Okay, I'd like to start and say that I'm glad to be back! Though, I'm going to be changing up the story a little bit, and I started off by taking out that little scene in chapter 20 between Bellwether and Doug. Also, I rewrote chapter 1 and I plan to rewrite chapter 2 and maybe another chapter later.
Anyway, enjoy!
12:01 pm
Azriel slouched in the driver seat of his car, gazing out the tattered remnants of the windshield, holding a bottle of Vodka in his paw. His car was where he always came to be alone, to clear his mind and think, but with the windshield barely intact, the doors dented and a few of windows shattered, it allowed a small, chilling breeze to slip in—a coming-winter breeze.
The years were going by too fast, he thought to himself. The last time he had checked the calendar, it was November—and he was sure the month was near-over. It wouldn't be long before the rain froze into drifting snowflakes and all the districts of Zootopia would be of equal weather, of an equal season. Winter.
Azriel took a small sip from the bottle, the taste heavy and vulgar. He stared at the glass bottle in his paw, his own grass-green eyes scanning over the fancy, cursive logo and the well-sculpted glass of the bottle, as if the bottle itself were some ancient artifact. In his case, it may as well have been.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd drank.
Working at the fire depart for multiple hours over his shift almost every day, doing stacks of paper work, training his body and rushing to put out a fire, all helped him keep his mind off himself, off his own problems and ease the stress festering in his mind. But that was no longer an option now, not since Chief Stripes had walked up to him the day after the riot and fired him on the spot, a smile on his hateful muzzle. The tiger finally had a solid reason to kick him out the fire department. Azriel was the only predator in the fire department, the only fox, and despite him being the smallest mammal—which meant that even if he did go 'savage', it wasn't like he could severely injure any of his fellow firefighters, with their hulking sizes and overwhelming strength—Chief Stripes had told him that he wanted to be cautious, apparently.
Despite the Chief, himself, being a predator.
And for the first time in his whole firefighting career, Azriel spoke his mind to the Chief, wailing at him, telling him that he was no better than a fox for treating him this way and firing him just because.
The Chief snarled deeply at him, his fangs on full display.
Azriel snarled right back.
And in return, the Chief grabbed him by the neck and hurled him across his office, right at the door.
He hit the thick, stainless steel door with so much force it rattled violently. His whole body flopped to the floor like a worn rag doll, his head pounding.
He remained sprawled out on the floor, gasping for air that had been ripped from his lungs. It was a long moment before his breathing finally calmed and he mustered up enough strength to get on his paws and knees and look at the Chief, who stood before him, looking down at him with disgust, as if he were a snake in his path.
The tiger said, angrily, annoyed, "You're bleeding all over my floor, fox."
Indeed. He was bleeding from his nose, a lot. A small puddle of crimson was already forming beneath him, the blood dripping constantly. And… God, his head.
The Chief turned his back to him and strolled back to his desk. He said, "pick yourself up and get the hell out of my office, Azriel." He spat, glancing over his shoulder. "As I said before, you are fired. Pack up your things and leave." He
He would've shot back, would've kept arguing, but—
The pain in his left arm was almost too much to handle, though Azriel managed to hoist himself up and weakly reach for the door knob. And when he glanced at the actual door, the door he was thrown at, there was a dent in its metal surface. A huge, deep dent.
The next day, Azriel packed up everything from his locker and left without a word.
Ten years—he had worked at the fire depart for ten whole years, taking his job seriously and working harder than any other. But despite all of that, the Chief was still able to fire him with little to no reason and get away with it, because he was a fox.
He felt hatred and anger blaze within him like a wild forest fire, spreading, brimming in his heart and mind, and he found himself hoping that Zootopia, the city of prejudices and liars, would burn to the ground, its leaders with it.
But that was all a fantasy in his head, a dream full of hateful wishes. His father had held that same hate, that same wish, and it made him into a monster. He refused to be like his father.
He took in a long breathe, calming himself, letting the anger go, letting it evaporate from his mind, like dew in the morning rays of the sun.
Still, working as a fire mammal, saving other lives while putting his own at risk, it brought a certain peace to his heart, his mind. It made him feel like he was more than just a fox, more than just a predator… more than just the son of some crime lord. He had loved every aspect of that job, despite the exhaustion it brought upon him. It was all gone now.
And there was no point in dwelling on it anymore, he thought, sadly, his ears flat.
He took another sip from his Vodka Bottle, being careful as to how much he consumed. For now, drinking was all he had left to ease the throbbing in the sides of his head.
Throbbing—because his mind kept on dragging him back to the dreaded past, to the heart-felt conversation Nick and Angela had in the living room.
He'd known the truth of it all, that's what made his gut swell up with guilt every time he thought of it. The truth of what had happened to Amanda those eight, long years her and Angela spent apart, trying to forget one another, Azriel had known the truth. The truth of what Amanda—Nick's mother—was doing to herself, to make money, to take care of her son and not let him starve. He'd known, but he couldn't find the audacity to tell his wife. The death of her dearest friend had already shredded her heart to pieces, but if she were to learn what lead to Amanda's suicide…
He didn't want to think about, not for a while, maybe ever.
He took another sip from his bottle, the pain becoming worse, almost unbearable. He brought the bottle to his lips once more, and this time, it was a long, deep gulp.
His head began to spin, his vision hazy.
All these years… all these years and he never once uttered a hint as to why Amanda had taken her own life. That secret remained between his deceased father and himself.
He was an asshole; he was a selfish asshole for not saying a word about it to his wife. He'd heard her speak openly about to Nick, on how she felt towards her best friends' suicide: she blamed herself.
He set the Vodka bottle in the cup-holder, massaging his head.
"I've never heard her talk of Amanda before, not since she found her dead," Azriel mused, as if in realization. The first time he had ever heard her talk of Nick's mother, and she blamed herself.
Azriel rested his chin on his enlaced paws, his grass-green eyes glazed over as he gazed out at everything but nothing.
Angela deserved to know, and so did Nick. But he knew what the consequences of that would be, how it would destroy his life. Angela would leave him for good, and Nick…
He blocked out the thought completely.
But suddenly, out of nowhere, a memory of Angela standing at the front door of his house, naked, her body trembling with terror and her eyes wide, flashed through his mind, like the crack of a whip.
He lurched up in his seat, breathing heavily, his paws shaking so, so badly. And he remained that way, fear-stricken for awhile.
Then…
Azriel took the bottle of Vodka in his paw once more and sipped at it… again and again and again.
12:30 pm
She was tired. She was so, so tired.
Two days—she hadn't slept in two days. After hearing about the all-out riot in Zootopian Hospital on ZNN, after hearing that hundreds of patients and police officers and fire fighters were being executed, butchered on the streets by predators, she couldn't sleep. Couldn't steady her mind enough to let the release of it take her away.
She waited for Azriel, hoping that he hadn't been one of the fire mammals who'd been killed. She'd waited and called many police station and very few friends he had.
Non of them had given her an assuring answer.
She was so tired.
Angela flopped down on her couch in the living room, sitting back with a heavy groan.
Nick, Amanda's son, was alive. And for some reason, for some God-damned reason, it made her stomach churn, her heart wither up with guilt and regret.
Nick was forced to survive in the grueling streets of Zootopia, hustling and fighting to make money. All of that, he had to do, suffer through on his own.
Her limbs were numb, her body stricken with the exhaustion of dreading and hoping and hating and crying and…
She was so tired.
Her eyes slowly slid shut, fatigue a loving song that caressed her into unconsciousness. But her whole body jolted on the couch, snapping awake.
The fracture on Nick's tail was terrible and if she didn't treat it soon…
She was so, so tired.
Get up, Angela. She had to keep moving. She didn't want those memories in the form of dreams to pull her in, to remind her of the mistakes she made, how she'd let Amanda die.
And Azriel, her mate, her husband, it was when she thought he was dead, when she thought he would never come back to her that she realized she missed loving him.
Those years she spent shunning him… she truly regretted that…
She was so tired.
She tried to sit up, tried to lift an arm or a leg, but she failed in doing both.
Her body gave away to sleep against her will, resting. Finally.
4:20 pm
She was trapped inside this blackness, this coldness of her body, her mind. For what seemed like hours, days, months or years—she couldn't tell. With the constant pain pulsing through her, with the screams she'd let out, but no one heard, she'd lost track.
There was only darkness and visions, nightmares perhaps, of seeing herself die over and over agin in that same scenario.
She found herself in a dark, gelid apartment. The Chief's heavy steps vibrated through the carpet floor, the tiled floor of the kitchen, as he neared where she hid.
She pressed her back into the wood of the bottom cabinet, her heart racing, her legs wobbling beneath her.
She felt cold, so cold, as if ice had grown in her veins, as if the pure terror had made her blood run cold. But she knew, without a doubt, why she was cold, shivering.
Judy fell to her knees, her bones groaning at the impact on tiled floor. She was going into shock. She was going into shock. She could feel it, the shock, taking over as a cold feeling spreading to her fingertips.
She'd thought she was stronger; thought she could endure more without breaking. But she was terrified. She couldn't see, couldn't steal her senses enough to smell or hear. The roaring of her blood took over every sense, shutting them down.
The Chief's steps grew closer, sauntering. He knew there was nowhere else for her to go.
She was trapped. She was going to die.
Judy curled on her side, a sob slipping out of her. The kitchen floor was cold and harsh beneath her, refusing her body of any the warmth it pleaded for.
She felt the Chief's every step through the floor as he neared her, that deadly coldness growing and growing.
She was going into shock. She was going into shock.
She whimpered her mom's name, her dad's… Nick's, wishing she could see them again, if just for one more time before she was—
The Chief shined his flashlight on her, a blood thirsty grin on his face.
Judy expected to feel the blade of that machete shred her skin then, ending it all in one, swift blow. But a scream broke out of her instead as the Chief stomped down on her.
A crack echoed through the apartment
He stomped on her again and again.
Judy screamed and screamed and screamed, until her lungs were destroyed. And her heart had gone still.
She heard the cracking of her bones, felt the bursting of her organs.
Blood pooled around her—her blood. It was warm, a comfort before she died.
But… pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
It was unbearable, overwhelming. She opened her mouth to scream, but she only vomited her own blood. She was drowning in it. She was bleeding internally—badly. The Chief continued to stomp and stomp and stomp. Until she could no longer feel the pain.
Until she went deathly cold.
The world around her was a blur, a fading illusion. The Chief's barks of laughter were nothing but a rumble of sound.
And then…
Silence.
The thick, smothering darkness surrounding her morphed, taking form.
She lay in the moon white bed of the Palm hotel, comfortable. Nick lay right across from her, his pine-green eyes gazing into her violet.
There was such joy in his expression, in his eyes, such peace.
Nick, she whispered, so quietly she barely heard herself. She outstretched a paw and placed it on his cheek.
His fur was so rich and soft—warm, just how she remembered it. She ran her paw over his fur, relishing the feeling. But Nick placed his paw over hers, pausing her.
He opened his muzzle, saying something.
I love you, Judy.
A tear streamed down her cold cheek at those three simple words. Words that were so simple, so short, but held so much meaning to them.
The taste of blood returned to her mouth, sharp and metallic.
Nick's face rippled, fading, as the darkness flooded her vision, her mind, and smell of her own blood and the tearing agony returned.
She would've cried out at it all—the torment, the sorrow. It tore through her, leaving nothing left in its wake. She could only lay on the tiled floor, feeling her blood seep into her fur, her body going completely cold, unfeeling. She could only imagine Nick, saying those three words to her, over and over, as she slowly died.
Judy's eyes shot open, gasping, her heart lurching in her chest. She didn't move, didn't dare move as she scanned her surroundings.
She almost panicked, screamed when she saw nothing but darkness around her, smothering her. But then she felt the softness of the sheets beneath her, the soothing warmth of the blanket she was tucked in and—her throat closed at the sob that was caught there—and the arms strapped around her abdomen, holding her, protecting her.
She shifted in those loving arms, beneath the blanket covering her, turning over completely.
The dull, gray light streaming through the window illuminated the room just enough for her to see the handsome face of her mate, sleeping, his chest rising and falling with each tranquil breath.
Judy cuddled his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to the beating of his heart and took in his scent.
She didn't know how, but she was safe.
She was safe.
A tear streamed down her cheek and dripped onto the sheets.
Everything, everything she'd went through before she blacked out, came back in small waves, slowly filling her mind with pure fear. It all came back so slowly, as if her mind wanted her to suffer.
Never in her whole life had she ever gone into shock, never before had she ever even come close to experiencing it. And now that she knew what shock felt like, what it could do to her body… she understood why bunnies never dared becoming cops. Going into Shock had been the worst feeling she every had in her life. She never wanted to feel it again.
Feeling her body go so cold, feeling ever limb go out of her control, being so defenseless in the face of death was something she never wanted to experience e again, nor talk about.
She understood now, she understood why her parents, for so many years, had warned her of the danger of becoming a cop. It was because of the Shock.
But she'd dealt with so many trials and tribulation in her life that would send most bunnies into Shock immediately, but she had powered through them, she had endured it all. And Judy had thought she was beyond going into Shock. That she was strong enough not to.
But she was wrong—she was so horribly wrong. The stress of these past few months had simply festered in her mind, her body, a weight on her back that became heavier by the day, until she finally crumbled, until she finally went into Shock.
She never wanted to feel that again—never again in her whole life.
She… she wasn't sure if she could face those dangers again: the rioting predators, the violent police and the stress of knowing that she was the reason why the city of Zootopia went to hell.
Her lips thinned as she held back her sob.
She didn't know where she was, where Nick had taken her, and she didn't care, either. If she was with him, her fox, her mate, her everything, her Nick, she didn't care where they were.
But she knew Nick was going to worry, she knew Nick had rescued her somehow. She knew the questions he was going to ask, and she wasn't ready for that yet, to face what had happened to her, to face what she had gone through. She wasn't ready to talk about any of it. Perhaps she never would.
That thought alone saddened her, made her feel weak and pathetic, because she wasn't sure if she could fight for predators' rights anymore. That feeling of Shock haunted her heart, her every muscle and instinct.
She… she couldn't do it. And she was a worthless, spineless coward for that.
The Chief's cruel, sadistic face flashed before her mind.
She began to feel cold.
Judy closed her eyes as that cold sensation began to settle, running through her veins. The panic, she could feel it stalking along the edges of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike.
You're safe you're safe you're safe you're safe you're safe you're safe
You don't have to fear for your life anymore, Judy, you're safe.
The Chief's face was there again, smiling so wide it, as if it might split in two. She nearly broke down, nearly gave into that coldness, into that panic tempting her to spiral down into no-return—
She forced herself, let herself, remember the first kiss Nick and she had shared on that moon-white bed, touching each other was such love and passion.
She remembered Nick saying those three simple words that held so much meaning, tears in his eyes, a sob on his lips. She let herself remember all of it.
The panic subsided, replaced by a soothing calm that caressed her, sending her mind to a different place.
She reminded herself that as long as Nick was by her side, she could do anything.
The Shock, she would overcome it—somehow. But some part of her scurried away at the thought of fighting, of glaring her enemies down.
Later, she would deal with all of this later.
I love you
And as sleep claimed her, those three words repeated in her head over and over.
I love you.
5:59 pm
She awoke without the warmth of her mate enveloping her. It's what had her eyes snapping open so quickly, so urgently. She could hear her heart beginning to pound in her chest when all she saw was mostly darkness. She moved her paws down to her hips, expecting to feel her mate's warm, furry arms strapped around there, holding her close.
She was met with the feeling of her own fur that was now standing on end, fear spreading through her as the Chief's face flashed through her mind—
She sat up in the bed, holding the blanket over her bare chest, covering herself. She was naked, she realized—completely naked.
Judy scanned the room, trembling beneath her blanket, looking over the white walls and the door at the right side of the room, looking over the small dresser with the flat screen on top. A bedroom—she was in a bedroom.
But in those small seconds, when her eyes adjusted to the lighting of her surroundings, she noticed the small light illuminating the corner of the room.
Her wide eyes went to that little light in the corner, searching.
When she looked to that light, she calmed, felt herself exhale when she saw Nick sat in a wooden chair at a small oak desk, a lamp on its surface. And he was just as naked as she was.
Maybe in another time and place, her ears would be burning up right now and she would be closing her legs to mask the scent of her lust. But it was only relief that washed over her at the sight of him, a feeling of protection.
She felt her heart beat slow, calming as her shoulders relaxed.
Her ear twitched when she caught the sound of pencil scribbling on paper, drawing. She looked down at his tail, which was sticking out a gap in the back of the chair. Still fractured, broken.
She stared at it, sympathy and dread swelling inside her. His tail had to be throbbing right now, and she wasn't sure if Nick had taken painkillers or was just bearing with the pain.
Either way, the very thought of that made her clench her jaw. They would have to get him to medical care, soon.
"Nick." The name came out before she could stop it.
His ear twitched and he turned around in the chair quickly, looking at her with wide eyes. "Carrots." He stood up and walked to her bedside swiftly.
Violet eyes followed his every step as he neared her, as he got down on one knee and placed a paw on her forehead. His eyes were misty with sorrow and stricken with fear and weary with exhaustion, all of it hanging heavy on his expression.
She gazed and gazed and gazed at him—
Judy didn't have the words, couldn't find any words. A sob cracked through her throat, some part of still not believing this was true, that he was alive, that they were alive—
She broke down, hanging her head low, her paws covering her quivering mouth.
Nick stroked back her ears as he planted a kiss between her brows and rested his head against hers, closing his eyes.
She continued to sob.
A single tear streamed down his auburn cheek.
Together again, safe and alive.
7:30 pm
Angela jolted from where she lay, in her bed, tucked under the warm, thick covers. It was her nose that found her mate before her eyes did. He was reclined in the single-seated sofa squeezed into the small corner on his side of the bed, staring out the window blankly, to the dark clouds above and the torrential rain.
She pulled back her covers, noting where she now lay and the lack of claw marks on the nightgown she now wore. Angela scowled. I told him to never touch me without my permission.
And he smelled of god damn alcohol. She glared at him and opened her mouth to say something—
But Azriel spoke first. "You still have nightmares about it?"
The words shattered her anger, like a stone thrown at a window. She froze, her eyes widening. Blood and screaming and electricity flashed through her mind, all at once, too quickly.
She shut it out, if to keep herself from breaking down completely.
Angela knew exactly what her mate was asking. And she assumed that the only reason he'd ask was because of his drinking—which he hadn't done in many, many years.
She ignored what that meant for her husband.
"I don't want to talk about this right now." The words came out as withered and as damaged as her soul. She hated herself for knowing how damaged she was inside and just accepting it.
Shamed, she looked away from her mate, trying to choke out her emotions that threatened to crush her.
Azriel said, "you were sobbing in your sleep, you were begging someone not to hurt you."
She suddenly felt the damp marks on her cheeks. Something in her chest tightened, threatening to break.
"I don't want to talk about this, Azriel."
Her ear twitched when she heard her mate shift in his chair, turning around to look at her. She felt his piercing gaze and her heart began to beat faster. "The riot… not assuring you that I was okay, that I was alive—I know I'm wrong for doing that to you. I know most of everything I do is wrong, but, please, Angela, I'm begging you: talk to me."
She didn't say anything this time. Years and years and years later, she still wasn't ready to face what those mammals had done to her.
She was too weak to.
Her mate went on, "I want to help you heal, I want to be there by your side, I—" he went silent for a few seconds. "I want to see you smile again, Angela."
Her eyes burned, her throat closing.
Thunder rumbled in the dark clouds above.
Angela took in a quivering breath. "You're drunk." She said, the words bland, empty. And then, she forced herself to look back at her mate, to look him directly in his emerald eyes, which held so much pain, so much misery, and said, "you don't mean a word of what you just said, and you know it."
Azriel's ears fell flat against his head. "Angela, please—"she cut him off.
"Get out."
So much guilt, so much agony in his expression as he gazed at her. She blocked out what seeing that did to her own heart, or whatever was left of it.
"I still love you," he said. She knew he spoke true.
A tear almost left her eye. "Get out." Why did he still love her, after so many years of shunning, after so many years of showing him nothing but her unreasonable spite? Why?
If she wasn't weak, if she wasn't cowardly, she would be able to face the tragedies and mistakes of her past head on, Azriel by her side, helping her, assuring her that she could and would overcome. But that wasn't her reality.
She was weak. She was cowardly. And her mate, the love of her life, had to pay the price for it.
Azriel stood to his feet, his head hanging low as he walked around the bed and towards the door that lead out into the hall. But before he left, he looked back at her, a tear staining his own cheek. "I meant every word I said."
Angela rested her head on the pillow, turning her back towards him as she pulled the covers over herself.
She hated herself.
"I still love you," was Azriel's parting words.
And for hours, Angela stared out the large window, watching as the rain poured and poured, quietly sobbing to herself.
She didn't sleep that night.