Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction

Part One:

Fuel

Chapter 3 – Day of Carrots and Blueberries
(Continued…Pt. 6)

"Okay, yeah that's good. Come on down Nick."

Judy watched as Nick Wilde slid down from the awning, ignoring the ladder Finnick had provided and spiraling his way earthward around an aluminum support pole, swinging by a single paw.

"Showoff," Judy muttered under her breath, smiling nonetheless. That was Nick for you; go in style, or go home.

"That all of it, Finnick?" the red fox asked after he hit the ground, casually flicking a spot of dust from his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's everything." his former partner replied, glancing over at Judy for a second; she was the one who'd gotten them into this after all.

No sooner had Conor Lewis departed, than the bunny had suggested Finnick allow her and Nick to help him finish with the set-up.

"It's kind of my fault the kid left." She'd said, and the desert fox hadn't tried to argue.

Actually there hadn't been all that much left to do. Bring out some signs and a sandwich board, help deploy the awning, attach the banner, (the job Nick had just completed) and they were done. The whole thing had taken less than ten minutes.

Judy had to admit, this thing was a marvel of efficiency. Flip up the signs, open the sandwich board, pull two strings to unfurl the banner, and Voila! From a plain vanilla dealer's table, purpose unknown, to THE place to get your Gazelle Japanese tour shirt—and it could all be done in less time than it takes to grab a soda from the fridge.

"It was really nice of you to let Conor go, so he could register for the talent show." She said to Finnick after they got the ladder stowed.

The big-eared fox just waved a pawlm.

"Had to do it, Judy; if Conor gets a spot, he's gonna crush it."

"He's that good, huh?" Nick Wilde asked, not exactly skeptical, only curious.

"Oh yeah," Finnick was nodding and looking oddly abashed, "and I aughta know, it's kind of how we met."

It had happened while Nick was attending the Police Academy. Strapped for cash and at a loss for any new moneymaking ideas, Finnick had decided to try running the Pawpsickle hustle on his own.

"I managed to get hold of a Jumbo Pawp okay, but after that…"

After that, when Finnick had set up shop at their usual spot in front of the Lemming National Bank, everything seemed to be going hunky-dory…at first. But when the clock in the plaza chimed 5 o'clock and the bank employees came trundling out the door, they had walked right by the pawpsicle stand without even so much as a sideways glance.

"It was like I'd become the invisible fennec, Nick." Finnick was shaking his head, "no one would even look at me."

In desperation the little desert fox had launched into their old pitch, "Pawpsicles! Get your pawpsicles."

"Didn't work," he sighed, "Shoulda known that it wouldn't, with a voice like I got. The lemmings not only didn't stop and buy anything, a few of 'em even shied away from me. I didn't know what I was gonna do Nick; it was hot out that day, and any second the pawps were gonna start melting on me. But then…"

But then a young silver fox had come along, toting an acoustic six-string and parked himself on the bench next to where Finnick was working.

The desert fox had immediately bristled.

"Hey, buzz off kid. I'm workin' this side of the square."

Paying the fennec no more mind than the lemmings had done, Conor had twisted a tuning peg on his guitar and settled down to play a smoking take on the old Van Howlin' cover, Ice Cream Mammal.

And something amazing had happened.

"The lemmings not only came back Nick." Finnick grinned as he recalled it, "They came flocking back—and a whole bunch of other folks, besides. Before I knew it, I was all sold out. Whoa, I couldn't believe it."

And that was when Conor had looked at him and grinned. "Hey, whaddaya know, it WORKED!"

"He almost sounded embarrassed that he'd pulled it off." Finnick waved a paw over at Conor's twelve-string. "I was grateful, but I couldn't help feelin' a little suspicious, y'know? Kid just showin' up outta nowhere like that. So I asked him, "You want a cut boy, is that it?"

Conor had immediately shaken his head. "Nope, that's your score …but can I call you sometime? I run across some good stuff on the net every once in a while."

"So I gave the kid my number," Finnick went on, "more to get rid of him than anything else. I figured what the heck? If he starts being a pest I can always block his calls later on."

In fact, by the time the call from Conor finally came, Finnick had nearly forgotten about him.

"There's an estate sale going on down in the Palm District this weekend." The kid had said, "I dunno, but it might be a decent score; the owners are running it themselves and I don't think they know what they got, at least not all of it. You wanna go check it out?"

"I almost told him to get lost." Finnick rumbled with amusement as he remembered the call, "Cept I didn't have nothin' else goin' on an' I was low on cash again. So I said okay and who'da thunk it? The kid was right; it turned out to be a pretty good score—not a great one, but a good one—and we been working together ever since." He nodded towards his van, "and as you seen on the other side over there, it's been a pretty decent partnership. I even got myself an apartment now. Nothing tony, but it sure beats living out of my ride."

"Yeah." Said Nick, "About your van; who DID that repaint job? Looks like they nailed it to me."

"Bouda and Sons Paint and Body Shop." The little desert fox answered, "They're a new outfit, run by a family of hyenas out of South Savanna Central. I got a really good deal, coz they'd just opened their doors, and wanted to get some word of mouth goin'."

Judy Hopps nodded slowly and solemnly. Like foxes, hyenas were a species with a less than savory reputation—to put it mildly. At least one Afurican legend had it that a kit born while a hyena is crying will likely grow up to become a thief, that's how bad it was.

And needless to say a species with that kind of baggage could advertise until they were blue in the ears and not attract any customers. No, if a hyena wanted to kickstart his business the only way to do it was to SHOW the quality of his work, and to as many folks as possible.

"So how'd you find out about that shop, mini-me?" It was Nick asking.

"Don't call me that," the fennec answered laying back his ears for a second, "Actually Conor found it; he's good at spotting stuff online. He's the one who found the T-shirts, too."

Judy watched Nick's ears standing up again, and felt her own do the same.

"You mean this whole thing was HIS idea?" the red fox asked, waving an incredulous paw around at the tables.

Finnick looked at him for second as he'd just crawled out from under a rock.

"He found out about those shirts Nicky, but seeing if we could pry some loose to sell over here was my idea." He spoke with the taut patience of someone long accustomed to not getting credit when credit was due.

Finnick had put the proposition to Gazelle's manager thusly; let us have a block of those unsold shirts to try and sell over here in Zootopia. If we get the buyers, then you'll know they're an item that'll move and you can bring the rest of them over to sell yourselves—or else sell them through .

"And if they don't move, move, then it's our loss not yours," the fennec fox had said, by way of conclusion. It had seemed like the classic offer you couldn't refuse…but Gazelle's manager had refused it anyway, politely but with no explanation given.

That was where Conor Lewis had come in, suggesting that Finnick let him try to go over the manager's head and make an appeal directly to Gazelle.

"I thought the kid was nuts." Finnick was saying, "How the heck was HE supposed to get in touch with someone like Gazelle? And even if he could, her manager had already nixed the idea, so why would she go for it? But we had nothing to lose by trying, so I told him 'okay, go ahead.' Two weeks later we got a letter from Gazelle—I mean from the lady herself, not from anyone on her staff, giving us the green light."

Yes they had, but then the real work had begun. Getting permission to acquire the shirts and actually getting their paws on them had been two very different things. They'd needed to arrange packing, arrange shipping, get the shirts through customs, etc. And while Gazelle had given Finnick and Conor the go ahead for to acquire the shirts that was the only thing she'd given them. Like any successful entertainer, she could be a hard-nosed business mammal when the situation called for it. She'd let the shirts go, but NOT on consignment; it was cash up front or forget it. Luckily, the two of them had had enough left over from a previous score to cover the costs…but only just.

"It was almost every penny we had." The desert fox's ears shivered as he remembered, "I don't mind telling you, I was scared. If these shirts didn't sell, I'd be back on the street again."

"But they are selling?" Judy asked. Even to her it sounded like a 'dumb bunny' question, but given what was at stake…well, how could she NOT ask it?

Finnick just laughed, that deep, kettledrum chortle she remembered from their second encounter.

"Can't keep 'em in the boxes, bunny." He said. "Last week at the Meerkat Market, Conor had to bust up a fight between two kids who wanted the last shirt in small-mammal large. By then we'd already made our money back and then some." Without warning his eyes locked on Nick. "And yeah, we filled out the all tax forms…and all the other paperwork, too."

It was meant as a jab; Finnick's face was that of a wicked imp. But instead of rolling his eyes or growling, Nick let out a long breath of air and a yoke seemed to lift itself up off his shoulders.

Judy Hopps felt her nose begin to twitch again, and then it was twitching even faster when Finnick's expression softened, and his face became almost…sympathetic?

And then he turned to her.

"Say Judy, I got something I need to talk over in private with Nick. Can you give us a few minutes?"

It was phrased nicely enough, but Judy would have really HAD to be a dumb bunny not to get the desert fox's underlying message; 'no' would not be an acceptable answer.

"Sure Finnick, no problem." she said, and then offered Nick a parting shot dipped in lye-cured honey. "I need to go find the kids anyway…before they wreck the place, remember?"

(THAT would teach Mr. Slick not to pique her curiosity right before Finnick sent her away. But in fact, although Judy couldn't know it, at least one of her siblings WAS about to do some damage.)

When she had passed through space between the stalls, Nick opened his mouth to speak, but Finnick immediately held up a paw for silence while pointing with the other to one of his oversized ears.

The red fox quickly got the point; if the fennec-fox could still hear Judy, she could also hear HIM; the two of them were about equal in that regard. While they waited for the bunny to pass out of earshot Finnick took a seat in one of the chairs behind the table, and invited Nick to do the same. Almost at the moment they sat down, he seemed to decide the coast was clear and began talking.

"Much as I appreciated your help back there with those punks—and thanks, by the way—I think you noticed I didn't look all that happy to see you again, Nick."

"I noticed," was all the red fox said, grateful that he was wearing a shirt with an open collar. (Otherwise, Finnick might have seen him tugging at it with a finger.)

The little fox leveled a finger of his own.

"That's right, and you know why?" he asked—and then answered his own question. "You avoid me like rabies for almost two years, won't return my phone calls, never answer my texts, ignore my e-mails, and then you show up here tryin' to act like nothing's different." He lifted his up his muzzle by an inch-and-a-half, "An' Mini-Me? Well at least you came up with something different for a change."

Nick fidgeted in his chair for second and looked away; when he looked back again, Finnick's expression had softened once more.

"Only now I think I understand, Nick," he said, "but I gots to hear it from you; tell me the truth. Is the reason you been avoiding me coz you didn't want to take a chance on maybe having to haul me in?"

Nick felt the air rushing slowly out of him; it seemed like enough to fill a blimp. His former partner hadn't exactly nailed it but as the saying goes, it was close enough for government work,

"Yes…and no. That's part of it Finnick, but that part's even worse than you think. About a month after I reported for duty at Precinct One, I heard through the grapevine that Big Chief Buffalo Nickel was thinking about having me bring you on board as a Confidential Informant.

"No!" the little fennec gasped.

Nick immediately raised his paws.

"Easy Finnick, you know I'd never expose you to that kind of risk." He tried to speak reassuringly, leaving unsaid what both of them knew. Sahara Square, the desert fox's home turf was also the bailiwick of one Rocco Peccari, aka The Red Pig, a hot-tempered crime boss who harbored a particular loathing for snitches.

"Okay Nick, now I really understand." Finnick said, but then cocked his head and gave him a one-eyed look. "Only you said 'part of it' just now; what's the other reason you been keeping your distance?"

Instead of answering right away, Nick got up from his chair, standing at the edge of the table and looking into the middle distance with his paws clasped behind his back. Had Judy not departed she would have recognized this stance, it was the same one he'd assumed while reminiscing about his father.

"Because, I wanted to make a clean break from street hustling, Finnick." He finally said "The last time tried it, I didn't…" the words ended in a choked grimace and a rush of memory.

"How could you, Nick?"

"Nick," the fennec-fox told him gently, "Nick, you didn't have no choice…"

The red fox spun around as if on a dime.

"Yes, I did Finnick. I could have chosen to tell Robyn the truth…and I didn't." He looked away for a second, sniffed, and then straightened up again. "And now I'm going to have to deal with that choice for the rest of my life."

Finnick slid off his chair and came over.

"Nick, that was a long time ago; an' even if you had told Robyn the truth you'd have only been postponing it for what, three years tops?" He reached up, laying a paw on his old partner's arm. "Now that you finally made good on your promise, ain't it time you quit beatin' yourself up over her an' moved on?"

The red-fox looked at him over a shoulder and sighed.

"You're not saying anything I haven't said to myself at least a thousand times, Finnick. But it just doesn't work that way; it seems like every time I think I'm finally over her, something happens to pull me back in." He felt his shoulders sag as if in defeat. "More than anything, I wish I could let her go, but honestly I don't know how anymore."

"Okay, Nick." The desert fox told him quietly. "I said my piece and I won't say no more."

The red fox nodded and held out a paw.

"Still friends?"

"Was we ever anything else?" the desert fox asked, taking it in a firm grasp. But then his paw pulled away and morphed into a pointing finger. "But you call me 'mini-me' again, an' the deal's off."

Nick immediately raised a paw while putting the other one over his heart.

"Never again Finnick, I promise." He said, and then crinkled his eyes mischievously. "Is little toot-toot still okay?"

The desert fox winced as if his former partner had just dropped a particularly bad pun.

"Agggggh, grrrrr. You ain't never gonna change are you? No, an' especially don't ever call me that in front of Conor."

"I won't, I won't," Nick told him, getting serious again. He had the distinct impression that Finnick's attitude went well beyond simply not wanting to be embarrassed in front of a kid.

And speaking of that kid…

"Shouldn't Conor be back by now?" he asked.

Finnick airily waved a paw. "He'll make it back in time Nicky; he always does. That boy ain't never been afraid to take on his share of the load."

He said this while looking straight at Nick, but it was meant as compliment, not an admonition; back in the day when they'd been partners the red fox had always been more than willing to shoulder his part of the burden too. That time in Jerry Jumbeaux's, when they'd first met Judy Hopps was a good example. The second they'd disappeared around the corner and out of the bunny cop's sight, Nick had insisted on helping to carry the Jumbo Pop and refused to take, 'I got this' for an answer.

"That's good to hear Finnick." Nick nodded approvingly, "Conor seems like a pretty sharp kid."

"Sharper'n a diamond blade, Nicky," Finnick was grinning from ear to ear. "When I took off after those punks who tried to rob me, I didn't need to tell him to stay put. He knew it for himself."

Nick's ears and eyebrows both shot upwards.

"Okay, that's impressive."

One of the favorite tactics of street hoods was make a grab off a vendor's table and while he's off chasing you, your partners come in and make the real score. Nick knew that scam of course, every good street hustler did. That Conor Lewis also knew it was no big deal. What was a big deal was that the young fox hadn't forgotten it in the heat of the moment and taken off after the thieves along with Finnick. Instead he'd stayed behind to guard the van—and all on his own initiative.

Yeah, it was impressive all right; kids his age weren't supposed to possess that kind of self-discipline.

And come to think of it, neither did this one, not entirely.

"Of course, then he decided to stand guard on your van while practicing his guitar and wearing a blindfold," Nick reminded the fennec dryly.

Finnick winced again, but his time he laughed.

"Okay, maybe not a diamond blade, only a scalpel. Still, he's a good kid and he thinks the world of you."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed that," the red fox answered, a little uneasily, "How come? I never met him before in my life. What's so special about me?"

Finnick's eyes widened, first in shock, then in outrage.

"All right you, who are you an' what'd you do with the REAL Nick Wilde?"

Nick reeled back in confusion.

"What the…?"

"The real Nick Wilde ain't never been that modest in his life." The desert fox was glaring up at him with a fang showing and his paws on his hips. "Out with it; where is he?"

Now it was Nick's turn to look pained.

"Oh har-har; don't quit your day job, Finnick. Okay seriously, what is it with Conor and me? Is it because of the Nighthowler business again?" He wondered why he hadn't thought of that in the first place.

But Finnick only smiled.

"No, it's coz of that thing you was talkin' 'bout just now, walking away from the street life an' becoming not just an honest fox but a police officer." Growing serious for a second, he shook his head. "You got no idea how much the kid admires you for that Nick; calls you a role model for all foxes, says if you can play it straight the rest of us can too."

Nick looked away from Finnick for a second, confused by the odd sensation of heat rising up through his cheeks and into his ears, "A role model…ME? I'm nobody's role mode. I'm just a regular fox, doing the best I can."

But them something else occurred to him; 'the rest of US' the boy had said—as if he too were attempting to turn over new leaf.

He looked at Finnick again…and it must have been a penetrating look, because the desert fox came straight off the blocks with what he said next.

"That's pretty much all I know about him, Nick," He told the red fox quickly—a little too quickly. "We only work together off and on and we got a deal, him and me; when we ain't working together, he stays out of my business and I stay out of his."

Nick's ears fell downwards by half an inch and he sighed inwardly, a little disappointed. Having anticipated his former partner's next question, Finnick had just moved to pre-empt it—and it had been a completely unnecessary move; he should have known the red fox better than that. Nick Wilde had never been one to pry, and in any case he wasn't about to ask about Conor's parents. If the answer turned out to be that the kid didn't have any, then he might be required to take action as an officer of the law.

And that was the mother of all non-starters as far as Nick Wilde was concerned; though he had never 'been there-done that' himself, he knew perfectly well what happens when a young fox is put into foster-care. It was a fate he'd never wish on another member of his own species, certainly not the boy who had just become Finnick's new partner. It would be the betrayal of not one but TWO other foxes.

Time to make a graceful exit, he decided. And fortunately, an opening was just about to present itself.

"Uhhhm excuse us?" a voice queried from off to the side of where he and Finnick were talking.

They turned and saw a pair of high-school bunnies standing at the table.

"It this where they're selling those Gazelle T-shirts?" the boy bunny asked; he had dun-colored fur and a narrow face.

"We be open in about another 15 minutes." Finnick told him, and then to Nick he said, "I hate to brush you off Nicky, but…"

"No problem Finnick I understand," the raid fox answered. "Judy's going to be wondering what's taking me so long anyway. If you get a chance though, come by later this evening about 7:30 and catch her sister Erin in the talent show."

"I'll be there if we done sellin' Nick." The fennec-fox promised, and then he grinned, "But now you got to promise ME to come see Conor if he gets a spot. Deal?"

"Deal," said the red fox, offering a paw.