear in parts of the house without a sound of announcement helped hone the reactions of her two favorite foxes in the world. She stood in the doorway from the hall to the kitchen, arms crossed nonchalantly over her own bathrobe.

Both father and son froze, gazes locked across the table from each other, until John pivoted his head slowly with a relaxing smile, the ironclad finger he pointed slipping into a loose, wheeling gesture. "Oh… well, it was more of a general-"

"Who shouldn't we see, Nicky?"

"A… doctor…?" the kit tried, but he didn't doubt that a wooden spoon had his tail's name on it if he wasn't super careful about how he answered (his Mom could smell a lie from down the block, he was sure of it). Mom's feet were always so quiet, that even though he watched her walk over to the table and then behind his chair, he didn't even hear her claws click on the tile, not like Dad's did. Even so, when she disappeared past his field of vision, such that he would need to crane his neck to see her, Nicky could still feel her presence looming over him. He once more looked at his Dad, who looked back, and then Dad's eyes flicked up, so Nicky knew Mom was directly behind him, and his tail curled about his hunkered legs in attempts to shrink under the table.

"A 'doctor', you say," Jackie calmly repeated, paws on the corners of the back of her son's chair, letting her petite physique lean against it with only the faintest whisper from its framework. When the silence settled in the room, Nicky affirmed her with a soft nod and grunt, to which the vixen continued her way around his chair, fingertips dragging along the chair's back, letting her footfall at last make poignant clicks of her claws, "Could this possibly be… Evil Dr. Porkchop?" she declared, and wrapped her paws around Nicky's sides in a flurry of merciless tickles, leaning in to nibble at his neck as he writhed and shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. John joined in with a hearty laugh of his own as their son suffered the jovial assault.

"No, Mom!" Nicky finally managed after a lungful of air, standing on his chair as his Mom hugged him with a contented trill, a cheek of hers pressed to his, he still heaving and weakly flailing in attempts to be freed, "Dr. Porkchop's a 'him', not a 'her'!"

"Oh, is he?" Jackie asked, and busied herself with smoothing her kit's fur, "Well then, I suppose if it's not Evil Dr. Porkchop, then whatever 'general' doctor you do or not ever see matters only if, as your father said, you count yourself as 'properly sly'. Yes?" With another affirmation from Nicky, this one brighter and louder, she leaned in and presented her cheek, "Now, kiss me good night," to which Nicky dutifully did, "And the other," presenting her other cheek, and he dutifully did once more. Cradling his chin in her dainty fingers, she touched their noses together and then gave his belly a gentle tickle, "Go brush your teeth, I can still smell the blueberries you had for dessert. Your father will be up in a bit to tuck you in."

Nicky giggled and hopped down from the chair to scamper out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and up the stairs. Jackie sighed and smiled as she watched him, before turning to her mate, standing adjacent and leaning against the table.

"He heard about Dr. Lapis from a classmate at school today," John reported, voice low, but was cut off by Jackie's finger at his lips.

"No time to dally, John, our son needs tucking in, first," she stated loudly and clearly, triggering the continued scamper of tiny paws up the full flight of stairs with the telltale creak near the top. "Dr. Cleopatra Lapis?" hushed Jackie with agitated dread after leaning in and removing her finger.

"No, the other 'correctional' doctor from pred-therapy," John snarked, and they both huffed, "I didn't tell him anything, but he drew the conclusion that she and Felix Oswald Lapis are some… rabbit version of Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove."

Jackie couldn't help but smirk and roll her eyes, "That would be awkward," she said, with a grimace to match the inclination, "I was hoping he wouldn't know about her until at least twelve, but we can't help what he hears at school. Who did he hear it from, do you know?"

"From Pounceski's cub. I think it was his Uncle Xander."

"Oh!" Jackie gasped, a paw over her mouth, "No wonder Susanna was so upset…"

John gently rubbed her arm, "On a lighter note, Nicky's really taken to making those popsicles how I showed him," he said with a smile, hoping the levity might help her as he only knew how.

"John," she said patiently, looking him in the face, "You know what Nicky wants more than anything, and all of these hobbies you keep trying with him won't change that."

He frowned and sighed through his nose, "You know why I'm not okay with it."

"John," she repeated, "I know that you got a bad read from those other kids, but the Junior Ranger Scouts uphold teamwork and inclusion no matter the species, and if you keep holding Nicky back from that he'll grow to resent you, or worse, distrust you."

"I didn't get a 'bad read', Jackie, the kids in that troop looked downright malicious when they saw Nicky, and their parents weren't too fond of me, either."

"That's because you looked at the uniform in the catalog and said, 'I can make that'."

"I'd have added 'better', 'cheaper', and 'easily' if you didn't bushwhack me," he mentioned. Jackie's whacking, bushy tail served to correct the manners and etiquette of her kits, both son and mate alike, but without any precursory movement of her hips it came at no warning to deliver swift maternal (or spousal) edification.

"Well, your tone of voice spoke more than your words could," Jackie berated and wagged a finger, "Nicky is joining that troop in one of their uniforms." She then put her paws to her mate's chest, "Let him belong, John, let him make that decision for himself. You see how happy he gets just thinking about it. Whatever happens, we can deal with it as a family. And I know the uniform is… pricey, but I have some money set aside, and I can take some extra jobs to pay for it."

His arms wrapped around her waist, smirking, "Are you sure I can't make him a uniform? I'd bet my tail that the beat cops around here will be green with envy when they see him walking down the street in it."

She cupped his cheek and brushed her nose and lips to his, "He wants to belong, John, and he can't do that in a better, yet less expensive uniform," to which he finally complied with a kiss. "Now," Jackie said as her mate's face lingered with that adorably stupid grin of his, "go brush your teeth and tuck in our son, I'll be up in the bit."

"Yes'm," he hummed, turning on a heel with a spring in his step, despite his tiredness. Jackie was right of course, she often was, especially on matters like this. Thanks to his profession, John understood that clothes spoke volumes about the mammal wearing them, and for his son to show up in a homemade (granted, professionally crafted, but still homemade) uniform wouldn't be the message Nicky wanted to send. Nicky wanted to join the JRS not only because it would be fun, hone life skills, and he'd be making friends, but somehow the kit got it in his head that if a group of prey accepted him, a fox, that it would be the precursor to the acceptance and trust of foxes everywhere. John used to dream big like that, but nowadays he dreamt only of comfortable clothes, hot tea, big tips, and most of all, the smiling faces of his mate and son, and if that meant choking down his pride, then it didn't even warrant a second thought.

With a quick peek inside his son's bathroom, the older fox spotted the wet sink, the askew toothpaste tube cap, the not fully rinsed toothbrush, a stray length of floss, and the disheveled towel, all signs that an eight-year-old practiced his dental hygiene. Walking across the hall, John pushed the bedroom door open and found, as he expected, a still made bed with no kit inside (yet the bite mark-ridden, re-stitched, re-stuffed, patched mess of a pillow his son never slept without was sitting patiently atop the covers). Nicky was hiding, of course, as he liked to do, and judging by the weight of the door, he was hanging right on the other side, probably with a jump rope looped around the coat hook (since there were no little claws gripping around the top).

"Odd," John announced, and guided the door open completely to make an enclosed triangle with the nearby corner, "My son should be in here somewhere…" His ear flicked at a muffled snicker behind the door, thus confirming his suspicions, much in the same way one needed to confirm the wetness of water. Using his foot to hold the door in place, John reached over to grab a nearby chair he liked to keep in his son's room for story time, and ever-so-quietly wedged it under the knob. "I guess I'll have to wait for him here, then," he said, and flopped onto his son's bed, shins hanging off the end, paws folded behind his head.

The door creaked a bit as Nicky grunted in attempt to push it open, more likely than not for an ambushing pounce, and earned a self-pleased glance from his Dad as the chair held fast. When the gentle scraping of his little claws on wood sounded his attempts at escape, John closed his eyes and awaited the call for assistance. Except no signal of surrender came, so he looked up in time to spot his son leaping through the air from the top of the door in a beautifully executed ambushing pounce. They bounced on the bed in a vulpine tussle, Nicky getting his young teeth into the pelt on his father's arm with playful growling and attempts to impress physical superiority, but the bite was neither strong enough nor his fangs sharp enough to be felt in any threatening manner.

"Someone's been playing with those wolf pups up the way, again," smirked John, looping an arm around his son's waist and rolling to his feet beside the bed, "You're winning, I assume."

Nicky grinned and scoffed (just like Dad does), crossing his arms while dangling in the grip for a casual boast, "Me and Finnick are twenty-seven to their three." When he was sat down on his bed, the kit scurried under the covers and lay himself back, smiling up at the older fox as the sheets and covers were tucked in around him, and his pillow picked up from the ground, brushed off, and nestled next to his head.

"Not picking any fights, I hope," prompted John, dislodging the chair from beneath the doorknob to bring it around for his own sitting pleasure.

"No sir, I'm picking my battles," responded Nicky.

"That's my boy," he commended with a rub between the kit's ears, and then leaned back in his chair with a foot propped against the side of the bed, cradling his chin in one knuckle, "So, what shall the story be tonight, Nickster? Maybe 'The Trumpeter Gator', or perhaps 'The War of the Ants and the Grasshoppers'?"

"Are there any stories about Dr. Lapis?" Nicky asked in a hushed tone, leaning forward and out of his sheets a bit to smile with anticipation.

It took all of John's willpower not to fall backwards in his chair, and was glad that he, in his usual manner, had hooded his eyes in thought and so only needed to continue that particular demeanor, "Well…" he answered with a doubtful frown, "I know one, but you wouldn't want to hear it…"

The kit's tail was out and swaying as he got onto his knees, pinning his favorite pillow into the bed to beseech his Dad, "I do!" he almost yelped, but remembered that Mom could be in the hall and he wouldn't know it until he saw her, and quieted down, "I do wanna hear it! Please?" he strained.

John gave a "Hmm…" and eyed his son in uncertainty, "I dunno, it's got some stuff I don't think you're old enough for."

"I am, Dad!" he pleaded, brow soon furrowing, "I'm already eight, almost nine!"

"Oh, almost nine?" pondered John, his own brow relaxing and even arching high to consider the new information, "Alright, but if I tell you this story," he said and leaned in, urging his son closer by bracing his back and hooking him, even putting up his other paw in secrecy, "Your mother can't know that you heard it, or that I told you, right?"

"Yeah!"

"And I can only tell you this story once, right?"

"Yeah! Yeah!"

"Okay, but I warn you, this story has…" he lifted his head out of the huddle to check the door, and then the window, and then got closer still by wrapping his arm around the younger fox's shoulders, "Kissing."

"Eww!" revulsed Nicky, trying to back out of with a reeling motion, lifting his Dad's elbow and falling back onto the bed, sticking out his tongue, "No kissing!"

"C'mon, you're almost nine, Nickster; you're old enough for a kissing story," John assured with an easy smirk, leaning an elbow on a knee to prop up his head.

"No!"

"Many years ago, Dr. Lapis-" he began anyway.

"No! No, Dr. Lapis!"

"Alright," huffed John with a defeated shrug. Worked every time.

"I changed my mind, I wanna hear about Grandpa Pib!" declared the kit, slipping back under the covers, "He's a pirate captain, and they don't kiss!"

Well, not entirely true, but his son didn't need to know that, yet. "Nicky, your grandfather was a privateer," John corrected, "Do you remember the difference?"

The kit nodded eagerly, "It means he was like a pirate but wasn't a criminal, right?" he beamed, so very, very glad to get away from the terror of… kissing.

"That's right," the older fox affirmed, and inwardly sighed in soulful relief to have deterred his son's interest from Dr. Lapis, "Captain Piberius Savage, from whom you get your middle name," that part was important, which either he or Nicky often pointed out, "was one of the finest sailors on the open sea, and the bravest fox in the navy. He'd lost his right eye and right paw, so instead had a hook," he grinned, and made the shape out of his fingers, "which when used together with his debonair swordplay, the red-furred privateer came to be known as-"

"'The Scarlet Hook', so named for the bloody hook in place of his right paw, which he used to execute his enemies," said Ms. Palmer, an ibex swinging her cloven hoof down on her desk to dramatize the point, thus getting a muted, startled cry from her class of grade-schoolers, "Historically, he is one of the worst pirates to ever sail, and it's considered a favor the world over when he disappeared a hundred years ago. However, in his final act of depravity - the end of that long list of crimes we just went over - Captain Piberius Savage kidnapped a village of innocents, never to be seen again." She leaned against her desk, decorated with anchors and sailboats for the school's Maritime Week.

Ms. Palmer had asked if anyone knew about a famous sailor or sea captain, and Nicky was electric to mention his Grandpa Pib, but after all that, the kit was glad he decided to save the big reveal about being Captain Savage's grandson…

"Thank you, Nicky," said the teacher, and she did sound sincere, "We should always remember that history is filled with both the good and the bad, and Maritime History is no exception." She gave a spirited huff and looked up at the clock as the bell rang for end of class, "That really got away from me, didn't it. Okay, everyone, remember to read chapter seven tonight, and your report is due Friday," she instructed, dismissing her class of rambunctious youth, scurrying about and shoving books and pencils into their backpacks before flooding the hallway. All except Nicky, who approached the teacher's desk as one would the judge's bench.

"Ms. Palmer, did Captain Savage really do all those things?" he asked, hesitant to even mention the name of 'Piberius' in case the teacher linked it back to him.

The ibex smiled consolingly, patiently as she addressed the question, "I know it might come as something of a… a shock, Nicky, but it's true, Captain Savage committed a lot of terrible, heinous crimes," she explained, and looked at the kit in pity, "The fact of the matter is, foxes… don't have the best track record, but it doesn't mean you're like him, right?"

"Yeah…" frowned the kit, looking down and away with regretful introspection.

Ms. Palmer sighed, but despite her reluctance she asked with all the gentleness she could muster, "Where did you hear about Captain Savage?"

Nicky was always taught to answer an adult's questions honestly (but not to "volunteer information", which meant to not talk about more than what they ask), "My Dad tells me stories about him all the time, but he didn't mention anything about kidnapping or execution…" he lamented, but then grabbed the edge of the desk and rose up on his toes, sly curiosity burning in his eyes, "But what about Montressor? He sailed in after escaping from an exploding volcano, and even saved a crew of mutineers using their half-burnt ship! Or…"

She shook her head and frowned in a mixture of continued pity, but also in peripheral disappointment, "I'm afraid that's all they are, Nicky… stories. Captain Savage was a pirate, and there's no record of anyone sailing into the Montressor Seaport on a half-burned ship that I know of. Maybe someone did that, or something like that in fox history, but in world history? It's simply not there." Ms. Palmer sighed again as the kit returned to rest on his heels, visibly crestfallen, "Listen… your father, John Wilde, right? He's a real nice mammal, easy to like, and I'm sure he 'spins a good yarn'-" she said, trying to alleviate the situation with some sailor lingo.

"No!" Nicky cried, and then continued with his inside voice, "Foxes don't lie to each other, and they don't keep secrets from each other," and stalked out before she could respond. Nicky knew his Dad told stories, but he also knew the difference between stories and lies, and his Dad wouldn't lie to him. Everything he heard about Grandpa Pib was real, Nicky knew it in his heart. He'll ask Dad when he gets home and set things straight.

Out in the hall waited Nicky's best friend ever, Finnick Faire, whose long, sandy ears twitched at the red fox's approach, "Hi Nicky," he said in a high, soft voice, and then in a show of passion that was quite uncommon for him, he balled his tiny paws into fists and gave his pal a determined glare, "I don't care what Ms. Palmer says, I believe you about your Grandpa Pib," and then caught himself, ears going back and head bowing, "I'm sorry, I did it again…"

Nicky looped an arm around the smaller fox's shoulders to usher him down the hallway, "It's okay, Finnick, you weren't eavesdropping, because I was going to tell you anyway," he assured with a bright grin.

"Are you sure…?"

"Absolutely positive!"

"Okay…"

As they skirted around other students fiddling with their lockers or chatting in their herds, Nicky leaned in, "Finnick, what's wrong? You've been sad all day, even though we got pudding at lunch."

The fennec fox shook his head, large ears swaying with a grunt of denial, "No, not here…" he hushed, his ears giving a twitch, "Outside." To this, Nicky nodded, and when they were out in the schoolyard, on the shadier side of the building (and Finnick was certain no one else was within earshot), he hugged his knees and stared at the ground. "D'you remember a few days ago, when Tyler said his uncle went to see…" he gulped, and whispered, "Dr. Lapis? I didn't mean to, but I heard some of the neighbors talking and I think they're gonna take my Dad to see her, too…"

Nicky frowned, "Was he yelling again?" Mr. Faire's voice was way bigger than him and he was always mad about something, ever since he lost his mate (according to Nicky's Mom). Finnick sniffed and nodded, tail curling a bit tighter around his ankles. Nicky scooted in a bit closer, and gave his best comforting smile, "It'll be okay, because my Dad told me that when preds go see Dr. Lapis, they come back better."

"Really?" asked the smaller fox, lifting his head to his best friend with a sad, yet hopeful sheen in his eyes, and wiped them both on the back of his wrist, "What's gonna happen to my Dad?"

"I don't know," Nicky shrugged, "no one does, except the preds that go see her. They come back a 'little worse for the wear', but remember Mr. Lapis? He and Dr. Lapis save the city in secret, just like Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove."

Finnick gasped, and pivoted in his seat to face his friend a little more, "Dr. Lapis is like Mrs. Foxglove?" he asked, the corners of his mouth curling up only the slightest bit.

Nicky nodded and smiled, "I think so anyway. She fixes bad preds, and if she's with Mr. Lapis, then she's gotta be a bunny, so you know she's nice. And it'll only be for a few days, so if they do come for your dad, you can stay with us until he comes back, okay?"

The large-eared fox smiled in relief and gratitude, looking at his toes wiggling on the ground, "Thanks, Nicky."

"If we foxes don't look out for each other, who will, right?"

"Right," said Judy Hopps, leaning against the van's passenger door, a leg propped up on the seat as she cradled an elbow in one paw, and tapped her cheek with the other, "that actually connects a few things: she and Uncle Magnus have been mated for as least as long as I've been alive, and Felix Oswald Lapis is her brother - older brother, I think - so you certainly could've heard that name back when you were a kit, Nick, which would also explain why the name 'Dr. Cleopatra Lapis' dropped into obscurity since it changed to 'Mrs. Clea Hopps', and if I remember my metropolitan history, Hexward's popularity skyrocketed at around that time, too."

Gideon Grey turned to the adjacent rabbit with a quirk of his brow, "That would make your Uncle Magnus a brother-in-law of Hexward's CEO," he said, though made no effort to obscure the accusatory tone in his voice.

Judy tossed a thumb over her shoulder, "Listen, if you've got a week we can head back to my place and I'll summarize the Hopps family tree for you, and maybe in a month we can map out what sort of connections they all could have in modern day-"

"Pass."

She smirked, "Thoughts, Nick?"

"What about, the coincidence a psychopath's mate is a shrink and also blood-related to the head of the major drug company of Zootopia, or the mind-numbingly expansive reach of bunny families that no one seems to notice?" Nick asked in attempts to narrow down his partner's line of questioning, "Because we'll run out of gas before I get the chance to cover both."

"Either-or, but let's start with the former," decided Judy, the smirk almost reaching her ear at this point, but returned to a professional level of lip-curling as she continued, "At a glance, Aunt Clea has or had access to information on bunnies prescribed anti-depressants, and from there could build a roster of potential 'candidates'," she air-quoted, "with relative ease."

"What I can remember from my dubiously reliable 8-year-old brain, 'Dr. Lapis' was involved with making 'bad preds good'," added Nick, likewise air-quoting around the steering wheel, "which leads me to believe she was somehow involved with pred-therapy before it was illegalized. The fact that she was never mentioned or even alluded to during that whole PredaTherp debacle twelve years ago would be a point in her favor…" he prompted.

"Except strong connections like Felix Lapis and Uncle Magnus might've earned her some protection during all that," responded Judy, "A psychiatrist would be invaluable to pred-therapy if they're meant to return to society, like small-time offenders or the mentally disturbed."

Gideon frowned, "D'you think she was involved with my pred-therapy?"

The taller fox shook his head, "I doubt it, even though yours was four years before that whole thing happened, unless they went through the effort of transporting one kit into the city from the even boonier boondocks Preds' Corner was back then. No, if anything it would be quieter to bring you somewhere secluded and remote, which Bunnyburrow has lots of potential for."

"Agreed," said Judy, "The only other place that wouldn't draw suspicion would be Cliffside Asylum, but that's bordering Meadowlands, about as far from Bunnyburrow as you can get while still in Zootopia."

"Oh, I heard about that place on the news, it's where Lionheart kept the preds before the pred-scare," Gideon remembered.

"The very same, Bangs," Nick affirmed, "Maybe this time they'll actually tear the place down before anyone else thinks about caging mammals there again."

The stouter fox crossed his arms in thought, "I remember the day they bussed me off, and best I can figure it was a long trip."

"The 'best you can figure'?" Judy inquired.

"It was early in the morning and I fell back asleep, which was weird, but when I woke up again I was inside, so I don't even know what time of day it was."

Nick's ear flicked, "You fell back asleep?"

"Yeah, weird, right?"

"Why 'weird'?" Judy further inquired.

"According to Esther, Bangs here doesn't fall back asleep, never did."

"I sleep like a rock, but once I'm up, I'm up," Gideon explained, "Ever since I was a kit."

The rabbit's nose twitched, "It sounds like you were drugged. Did the bus have transparent windows?"

"Err…" he paused, thinking back, "Yeah, because I looked out at Ma and Pa as I left…"

Nick hummed, thumbs drumming the steering wheel he loosely but securely gripped, "Why hide the location from a twelve-year-old, though? Back when I was a kit, word was that pred-therapy, though traumatic, was an alternative to a long stint in jail or prison, and as I mentioned earlier today, a death sentence for extreme cases."

"Stretch, not to punch a hole in your theory, but my pred-therapy was a bit more than 'traumatic'," Gideon air-quoted, "The only thing I remember from it was Lenny, everything else is a big ol' cloud of nightmares."

"I feel like I walked in on the middle of a movie," Judy muttered, and sat up to inquire once more, "Who's Lenny?"

"Can neither confirm nor deny," Nick said before Gideon had a chance to answer, "'Lenny' may or may not be a coping mechanism for young Gideon to survive pred-therapy."

"He was a lion cub I shared a cell with," Gideon elaborated, "At least I think he was, but since I have a history of imagining lions, as I grew up I figured he was also imagined."

Judy gave this a second of thought, "Is that why you were so accepting of Nurse Wild's help, because you thought he was this long-lost friend from pred-therapy?"

"Honestly, I was grateful he wasn't," Gideon admitted, "I did a good job convincing myself that he didn't exist, otherwise it meant someone else went through the same thing I did, and I just couldn't accept that it all really happened. Ya'know… even with the scars."

"I was accepting of his help because I thought he was a passerby that could get the van out of a ditch without asking too many questions," Nick reported, and hummed again as his train of thought returned to a previous track, "Which I suppose if either Goliath or Ruth started doing, young Gideon wouldn't be able to say anything about the facility, and with them living so far from the city, the unspoken name of 'Dr. Lapis' never reached them. In the short amount of time I knew about adult predators coming back from Dr. Lapis, not a one of them could tell where they were when it happened." He stopped and leaned to the side, reaching into his pocket to pull out his buzzing, ringing phone, quickly glanced at the screen before handing it across Gideon to Judy, "Answer that, please."

Gideon glimpsed at the call, "Who's 'Daddy's Little Destroyer of Worlds'?"

"Ah, that would Finnick," smiled Judy, accepting the phone and holding it out to use the speaker function. Gideon's eyebrows arched in recognition towards Nick's comfortably smiling face as he recalled the name from an earlier conversation, coincidentally, also when Nick was driving. "Hiya, Finnick!" announced Judy, reaching up and affixing the phone to a dashboard holder in the baker's van, "Long time, no hear; what's up?"

"Oh, hey Judy," came a deep, yet gentle voice that belied ferocity in the same way a still pond belied the presence of crocodiles, "Where're you at? Is Nick with ya'?"

"He's here," she replied sweetly, "driving at the moment."

"Hey Nick," and there was that ferocity hinting itself, much as a drifting log in the pond was not actually a log. Gideon was not dumb to inclinations of the sort, and gave the taller fox a worried frown, but Nick simply smiled and put a finger to his own lips, "I heard you're in Bunnyburrow for the weekend. How's that come about?"

"Finnick, what an absolute delight to hear from you," chimed Nick, "You see, Judy here dragged me along to some family reunion, and I thought I'd stir up trouble while I'm in town. What's new in your neck of the woods?"

"It-" began Finnick, paused, and then spoke simply, "Who else with you?"

Gideon nearly jumped in his seat, "Uh, hi," he said before either covert operations specialist could stop him, even leaning in towards the phone a bit, "I'm Gideon Grey, Nick's cousin, and I've known Judy since grade school."

"No kidding. I thought I heard a third set of lungs over there," came the voice over the phone, another pregnant pause, and then an option for the face-to-face call service of MuzzleTime popped up without warning, and perhaps reflexively, Gideon pushed the green accept button. Suffice to say, neither Nick nor Judy were quick enough to stop him. "Well now, lookit you," said Finnick, dressed in a sharp suit and sitting on a fine sofa, a sandy-furred fennec fox with the ears to match his species, and eyes the color of a creamy caramel; he laughed, though not at anyone in particular, "I didn't think you had family out in the country, Pawps."

The stouter fox smirked at a patient Nick, "'Pops'," he repeated, snickered, and then nudged him with an elbow.

"Yeah, because he loved making those 'Pawpsicles' when we were kits," grinned Finnick.

"Alright, Sunny," Nick grinned right back, to which Gideon turned to Judy with a nudging elbow and repeated, "Sonny" in a continued snicker, "We can shoot the breeze all night, but talking on the phone while driving is frowned upon by Zootopian traffic law, and we've an upstanding officer nearby that won't abide such delinquency," he explained.

"I'll be short, then," said Finnick, to muffled snickers from Gideon, "I was finishing up my night job and thought I'd check in, see what you were up to. Thought we go out for burgers, but I can see you're busy. Stay sly, brothers, don't do anything I wouldn't do," and ended the call.

The van was somber save for Gideon's waning laughter, when he finally realized his was the only merriment of the three. He folded his paws in his lap and tapped his thumbs together as Nick focused on driving, no longer grinning, and Judy seemed deep in thought. "So…" began the stouter fox, "I got a hunch that wasn't a casual call?"

"Not as such," Nick began, "I rather wish you let either Carrots or I do the talking, but it is what it is."

"I think it was a good thing Finnick saw Gideon," suggested Judy, "He said 'brothers', so his message was meant for you both."

"Wait, me?" asked Gideon, gesturing to the phone, "but I only heard about this fox tonight."

"He knows your face, though, which is telling," Nick pointed out, "Interestingly enough, he's also seen my Dad recently; I would recognize one of his suits anywhere."

Her ears sprung, tense as steel, "Oh biscuits," huffed Judy, "This is worse than I thought."

"Guys," Gideon fretted, pointing to himself, "I don't think I can handle another nervous breakdown today, so stop dancing around pretending I should know what you're talking about, and jus' come out and say it."

"Long and short of it," Nick said, "Finnick and I developed a code for talking over the phone, and he waved all the red flags in that conversation. When he said 'night job', he meant he just got off the darknet-"

"The what?" asked Gideon.

Judy held up her paws as though on top of different shelf heights to succinctly elaborate, "There's the Internet that everyone knows about, and beneath that is the 'darknet' where black market and other secret transactions take place. Finnick knows how to traverse it, and though he doesn't use it for anything illegal, he keeps his ear to it - in a manner of speaking - to track market flow."

"When he said, 'I'll be short', he ironically meant that he wasn't joking, at all," Nick continued, and held up a finger to further explain a point, "The significance of my father's suit, you ask? John Wilde is one of the most prolific tailors in the city; the whole city. One of the most successful? Maybe, but I've heard that some of his clients can hear or smell his suits from a block away. One client, to the best of my envious knowledge, is one of the most feared crime bosses in Tunrdatown: Mr. Big. I happen to know he wore one of my father's suits for his daughter's wedding."

"In fact," added Judy, "It's my understanding that when he inducts someone into his company, he gifts them with a suit. Were I male, I'm sure he would gifted me in the same manner." Gideon looked back and forth between them, and if his frown could fall off his jaw, it would have.

"Carrots, slap him if he loses it again," Nick instructed, sparing a grin, "Kisses will only encourage such unfoxlike behavior."

Gideon glanced at Judy, and then immediately addressed Nick, whispering as though it might matter, "Did Judy kiss me again?" With the return of Judy's glower, Nick widened that grin and tapped the right side of his snout, right behind the nose, to which the stouter fox's ears burned a radiant red.

"Maybe I should slap you both," warned Judy, "Anyway, I'm the godmother to Mr. Big's grandchild because I saved his daughter's life. Now, Gid," she continued in a professorial tone, "can you tell me why the suit is significant?"

"Oh," he responded, returning to the topic at hand with his ears back and fingers twiddling, "Right, umm… Finnick was wearing one of Uncle John's suits, so that means that… he prob'ly works for Mr. Big, now," Gideon reasoned.

Nick continued, "Do you remember when I talked about the skunk butt rug, Bangs? That's what got me on Mr. Big's naughty list, but it's not as funny as I lead you to believe," he sighed and watched as the town proper of Bunnyburrow loomed in sight, "It was, at first, and Finnick opposed the whole thing from the start, which brings us to the last red flag: 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'. He tells me that only when he thinks I'm in danger, and from the sounds of it, his information came from the darknet itself and all that entails," he huffed quietly, "It seems I've brought you into this with me, Bangs… so for that, you have my deepest apologies."

Gideon was silent as they pulled up to the first stoplight, but he wasn't in shock this time, simply clapping his knees, alternating from one palm to the next. "At least you're honest about it, Stretch, so thanks for letting me know," he said after a long breath, "Like I keep saying, I'm not made of steel like you both, but you're being patient with me and helping me get through this, which I'm super grateful for. Truth be told, if it weren't for you two, I'd be waltzing to my death tomorrow and none the wiser. At least now I know someone's got my back."

Judy grinned, "If we foxes don't look out for each other, who will, right?"