Nick rolled over and opened sleep encrusted eyes. The sounds of an active farm and the early morning sun made further sleep impossibility. He stared up at the roof of the barn – his temporary abode – and groaned. Six am – two hours sleep on towel hastily thrown over a pair of hay bales. Even sleeping under a bridge was better, he thought, as he rose and tried to stretch his muscles into usability. My mouth tastes like this loft smells – dusty, dried out, and redolent of fertilizer. He made a face, grabbed some clean clothes out of this overnight bag. The only good thing about this is that Judy's father was asleep when we got in, and he is likely out working now.
Dressed in clean clothes (another of his myriad Hawaiian shirts and tan pants) he crept down the wood ladder towards the barn floor.
"Hihihihi!" Elizabeth Hopps shot gunned out, just as Nick stepped off the last rung of the ladder. Nick slowly turned to face her. He blinked a few times, trying vainly to clear his blurry vision. Then he snapped out his aviator glasses and put them on, trying to postpone the beginnings of what likely would be a terrible headache. Elizabeth bounced up and down in place, a cheery smile on her face.
"Hello … Miss Elizabeth Hopps," he said, keeping his morning pre-catnip tea growl to a sub vocal minimum.
The lapine doe closed the distance between them, grabbed a firm hold on a vulpine arm, and began dragging a half-somnambulant Wilde towards the barn door. "Momhasbreakfastreadyfor-youandsis! You'llhaveplentyoftimetosleepinthegrave! AndhaveyoubeenmattressmaulingJude?" she said, smiling and continuing to bounce.
Nick stared down at the rabbit, and struggled to parse her machine-gunned speech into comprehensibility. "Thank you, breakfast would be very nice. And yes, time enough. But … no. She is my partner. We cover each other's backs on the street."
"Thatdoesn'tmeanyoucan't,doesit?" Elizabeth said, as they reached the barn doors. "You're-slowthismorning!"
Nick took a deep breath. It was clearly going to be a long day on minimal sleep. "The fact is, we haven't engaged in anything more intense than a kiss or two. And yes, after only two hours sleep, it takes a while for me to get moving."
"Butthesunisup! Haveyoudonetongueatleast?"
Nick picked up the pace in response to another tug from the bouncing bunny. Then he paused, as he managed to translate this last statement. "No, I have not." He shook his head and sighed. A very long day.
"Areyoutwonotathing,then? Soyou'dbeopentoplayingwithanotherbunny?"
Nick carefully escaped from Elizabeth's grip. "We're partners, and no," he answered, careful to keep his voice calm and neutral. Then he picked up his pace and began jogging towards the main house, despite the pain that was beginning to flash up from his neck to crown his head at each step.
Bonnie Hopps met him on the porch with a large mug of catnip tea; a few words from the mistress of the house and Elizabeth bounded off to continue her interrupted chores.
"I hope that Lizzie wasn't too much of a bother, Mister Wilde."
"Please, call me Nick, and no. Though she was just a bit … inquisitive … regarding rather sensitive matters," Nick managed to say, before he closed his eyes and began lapping up the morning fluid-of-life.
Bonnie Hopps took the vulpine's arm and guided the barely awake Nick into the main house and settled him in a large arm chair that had been moved into a small dining area. Nick scanned the open space, noted that the one table would seat roughly thirty rabbits.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hopps. This is …" he began.
"Morning, Nick!" Judy said, as she bounced into the dining area and settled into a chair next to Nick, a large mug of coffee in her hand. "Been up for half an hour – sun up, get up, on a farm. No sleeping in here!"
Nick turned to face Judy. "Bunny – five hours sleep. Fox – two hours sleep. Have mercy?"
Bonnie looked from her daughter to the fox and back again. "Go easy on him, Judy. He's a city boy, after all. And he needs his breakfast," she finished as she bounced off into the kitchen.
"Is everyone bouncy here?" Nick asked.
"When you get up with the sun, yes. Can't afford to waste any time on a farm, Nick. Plenty of mouths to feed, and lots of field work to do. If it isn't planting, weeding, fighting bugs, or harvesting, it's repairing equipment, negotiating with buyers at the co-op, negotiating with the banks, or praying for more or less rain…"
Nick held up his paws. "I give up – ok, it's a lot of work, and there obviously aren't any weekends…"
"There is Sunday, Nick."
"Hmph! You mean you actually get a chance to rest for one day a week?"
"Well, not exactly. Church in the morning, then back to work in the afternoon…"
Nick shook his head. "No wonder you wanted to get to the big city. No matter how much grief, it was bound to be less physical work than in the farmlands."
"Guess you never thought how much effort went in to getting that food on your plate," Bonnie Hopps said, as she brought in two plates – one full of fried insects, the other piled high with blueberries, strawberries, and a half pound of smoked salmon.
Nick looked once at the pile of food the elder Hopps sent in front of him, and after a murmured "thanks!" dug in with gusto.
#
Nick sat on the porch swing, Judy next to him. "Now who is going to have to jog a few extra miles?" Judy asked.
Nick laughed. "If that is the sort of breakfast that I could expect as a farm worker, the physical labor would almost be worth it. Your mother is an excellent cook – but how did she find out what a predator like me would like?"
It was Judy's turn to laugh. "Do you actually think that you're the only fox in the tri-borough area? Gideon Grey is a pastry chef that has been working with my parents since not long after I left for Zootopia – and he has dinner with them at least once a month. He brings the pies and cakes – and should I say that he's an excellent baker as well?"
"So they roll out the red carpet for predators – even to going into business with one. But then why does your father dislike me so much?"
Judy sighed. "Dad doesn't always make sense, ok? He's … old fashioned … about a lot of things. Being a conservative is … natural … for an agriculturalist. When change is bad – and for a farmer, change is almost invariably bad – you can get into the mindset of fearing change."
Nick snorted. "See the stranger, fear the stranger, hate the stranger, kill the stranger. I'm surprised that he hasn't dragged out a shotgun." Nick held up a hand to forestall the lapine doe's immediate response. "I know, he's out in the fields somewhere, doing farm work, and was up well before the sun doing it."
"And Dad wouldn't actually get out his shotgun…"
"He has one? I was joking. Just how much ordnance is there 'out here'?"
"Nothing unusual. But I knew how to handle a shotgun, a rifle, or a 45 caliber pistol before I was twelve. Dad has a 30-06, a double barrel shotgun, a pump action shotgun, a 38 revolver, two 45 semi-automatics, a 22 rifle for just 'plinking', and …"
Nick shuddered. "Ok, I shouldn't antagonize your father unnecessarily. And it's another in a growing list of reasons I shouldn't needlessly antagonize you. I take it that you don't have any trouble qualifying?"
Judy laughed. "Last month I qualified with a score of 98."
"Static target or combat?"
"Static. I didn't go for the combat shooting qualification – I do not want to end up on a SWAT team, thank you very much mister Wilde. What was your qualification score?"
"What do you think your mother will prepare for dinner?" Nick asked.
"Ahem. I told you mine, now you tell me yours…"
Nick took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "75 on static target."
"That's barely qualifying!"
"No – it's passing by 5 points. Passing is 70. And how many of us ever have to really use a weapon? Francine hasn't drawn a weapon except to qualify in over five years…"
It was Judy's turn to snort. "Who in their right mind would argue with her? One smack with that trunk of hers and even McHorn would be on the deck. She doesn't need a pistol to take down a perp!"
"Ok, when was the last time that anyone in the precinct had to use a pistol?" Nick asked. "And I do not count the trank dart guns."
Judy looked up at the sky, her nose wiggled, and she tried to bring to mind all the reports she'd had to read since she started on the force. "I can't recall any officer involved shootings. Not even during the peak of the Night Howler case. But we had to use tranks on Pelter."
"Doesn't really count – non-lethal weapon. And the range then was point blank – my shot was at less than six feet, yours couldn't have been more than three or four."
"We still need to be able to place our shots accurately – how would you have liked it if I'd hit you instead of Pelter?"
Nick laughed. "Not particularly – we'd likely not be holding this conversation if you'd missed that badly. But you wouldn't shoot me intentionally would you?"
Judy looked up at the fox and paused, as if in thought. "Hmmm…."
"Now you're beginning to scare me…"
#
"Come on, Nick, it's time for dinner," Judy said, as she lead him back into the burrow. As Nick turned to head back to the room he'd had breakfast in, Judy tugged harder and moved him towards a different, larger room.
"Dinner is served here, in shifts, Nick," Judy said.
Nick scanned the much larger dining area. "I … see. Well, with two hundred odd offspring to feed, I suppose I can understand a larger room might be needed. But I had breakfast in a somewhat smaller room – what was that about?"
"Oh, that's for guests – special guests, Nick," Judy said, holding on to him possessively. "And it's two hundred seventy-six kids in the family, Nick," she said, and guided him to a pair of open seats at one of the tables around the rim.
Nick looked down at the floor, then at the wall. "We're moving…"
"Yes, during meal times, this dining room rotates – you're supposed to be finished by the time the floor makes a complete rotation."
"Ah, so when that picture," he pointed at a portrait of two dour looking rabbits, one male one female, the male holding a pitchfork, "is in the center of my field of view, we should be up and off to wherever you've planned for 'after dinner'?"
"Exactly. You're getting the hang of living here. The smaller ones clear the used dishes and bring out readied meals. Your meal is special though…"
Nick looked at the large salad bowls being carried out by diminutive rabbits. "I've said it before, 'salad is not food…'"
Judy reached over and gently but firmly shut the fox's muzzle. "I'd advise against you finishing that little 'pat phrase' of yours, here. Remember where you are, Mister Wiseguy – and here comes my dad!"
Nick rose and held out one paw to the older rabbit buck. Stu Hopps glared up at the taller fox, "Just what are your intentions for my daughter, Jude?" He ignored the proffered paw, and continued to glare at the fox.
Nick shrugged, let his paw fall back to his side, but he remained standing. "My intentions are entirely honorable, I assure you, sir."
Stu snorted, and looked over at Judy, ignoring the vulpine's response for the moment. "And you? Just what is the 'trier' planning on? Have you two done anything?"
Judy looked up at the ceiling. "No, dad, we haven't 'done' anything. Has Lizzie been telling tall tales?" The unspoken "again" hung in the air.
"No, Jude the Dude, this isn't your sister acting out again. But with the news we get of you – is this thing your partner?"
"That 'thing', dad, is my partner, and he has a name – Nicholas Wilde. He is a valuable officer in the ZPD, as I am. He has my back, and I have his. And asking him what his feelings are will get you pretty much nowhere."
"And why is that?" Stu asked, then turned back to face Nick before Judy could answer. "Are you just leading my daughter on? If your intentions are 'honorable'," Stu made "air quotes", "why haven't you made clear to her what they are? And if you have, what are your intentions?"
Nick resumed his seat, if for no other reason than to bring himself down to a level with the shorter rabbit. "As Lieutenant Judy Hopps said, I have her back and she has mine. We are serving in a job that is, I am sorry to say, sometimes both physically and mentally dangerous."
Stu's eyes opened wide, and he began to say something but Nick waved him to silence.
"We have both risked our lives for each other on more than one occasion. You may not understand this, but under such circumstances 'buddies' form a strong emotional bond. It is something that goes beyond any simple romantic relationship. And as to what my intentions are in detail? They are to keep your daughter as safe as I can manage."
"Now just a minute, Nicholas Piberius – I can protect myself, thank you very much!" Judy interrupted.
Nick shrugged. "Acknowledged, L-T. But it doesn't change my intentions. Just as I am morally certain that you are going to do your best to keep my furry person intact."
Judy kicked her partner under the table. "L-T?" she said, sotto voce.
"That doesn't answer my question, Wilde! Just what do you plan on doing with my daughter?"
"As I said, I plan to 'have her back' when we're on the streets in Zootopia. We see each other off the job – but that's nothing unusual with partners. But … we have our own apartments, and we are sleeping in them. We have not crossed any interspecies boundaries, does that make it clear enough for you? We are partners right now – nothing less. And that is a bond that is a far closer bond than you think – or, I gather, than you can understand. 'We few, we band of brothers'," Nick said, his muzzle curling up in the beginning of a snarl, his ears creeping back in anger.
Judy kicked him under the table again. "Dad, would you back off? And Nick – we don't need another case of testosterone poisoning here! One is enough!"
Both males took deep breaths, before Stu turned and began to walk away. "Then I'll leave you two alone – but I'll be watching you, Wilde – I'll be watching you!"
Once Stu was out of earshot, Nick took another deep breath and let it out with a "whoosh". "That could have gone better, I suppose," he said, "but it could have also gone a lot worse."
Judy looked up at Nick. "But … is that all I am to you? A 'partner'? Someone to watch your back, whose back you also must watch?"
"Did I say, 'all'? I didn't lie to your father…"
"But you didn't tell him all the truth?"
"Well, who among us knows 'all' of the truth? I think I know what your feelings are towards me. And I'm in the process of sorting out what all of my feelings are towards you. When I have them worked out, then I can tell you what they all are. But in the meantime, I can't tell you more than what I know myself."
"So you're still confused?"
"In a word, 'yes'. Remember me? The fox that has a bit of difficulty 'letting them know when they get to me'. Emotions are difficult, and exposing emotions is even more difficult."
Judy reached over and patted the fox on the shoulder. "Then we'll just have to work through it. Deal?"
"Deal," Nick replied.
The rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence.
#
Nick rolled over on the bale of hay. I am officially going to be stiff for a week, he thought, as he pried open sleep encrusted eyes. He looked down on the loft's floor. Some kind soul, at least, has left me a hand towel and a bowl of clean water. Not deep enough to bury my head in – more's the pity. But beggars can't be choosers. Have to get ready to join the herd on their one morning of semi-rest. A few minutes effort, and his eyes were clear and, while a bit more work could be done, the worst of the dust and twigs were removed from his fur – his facial fur, at least. The rest won't show.
It wasn't until he was finished and he was putting away the towel and bowl that he saw the small card stuck underneath the bowl. A phone number and a name. How 'cute'.
#
Nick shook his head, sadly, as he walked out, arm-in-arm with Judy, after the sermon finished. "It's either highly ironic, the topic of your pastor's sermon, don't you think?"
"I don't know – why do you think so?"
"Choosing Proverbs 11:29-30. 'He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind, and the fool shall be the servant to the wise of heart'."
"I didn't know that you were a biblical scholar, Nick. Or have you just memorized the bible? The pastor didn't quote chapter and verse…"
"But his theme was bloody obvious. Now, just when were those return tickets for?"
Judy sighed. "You can take the boy out of the city…"
"But you can't take the city out of the boy. How long before we can blow this hick town and get back to where the action is?"
"We have to be at the station in half an hour. Just time enough to get there if we hurry."
"Sounds like a plan to me…"