The Neverwere Moments 2: Brave

by 6wingdragon

We return to find that not all is as it seems, and must dig ever deeper to find the truth. This is Brave, the next story of Trustworthy, so take heart and dare to be more than you are. Hear the words unspoken, listen to the tales untold; these are the moments that never were.

21. Chapter 21

Author's Note:

I must preface this chapter with profound gratitude for your continued patience, and some strongly implied Nick/Esther near the end. We're wrapping things up for Brave on the fox-side of things, so the next chapter will be all Judy. That said, buckle in and hold on tight, 'cause here we go!

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Of the afternoon, it teetered on the cusp betwixt "the end of the beginning" and "the beginning of the middle", when TBR-attending families were finishing up their lunchtime rests in renewed vigor for the rest of the day's itinerary. Nick was given no such quarter as he, Bo, Gideon, and Lanny were each grilled to respectively, exponentially different degrees by Sheriff Rachel Longmare since they "should have known better", if in their own ways.

From the least grilled, Lanny Wild knew he was in for a thorough decapitation by way of a set of jaws belonging to Dr. Madge Honey-Badger, head of medicine at Preds' Corner General Hospital. The lion was excused to return to his truck and forgotten cellphone, dreading the past few hours he spent removed from its means of communication. Thankfully, he parked away from the TBR and needn't walk through it or the brewing crowd of onlookers drawn by the sheriff's cruiser. So, he bid the foxes and rabbit a morose but fond farewell as he secured his case of Night Howler antidote, first aid kit, and toddled off.

Moving along the chain, Gideon Grey looked a criminal condemned as he gazed up at Rachel, from whom he only received a heavy sigh and a piteous look, unsure as she seemed what to actually reprimand him with that he wasn't already feeling guilty of. After all, he'd previously spoken with Esther and their over-the-phone reunion must've had him in high spirits, so whatever occurred since then was undoubtedly harsh. The horse did what she could to ensure that the kidnappers would be brought to justice, and more likely than not, transferred to the city for their trial, while the voyeur involved would be processed in Bunnyburrow.

Instead, it was Bo Briar's turn to get a substantial earful from the Burrow Watch leader, to which Longmare gladly allocated such responsibility… even if Mr. Barley's primary concerns were that a member of the Watch followed better protocol whenever he spontaneously volunteered for duty (i.e., to tuck his shirt in and carry his utility belt). However, according to Mr. Barley, in light of the circumstances and the "young buck's" prior obligation to the TBR, some allowances for "casual service" must be permitted. Regardless, Mrs. Parsnippet was awaiting his initiation of the tractor pull, and unless he wanted a truly devastating dressing-down, he would hightail it over to the event posthaste (even though he was still tasked with "kitsitting").

Finally, Officer Nick Wilde faced Sheriff Rachel Longmare. Her arms were crossed. His paws were at his sides. She clopped twice at the dirt before "requesting" his official report. He was "brief". With Doug Ramses secured in the back of her cruiser and the broken military-grade weapon (along with the slew of hidden implements extracted from the ram's wool) in the front seat, Longmare listened while Officer Legrande jotted everything down. Nick explained the Night Howler (and how the evidence was somehow swiped from the sheriff's office before accidentally fed to Lanny - Rachel's saintly patience vibrated in its strain when she stared daggers at the note taking, bullet-sweating giraffe), the activities of Dent and Tad Wooler, his suspicions about Doug Ramses disguised as the Gravedigger, (what he told Mr. Barley and what it meant, although only doing so when said rabbit was grilling his junior Watch member), and Judy being held in Knotash. Longmare broke her stoicism only to direct the badged giraffe to "Write it down; yes, all of it", in a tone perhaps less befitting of someone in her station. Upon finishing, Nick felt ready to collapse but remained standing as he looked up at Rachel.

Rachel looked down at Nick, knowing that even with all the fox's cleverness and insight all he presented were suspicions and circumstantial evidence. Enough for a warrant, and Mr. Barley already had the means to fast track a response from the rabbit community, but as it was, she knew well that her hooves were tied. Knotash was so far out of her jurisdiction, and certainly, Chief Bogo would do everything in his power to get one of his officers back, but the cost of living in a lawful society was abiding by it, and they did what they could to operate within its framework (vigilantism notwithstanding). On top of everything else, Longmare had three criminals threatening to shake the peace of both Bunnyburrow and Horseshire… but even then, in her own sphere of influence, she was beholden to delay public announcement or legal processing for at least a day, so beseeched by key junior members of the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board - which was odd, since it was custom for Reginald Hopps, a senior member, to interact directly with the sheriff on such matters, much like Mr. Barley and the Burrow Watch.

The disciplined bunnies of the Burrow Watch handled crowd control, keeping bystanders out of earshot, easier done since the yellow-striped tent was kept erect (at least for the time being), and ushered them along towards the rest of the Reunion so that the sheriff's office could do its duty. As a personal act before she left, Rachel handed Nick a bag of his clothes that Esther gathered up when Preds' Corner was canvassed earlier (she remained with Deputy Catmull, however, so that she could give a full, official report in the case against Magnus Hopps). To this, Nick expressed his gratitude and bid her a good day in the best way he knew how: with as little snark as foxily possible.

Ducking into the still empty tent to change, Nick sighed inwardly as he looked over at Gideon sulking in a nearby corner; he then appreciated the coincidence that it was the same tent in which Bo was forlorn over the idea that he'd lost Judy forever, but figured that jumping on Gideon's shoulders wouldn't help matters in the same way. Before removing anything, he looked through the bag provided at whatever ensemble Esther pieced together for him from his suitcase: Lessee… the shirt I got from Tim & Bob's charity luau that I packed for some reason… What else… Umm, right, tight jeans aren't the best thing to wear after an eating contest of any kind, but okay… Wait, this fanny-pack isn't mine…? And when he opened it up to peek inside, My furbrush, how thoughtful… a handkerchief, sunglasses, and a single dried peach slice, which he took out of its plastic baggy to pop into his mouth before searching the remainder of the care package, What, no necktie? I will need to speak with Esther about her perspective on fashio- Oh, score, my lucky red rocketship shorts! These'll bring the whole outfit together for sure, and so loosened the borrowed tie to slip it out from the then popped collar. "You're awfully sad for having just helped catch one of the worst criminals in this city's history," he commended over his shoulder, but when no response came, he reiterated, "I said-"

"I didn't help nuthin'…" grumbled the stouter fox.

Here we go, again, thought the taller fox as he unbuttoned his shirt, A lifetime of self-doubt won't go away overnight, I guess, "There was no possible way you could've known what 'Graves' was really up to," he began, "and did him knowing really change anything? No, it didn't, because Judy's still kidnapped, and in the big picture, whether they want to kill or inflict mad science on her doesn't change the fact that she'll escape at her earliest convenience."

"You woulda known…" argued Gideon, "Jude woulda known… Essy woulda known… ev'ryone 'cept me coulda got outta that without handin' over their friend to a buncha psychos…"

Nick pulled the undershirt over his head and gave his upper self a shake before stooping to pick up his furbrush that Esther so kindly provided, and then began correcting the state of his pelt. "You give yourself too little credit."

"Mr. Foxglove woulda known…" he continued, straying from neither his rhythm nor tone of self-admonishment.

Jeez Luiz… "Mr. Foxglove is a fictional character," groaned Nick, smoothing out the fur on his head and neck that he so thoroughly upheaved earlier, "And he's psychic, or something, making split-second reactions that no one can do in the real world, even though his stories are quote/unquote, 'hard science fiction'. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but if you want a real-world fox to base yourself off of, I suggest me, and there's a simple reason why: I'm amazing. That said, I doubt even I could have gotten out of a sniper's scope unscathed… as it so happens, I didn't, and neither did Judy or Esther. Of the four of us, you're the only one that was shot at but not hit. How about that, huh?"

"He coulda if he wanted to… still got me to spill the beans on Jude, didn't he… played right into his paws…" Gideon paused and grunted, "Hooves… whatever."

"So what," was what he insisted whilst brushing his stomach and chest, "There are officers posted at every exit of Knotash looking for her, and if Magnus does anything so stupid as harm Judy, he'll have the full force of Zootopia's police department and legal system to contend with. With the net we've got around him, he can't so much as let her stub a toe without police choppers filling the skies over Knotash. Worst case scenario, Judy stalls until 4AM tomorrow morning when she'll have been missing for the full twenty-four hours, we charge in with search warrants blazing, hurrah hurrah, throw Magnus and Grav behind bars and then everything can get back to normal levels of crazy." To this, misty blue eyes peered over a shoulder, and Nick turned fully to ice the cake, "I would even argue that you leaking the Night Howler results helped us."

"H-How…?" Gideon sniffed (but only a little sniff).

Nick, now a bit smugger, spun the fur brush in the air to catch it again for dramatic pointing, "Because you, my dear cousin, got the spy network off our tails."

"I… I did?"

He crouched adjacent with a wry grin, "Remember, Doug implied that no one except me watched the contest, so from the time you told him about Judy's reaction to the whipped cream, they would have called off all those bunnies assigned to keep an ear on us."

"But…"

"Spy networks are very high maintenance and expensive, if you want quality spies, and you only keep them around for a specific purpose, because of what can happen if one of them is caught snooping. That purpose was already fulfilled when they discovered they had concrete evidence for the Night Howler stuff, right?"

"Right…" Gideon agreed, sounding a bit hopeful.

"The only reason they would stick around is to ensure that no one tattled on them," Nick explained, and then bumped their shoulders, "In fact, Bangs, I'm a bit jealous of you… playing right into a trap but turning it around to your advantage, dismantling a spy network, neutralizing a toxic threat, facing down a top notch assassin… all from the comfort of your own home." He beamed as slyly as he dared while Gideon's eyes grew brighter, "How very like Mr. Foxglove of you."

Gideon, despite himself, caught the contagious smile and then pivoted about in his seat to sigh in a self-defeating tone, "That all's nice of you to say, Stretch, but I-" and abruptly stopped as he caught a furbrush shoved into his mitts, "Uhh…?"

Plopping down fully, Nick faced away from his cousin and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the still unkempt fur he'd not yet tended to, "Would you mind?" he casually stated.

To which the stouter fox cleared his sinuses and half-grinned, steadying the bare shoulder as he brushed, "Nah… no worries; I got your back."

Slightly arching at the gentle grooming, the city-fox put his brain back on track, "You didn't betray her, you know."

A leaden sigh preceded the answer, each half-beat counted off with a short, quick stroke of the brush, "Sure feels like I did."

"I'm sure if Judy were sitting in on the call with you she would have done the exact same thing, and given herself over if she knew it would save her friends… or even if it would save some random stranger. She denies being a hero up-and-down, but her actions speak louder than her words," Nick said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah…" concurred Gideon, "I guess it's kinda like what Mr. Foxglove says, ya'know-"

"'You mistaken me for someone heroic'," the foxes recited in unison, if with their own tone. Gideon clapped the more athletic back in a concluding signal, to which Nick laughed and stood, "Supernatural reflexes aside, he's a pretty good fox, despite his nasty habit of diving nose-first into trouble of his own accord."

"That ain't such a bad thing," considered Gideon as he sat back on an arm, "because he knows he can get out of it in the end, sly fox like him. Here," and made to toss the furbrush.

"Hold it a sec, if you'd be so kind," stayed Nick, unabashedly dropping his thoroughly worn, borrowed trousers to continue changing.

"D'you want some privacy, or somethin'?"

"Nothing you haven't seen before, and recently. Remember Saturday's hilarious bit in the bathroom?" smirked Nick, "Hilarious in retrospect, anyway," and only after continuing onto the final article of clothing did he gesture to retrieve his grooming implement.

"Not by any effort of my own," Gideon muttered under his breath, tossing the furbrush over before resting his chin in a palm with an arm propped up on a folded knee. As Nick continued brushing himself, "There isn't… really a vixen that looks like Jude… is there?"

"There are gray foxes and no doubt foxes with purple eyes… none that I've seen combined, but stranger things exist in this world," and then grinned, "Why, interested?"

"…Not sayin' I ain't, I jus' find it funny that there's a 'Hopps family legend' about it but Jude never said a word. You'd think that'd be something she'd bring up at some point, 'specially with what she mentioned last night, imagining herself as such."

Pulling out his favorite pair of undergarments (though its packaging was marked for the pup of a larger species, it was its price tag which appealed to the adult fox) Nick commenced his return to decency, "Well, the brain's a funny thing. If, like Mr. Barley attests, Stu and Bonnie don't nourish such a 'legend', then I doubt it goes any further than whatever stories an ancient bunny like Pop-Pop can tell to whatever infantile bunnies are willing to listen. It might be that Judy simply… heard the story once, stored it away for later, and pulled it out when it was useful. Nothing she hasn't done before."

"Well, shoot, she's jus' like Basil of Baker Street, ain't she?" beamed Gideon.

"A role model for any young, aspiring detective, myself included. Where do you think the name 'Dawson' came from?"

"Thought that sounded familiar… Off topic, you're really wearing those undies, huh?"

"Of course, red rocketships are lucky," explained Nick, "Everyone knows that."

"Nuh-uh," argued Gideon, "Trains are lucky."

"Pfft," scoffed Nick, "Like I could expect a farm-fox to know what underwear is lucky or not…"

"I'll have you know I'm wearin' a pair right now," the stouter fox said and sat upright, "I knew I'd need 'em for today, and it's a good thing I did… although I had my doubts before ev'rything worked out."

Another scoff and the taller fox pulled up his black denim jeans… with a grunt; he gave a jump to get it all into place and then secured them. "I have a hypothetical question: why would your sister pick these out for me?"

"Uhh… counter question: why did you bring those in the first place? I can't say they look too comfy."

"So it's up to me to answer both, then…" muttered Nick, "These are more for fashion than comfort, even though sitting at the bottom of a discount clothes bin softened them up a bit. When I packed for Bunnyburrow this weekend, I discovered that I could fit everything from the closet of my hole-in-the-wall apartment into a single suitcase, and since I plan to move back in with my parents and a comparatively luxurious bedroom, I figured I might as well not leave anything behind. As for Esther's motives… I can't help but wonder if she's showing me off," and reached back to examine his tail so he might brush it, as well.

"Showing you off…?" repeated Gideon, brow furrowed before arching, and nearly jumping to his feet, "Hah!" he laughed, "You sly devil, you finally got her to kiss you, didn't ya'?"

"And all it took was becoming the first fox-cop and saving her life," Nick shrugged with a smug grin, and then picked up the vibrantly pink-and-orange hibiscus pattern luau shirt to examine it, "During which she also saved mine, of course; mutual rescue is a great start to any relationship. By the way," he continued, slipping his arm through a sleeve, "I found out that Esther doesn't see north too well…?"

Gideon grinned impishly and scratched his nose, "She's always been jealous of that…"

"Yes, Finnick, too," he recalled, and began buttoning up his shirt, but not even looking at the raised finger or brewing inquiry, immediately answered, "I do, in fact, plan to walk about in public like this. She bothered to pick it out, so I'll bother to wear it," and then softly grumbled when he remembered that the top button was missing, yet never bothered to fix it, I knew this would come back to bite me someday…

"Tha's great and all, but… why?"

"I'm hoping the bright colors will ward off unfriendlies, a la the poison dart tree frog or Zootopian tourist." Finally, Nick examined the seafoam green handkerchief, and proceeded to fold it to fit into his pocket… but instead whipped it open to affix it around his neck like a bandana to cover the gap left behind from a faulty shirt. Finally, he attached the fanny pack around his waist and shifted it around to the back, since the pockets of the pants he wore were not actually designed to hold anything.

"Now, I ain't a fancy clothes expert, but tha's gonna look real weird with your tie."

"Well, first, it's not my tie it's yours, and second, I'm not wearing it, you are," grinned Nick, and beckoned the stouter fox over. Somewhat bewildered, Gideon did approach and watched in uncertainty as his collar was popped and, once more, the tie slipped around his neck until it was secured in place. "There; respectably professional," and as the stouter fox beamed down at it, the taller fox tugged the quick-release knot, and then stepped back, "There you go."

"Hey!" pouted Gideon, holding up both ends of the neckwear, "I like doing that…"

"You've seen me do it plenty of times and I know you were watching, so now you can tie it yourself. It's how my Dad taught it to me, so now I'm teaching it to you," said Nick. Stooping to pick up both sunglasses and the bag which the clothes came (and his discarded clothes within), he made to depart the tent. His cousin softly grumbled as he poked out his tongue and cinched his brow, fiddling with the new challenge while ducking under the lifted tent wall.

On the other side a patient, earthen-brown rabbit leaned against the temporary counter, arms crossed and leg propped up to bend at the knee. His ears sprung and addressed the foxes, as did his eyes, but his face remained bowed in a contemplative expression. When he caught sight of Nick's new ensemble, he lifted a single finger from his crossed arms and began to speak, only to catch a snicker between his teeth, "You're really going out in that?"

Nick rolled his eyes in a heavy sigh before putting his sunglasses over them, and gestured down with a spreading of his arms, "Esther thinks it a laugh riot, I'm sure, but at least they're clean. 'Eh, Punch?"

Bo stiffened, and put both his feet down to stick out his chest, "I don't know what you're on about."

"Oh, come now," he scoffed, casually swiping the bag of fresh blueberries which Gideon picked and thusly left on the temporary counter, Yoink, and then walked out to the van, the other two close behind, "I can smell that they're a week-worn from here, and that's a very conservative estimate."

"They are my cleanest right now, but I'm quite certain my clothes can't be used to hail a passing ship. 'Eh, Gloves?" After a full beat, both foxes burst out in laughter as Nick opened up the back of the van to toss the bag of clothes in, and Bo soon joined with a jolly shake of his shoulders. "How was that?" he asked hopefully.

"Marked improvement, you'll be a top-tier banterer in no time," commended Nick, "How much of our conversation did you hear?"

"Well… all of it, technically, but I wasn't listening the entire time," the rabbit admitted, and then grew solemn as he rubbed the back of his neck, "I also heard about Judy. Did she… did she really eat the whipped cream?"

"She did," answered the taller fox as he closed the back of the van. When no further inquiry came from behind him, Nick looked over his shoulder apologetically, "I'm pretty sure Judy wanted to tell you as such herself, and definitely would have were she not kidnapped. With everything already going on…"

Bo shook his head, "'Everything in its time', I guess. Like you said, whether I knew before now or not wouldn't have changed anything, since she obviously lived through it, and if she didn't… or if something terrible happened, you would've told me sooner. I guess she didn't upchuck it like I did, huh…?"

"Not so much," Gideon recalled with a shudder, "We were both scared right witless and if Lanny hadn't come 'round when he did, I dunno what we coulda done."

"Considering how much I ate, I should thank my lucky stars I didn't succumb to the same fate," he realized, "So… what happens now?"

"Stick together," Nick ordered, "We should anticipate further correspondence from either Judy or Bogo as the day progresses, and thus need to stay close in case that happens. It's not uncommon when awaiting a response from an operative, and we're fortunate that 'Watchtower' assigned you to look after us, but no one else. This, ironically, can prove one of the most difficult parts to get through, if only because all we can do is wait. For the time being, let's stay on the fairgrounds; it looks like the Watch has a wide net spread over it, and the infinite horde of bunnies is a welcome security against any more dark machinations. Now then," shifted the fox to a lighter tone in address to the resident rabbit, "I believe you had thing to do?"

"Tractor pull," grinned Bo with confidence, and curled an arm to flex his bicep, "Been lookin' forward to this for a while, now."

"Woo," whooped Gideon with a twirl of his finger.

"I wouldn't think that feats of strength were something that bunnies 'looked forward to' or even endorsed," reasoned Nick, and added, "But then, I've learned so much about bunnies this weekend that I never thought I'd ever, ever, ever know."

"True, a lot of anything we can do individually pales in comparison to what we can do as a group, or what can be done by larger mammals, notably horses, and our claim to fame is our voluminous produce; Stu and Bonnie Hopps take home the prize for biggest vegetables every time, you know. Still, after I showed up at the Carrot Days Festival a few years ago and out-pulled a boar, I've become something of a… an icon for hardwork and dedication to other bunnies."

A severe eyebrow from Nick arched in Bo's direction as he leaned against the van, "And this on top of your 'cursed' status? You rabbits sure are a fickle lot."

"Wow, just come out and say it, Stretch," muttered Gideon.

"It's okay, Gid, no harm done," smirked Bo, "After all, I can take solace in knowing that it was not simple 'fortune' that swayed Mr. Barley's decision, but my own insinuation that I was the best qualified for the task due to my 'fox knowledge'."

"Well well well," grinned Nick, "I'd say Punch's fox status just moved up from 'baby-kit' to 'adolescent'."

The earthen rabbit pondered this with a low hum, and then smiled, "Dissimilar to the progress of your rabbit status." A pair of unimpressed grunts answered as their owners turned to head towards the van's doors, to which Bo scratched behind a crestfallen ear and followed.

"Turnaround responses don't stand up to repeated use, on top of which, I'm not progressing along any sort of 'rabbit status'," Nick extrapolated, "Keep at it, though, you'll get there."

Thick arms crossed over a thick chest in thought, "Dang, was sure I had something with that…"

Gideon clapped his paws before he climbed into the driver's seat, "Get in, guys, we can't stay parked here; gotta head over to the general lot," he announced, and then grimaced through the windshield after sitting behind the wheel, "Ah dangit… Stretch, would ya' grab that?" asked the baker with a dismissive gesture at the Missing Prince leaflet still tucked under the wiper.

"We should add 'littering' to Doug's extensive list of crimes," Nick observed, glancing at the trash bag of wet paper Gideon set outside the yellow-striped tent to await pick up from the fairground crew, and examined the smiling cub on the front of the one he held before flipping it over to the artist's depiction of an older lion on the back. "Hop in, Punch," he instructed the bunny holding open the van door, "large though you are, you're still the smallest and youngest, therefore assigned the middle seat by default."

His brown ears pointed askew, "Why not just sit in the back, like I did on Saturday?"

"Because there are authorities mingling about and I said so, now get hopping," directed Nick, following to close the door and, when he was securely buckled in, held up the leaflet to study it.

The van revved as Gideon growled along with it, teetering between apprehension and indignation, "I still can't believe that Gravedigger fella came all the way out to Horseshire to finish the job… and was a sheep this whole time!"

Nick cleared his throat significantly, "I think there's something of a misunderstanding here, Bangs. You obviously recognized his voice from the phone call (which was an arrogant folly on his part, not using a scrambler of any kind) so he was certainly that 'Mr. Graves', but the Gravedigger of the ZPD's 'Most Wanted' infamy is, without doubt, a wolf."

"But you said Doug was in a disguise," argued Gideon.

"He was," and with a narrative gesture, Nick continued, "Judy and I spent an afternoon studying the single piece of visual evidence on the Gravedigger, pooling our deductive acumen to figure out who, exactly, was in that photo," and softly chuckled, "It was for a bet. Anyway, one of the ideas that we harbored was that it was merely a wolf disguise, or of some other canine species, but after comparing it to snapshots of real wolves, coyotes, et cetera, to mammals in costume with the same position, distance, and lighting, we concluded that he could only be a real wolf. There's a certain way that natural fur reflects light, you see; it's how you can tell if certain, unnamed rugs are fakes."

"Phil saw him, I thought?" asked Bo.

"No offense to that old goat Phil Octaves, but a chance sighting in the dark hours from a mammal without heightened night vision, especially someone who didn't believe it themselves at first, does not fill me with confidence," Nick determined. He lowered the window enough to get some breeze on his sunglasses-covered face as he continued looking at the leaflet as though it were an involving magazine article, even if he was leaning his head on a fist, "Still, Doug met the Gravedigger, whether snout-to-snout or whatever, which means he and his wayward flock are our best chance to catch him."

The rabbit nodded soberly, arms lifted to fold both paws behind his head, "When you get back to the city, of course."

"Of course, I like to keep my caseload to a bare minimum when on vacation," smirked Nick, "So, Punch… what does the Watch do exactly? They clearly don't have authority to arrest anyone - if they do they don't practice it - and yet they're armed to the teeth."

"Hmm?" grunted the bunny, and then pointed upward with a slight circling motion, "Oh, we watch the skies, mostly, so that no one gets grabbed and flown off. It can be a real issue out here, you know."

Some seconds passed before the city-fox responded, and rustled the missing mammal leaflet awkwardly to mutter under his breath, "Could just avoid crop circles and wear tin foil hats, that's what I would do, no need to carry around an arsenal."

Bo flinched, "Say what?"

With both paws raised in an explanatory fashion, Nick simply said, "Aliens."

"Birds, Gloves, as in real things," sighed the bunny before he held out his paws like talons, "Birds-of-prey, raptors… hawks, mostly, feathery monsters that swoop in and snatch up little bunnies like that," and snapped his fingers, "The Burrow Watch was a group of birdwatchers back in the day, you see, and could recognize a silhouette in the sky at a glance; that's kind of why the news about Tad Wooler hits so hard, because he was one of the best at that."

"I'm sure," mumbled Nick.

"Yeah…" Bo petered off, "Anyway, they shared their resources with the local rumor mill, elbowed their way into a hotline at the sheriff's office, and over the decades became what we have today."

"They also take care of gators or snakes that find their way into the ponds and swamps dotting the woods," Gideon expanded, "Bag 'em, tag 'em, and send 'em off somewhere away from mammals."

"Rubber bullets and tranqs, then?"

"That's the ticket," smiled Bo.

A brow gently arched, "And how's your aim?"

"Can't hit the broadside of a barn, despite Judy's training…" rued the rabbit, "I'm an extractor. I run in and grab the ones that can't get out fast enough or on their own."

"Oddly courageous for a bu-" and then Nick stopped himself for a tap on his humming chin, "For anyone small and snatchable, really."

Bo cracked his knuckles, though not it seemed for any reason other than to occupy his attention, "It's scary," he admitted, "Almost didn't make it in time once… had to punch a hawk in mid-dive…" and shuddered, "But, I say my wish and it gets me out there well enough."

"'I wish I didn't have to punch this bird in the face'?" grinned Nick.

The rabbit chuckled politely, "No, it goes 'I wish that should I die today, it is in service to others so that they may live; blest be', that's the first one," he said, and held up a finger, before counting off on his next finger, "The second one is 'I wish that should I die tonight, it is peacefully and amongst my loved ones; blest be'," and then crossed the two fingers of that paw, before crossing the two same fingers on his other paw, "And those're the Eternal Wishes of the Hexward Tenets," he beamed and closed his eyes.

The van grew solemn, silence broken only by the dirt and small rocks kicked up under the tires. Green eyes peered through the tinted eyewear to catch sight of the similarly blocked blue of the driver, who only nodded in confirmation at the rabbit between them. Nick crossed his own fingers behind the cover of the leaflet to remember how he made wishes as a kit with that identical gesture, but until then never wondered why. To stay the prickling at the back of his skull he… remained absolutely silent in his nonchalance, save for a punctuating grunt of affirmation, and went back to re-examining the leaflet with a straightening snap of his wrist.

"Sorry," said Bo, putting his paws down and kicking his legs idly, continuing in a quiet tone, "Guess it's kind of a bunny thing. Not really for ev'ryone."

Gideon glanced over the anxiously flicking rabbit ears at the hooded, focused green eyes, and as he pulled into the general lot, he shifted gears and sought an opportune place to park, "Starin' awful hard at that flier, Stretch."

"Just curious, is all…" he trailed off.

"Sudden int'rest in the 'Missing Prince'?"

"Not as such," shrugged Nick, "I've seen this artist's rendition before, in fact, it's what I used to get the Lookers out here in the first place, claiming that I saw 'Memphis's fiery mane', and what not. I never really looked at it closely, but what if… What if I spotted him at Lion's Gate yet never realized it… It'd be a smart place for him to hide, assuming he's alive; like a leaf in a forest made of lions," and then sighed languidly, "Except nothing's jumping out at me."

The baker groaned with realization and grinned, "So, more a deep-seated int'rest, knowin' as much about it as you do."

Bo leaned over to analyze the depiction, "He's got the same red mane as Lanny."

"Correct me should I err, Punch, but you sound suspect of something?"

"It's probably nothing, but red hair is a recessive gene, and Mr. King has that fluffy head of it, doesn't he."

"He does…" humored Nick, "Alright, college boy, if a family of lions has both black and red manes, which is more likely to pop up in the cubs?"

"Black," answered Bo with resolution, "Black hair is dominant over red."

Nick grunted and arched his brows, "And what about… brown manes?"

"Brown is also dominant," Bo continued scholarly.

"Then this sketch is romanticized," declared Nick and handed it over so the rabbit might give it a once-over. "Memphis's mane is red and Tycho's is black, so no 'fiery locks' there, and Sarah's side of the family is, to the best of my knowledge, brown manes, so that means Simon's mane is, more likely than not, brown… unless mane genes are solely from the father…?" he asked aloud, but implied towards the rabbit.

"Lionesses pass on 'mane genes' as much as lions do," corrected Bo, "they can even grow manes, however uncommon it might be. I suppose it's possible that Mrs. King carries the recessive red hair, if there's any evidence of it in her relatives. Also, I'm not sure you quite understand how genetics work…"

Crossing his arms and jutting his chin, the taller fox rocked a bit as the van came to a complete stop in the general parking lot, "Not to my recollection, but then again, I never bothered to dig too deep into Sarah's side of things."

"How's about golden manes?" asked Gideon as he turned off the engine.

"Blonde is recessive, like red manes," said the bunny.

"Huh," mused the baker, "Learn somethin' new ev'ryday."

Bo hopped out after Nick and closed the door without further ado, "Have you followed the 'Missing Prince' thing long, Gloves?"

"Me? No," he dismissed, and pulled out the cloth sack of blueberries to pop one into his mouth, "my parents always seemed worried about it, though, especially Dad."

"I was listening to 'Tim & Bob' when he gave that long rant about all the guff the Kings were gettin', how even the upper crust with all their millions could still lose a cub, and by gum, if the calls didn't come in viewin' them in a new light," Gideon recalled as he locked up the van. He and Nick gave Bo the lead and followed nearby on their way through the parking lot, back to a TBR in full swing.

Though the tents of the TBR were unanimously white, the extravagance of their decoration bewildered and awed, a difference from the day prior akin to stepping out from the Stone Age and into the Renaissance. Vendors peddled their wares with vibrant yet homely signs, naming what they had to boast and who it was which boasted. It seemed every vegetable, nut, and fruit (along with a meager array of choice insects, for the exotic) could be roasted, deep fried, candied, or some combination thereof. And if a bunny or hare behind a counter did not draw the nose and wet the palate with their delicacies, then it was a craft, contest, or game of a different sort that entranced the eyes and ears. Gadgets and gizmos aplenty, whozits and whatzits galore, all announced in a rambunctious symphony of merry life that neither quelled nor quaked at recent news.

Amongst the veritable sea of long-ears walked mammals of sparing variety, chief were the horses, whose presence melded with the rabbits into a breathtaking seamlessness, like a ship and its wake. Their purpose in the Tri-Burrow Reunion focused more, it seemed, as wardens or caretakers while the lapine hosts ran hither and thither in ardent micromanaging and hyper vigilance. It harkened back - as the TBR always had - to the days of yore so marked by the joining sigil of Bunnyburrow and Horseshire: the rabbit's foot inside the horse's hoofprint. It represented the voluminous luck which sprung forth from the cooperation and cohabitation of the two species, a symbiotic bond of protection and production enjoyed by all others who lived in Bunnyburrow. Present also, as a meager snapshot in an otherwise grand album, were bovines lowing with joy as they rode the tilt-a-whirl, a pair of bears sitting for a caricature portrait, some deer collecting their hard-earned prizes at ring-toss, and a ferret purchasing a caramel apple with chopped peanuts.

"Ahh, Tim O'Nare…" reminisced Nick as his eyes drifted skyward to the colorful towers and arches of balloons sponsoring the braided downpour of rainbow streamers, popping a fresh, crisp blueberry into his awaiting gob (and, of course, allocating a paw-full each to his compatriots), "If ever there were an exemplar of the meerkat species… he would not be it, but still very fun to listen to, as far as shock jocks go; and of course, the comedic stylings of Bob Pigg rounds out their on-air partnership rather well by appealing to the adolescent portion of their audience."

Gideon (distracted by the wonderful onslaught of new culinary smells) continuously returned his attention to untying and re-trying the quick-escape knot, glancing up only to keep pace with the other two, "Uncle John must have a soft spot of missin' youngins, huh?"

Coinciding with a grunt of consideration, Nick teetered his head one way and then the other to roll the idea about therein, "Perhaps, he always found that children enjoyed his stories the most. However, I think his connection with Memphis King plays a bigger part in it," he offhandedly baited. Nick kept strolling (subtly strutting) even though both Bo and Gideon stopped to gawk, allowing himself only another step and held the next halfway through, setting the heel down to turn upon it in a suave pivot, "Was it something I said?"

"Uncle John knows Memphis King?" choked Gideon, both in surprise and because he managed to tangle his thumb into the necktie.

"Holy shitake mushrooms…" whispered Bo.

"Oh, did I not mention that? Must have slipped my mind," endeared Nick, and shrugged the smuggest, most feigned innocence he could muster, "But yes, I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Pridelands himself has a bespoke John Wilde in his wardrobe, and I would hazard a guess more than one. Funny story behind it, too.

"At the time, Dad was still apprenticing under an old tailor from old money that thought way too highly of himself and certain… 'antiquated methods', as my Dad would say. Memphis brought him in to get some adjustments done and Dad's task was to write down the measurements, but in the middle of it all, a phone call came for the tailor," Nick began with his audience of two in tow (even though Bo still walked in front).

The rabbit looked over his shoulder, "The tailor didn't take the call, of course."

"He did," Nick revealed to disbelief, "It was someone from City Hall, if memory serves, so he couldn't very well let such a client slip by. Gracious as his host was, the tailor excused himself and as soon as he left the room, the apprenticing fox pulled up a chair…"

"That was awful considerate of him," grinned Gideon, having sufficed to slip the necktie into his pocket so that he could listen to the story.

"Ahh, but it wasn't for the lion," Nick informed to confusion, "Bangs already knows this, but John Wilde is something of an acrobat and his favorite act is walking a chair across the floor while balanced on its back. With Memphis King being such a mountainous individual, my Dad danced the lion's furniture around him for the extra height and corrected every measurement the tailor already did, plus all the ones not yet gotten. It was the most entertaining adjustment Mr. King ever had, and as the old fox tells it, his most comfortable fit."

"I guess they became friends after that, didn't they?" wondered Bo as he directed them both towards a fenced off area. It was adjacent to a length of cleared field and packed ground for the strength-proving spectacle of hauling heavy-duty farm equipment, wherein its industrial-power engine became a hindrance rather than anything helpful. The tradition of tractor-pulling began in Horseshire as a means of showing which swell-headed colt (or filly, in some cases) could better boast their might, speed, and endurance, and has since progressed to others willing to represent their own species until for the first time a singular rabbit, Bo Briar, proved what he was capable of (if in the lowest weight bracket); save the last part, this was all detailed in proper historical flair on a woodcarving someone thought appropriate to post at the entrance.

Nick, knowing that the end of a story he enjoyed hearing (and was frequently disbelieved whenever he told it as a teenager) was almost upon him whether he liked it or not, hurried himself along, "It was kept professional, but their connection actually stems from Simon himself. Apparently, it's something of a faux pas to bypass your tailor in favor of his apprentice; so instead, a suit was made for the cub."

"And that wasn't any kind of faux pas?" the bunny challenged.

"The old tailor didn't suit children so he happily diverted such a task onto his junior, and it worked out better than expected. Dad's bespoke suits are designed for the rough-and-tumble (I think he actually had to wrestle the measurements out of Simon), since his segway into sewing was his nasty habit of leaving the house in the morning with freshly mended clothes, and returning in the evening with barely a scratch on him save for the numerous new openings in his shirts, and long story short, became a tailor after finding out how good he looked in a suit."

Gideon barked a jolly laugh, "That reminds of me Ma, how she tried to teach me to stitch, but instead I jus' left my shirt at home when I went out to play; that didn't last long, though," he chuckled.

"Sneaky. Anyway," Nick continued as they entered the event already in progress, "he wanted to make one of his own, and went to half-a-dozen tailors before finally convincing that eccentric, old coot to let him tag along and do most of the work for him. After almost a decade, he and Mom finally scraped together enough money (along with the help of a friend and a most generous tip from one Mr. King for making Simon's suit) for collateral on a loan to open up Suitopia; it was after that milestone that Memphis got one for himself and the rest is history."

"Alright, guys, you two stay out of trouble while I go take care of this," said Bo in his usual, humble, cheery self, and before he turned to darn near strut into the staging area, added, "Time to put on a good show. Wish me luck!"

"Well, no wonder Uncle John was so worried when Simon King went missin'," remarked Gideon as he and Nick walked off to the side, "I don't know much about makin' clothes, but from what little I seen of Ma fittin' stuff for Pa, it's something of a… personal thing, isn't it?"

Nick flicked his ears about at either high or spattering applause the earthen-brown rabbit received as he and Gideon occupied an empty stretch of fence near a connecting shack covering a gate, so that they might lean on its chest-high, lower rung. "Yes, you all are sure a fickle lot, unless I'm missed my mark on the definition of 'cursed'," he critiqued under his breath, and then mused, "Only if you want quality. Change of subject: I notice the harnesses attached to those tractors. Is that something normal on a farm, or…?"

Gideon flicked his own ears, but not to gauge the audience, "Well, yeah, how else d'you expect plows get pulled?"

"I would think the tractors did most of that."

The farm-fox laughed and clapped the city-fox's back, "I s'pose farmin' started when they invented the engine, huh? Nah," he dismissed, "Maybe it's weird on the outside lookin' in, but hookin' up and plowing is as 'normal' as you can get. Sure, you got hoes and diggers making the rows all right, but when you got a few acres of lands to go through you strap in yer strongest, take turns with the next and so on until the work's done. Horses are the best at it jus' like bunnies're the best at farmin', but I've done my share too, so long as I got to keep my shirt on."

"I see…" pondered Nick, "So… you're familiar with this whole… tractor pull spiel, then?"

"I seen it; from afar, mostly, and I don't listen to all the fancy rules because they're boring," he said and generally pointed out the horses that were already covered in a sheen of sweat, as well as a few others including a moose, a rhino, a koala, and a leopard, all looking like out-of-town visitors showing what they were made of with test-of-strength games. "It's a sort-of big thing at Carrot Days, and best I know, Bo's the lightest that ever competed in the pull itself, but wins his group each time. I gotta give it to him, he is one determined bunny. I guess they already did the heavies while we were talkin' with the sheriff, and now they're onto the lights.

"Y'see, here they're doing 'warm-up' stuff by liftin' things and puttin' on a show for the crowd. Ain't nowhere near as impressive as those big mammals over there, but that don't mean they ain't strong in their own right," chuckled Gideon, and then leaned in discreetly, "And jus' as a heads-up, a 'cursed' bunny ain't something that's bandied about like it's nothin'. Not ev'ryone sees Bo in a bad light; heck, even the Hopps house is kinda split on them that're 'cursed'."

"...Fair point, I'll keep that in mind," Nick responded, "The last thing I need is to give rabbits another reason to dislike me."

Gideon snerked, "Welcome to the club."

"So… Bo's undefeated, I hear?" the taller fox continued casually as he scratched his neck.

The stouter fox grunted and shrugged, "If you mean he gets to that line faster than anyone else, then yeah," and pointed towards a thick, bright white border in the middle of a long stretch of open area. "From what I hear he gets some 'repeat customers', so to speak, and if all else fails, he pulls against a group of bunnies or his previous time. Oh, looks like they're bringin' in the smaller tractors now."

"I think 'smaller' isn't quite the correct word, but I see where you're coming from. Can anyone compete in this?"

"Ayeup, tha's what makes it an attraction, of sorts."

"Visitors and locals alike?"

"Why, lookin' to give it a shot, Stretch?" teased Gideon and poked at the lankier body.

A scoffing raspberry paired with a dismissive push of the air answered initially, "Been there, done that," and whipped out his first place prize from the pie-eating contest with a casual grin. "See? Already earned my bragging rights on Bo, but from the way I hear it you have a chance to give him a second second place," Nick pointed out, and indeed, the tails of the rabbit's red ribbon poked out the back pocket of his shorts from down in the staging area.

The unspoken challenge was loud and clear to the stouter fox, and he shifted in his leaning beneath its implication, "Nah," he once more dismissed, "I ain't got any kinda chance 'gainst Bo, doughy sort like m'self…" he petered off with a scratch to his belly.

Nick thumbed the ribbon in plain view, "You've probably thought about it before, I reckon, tossing your hat into the ring. After all, you act like you don't care about this tractor pull, and yet seem to know enough to participate," he said, holding up the bright blue prize as though it were a gem. Gideon's tail swept in agitation as his own bright blues eyed the frilly medallion, before they turned away in a resolute harrumph. The glittering, gold letters inched into the baker's personal bubble until it and the ribbon which boasted it hovered at the very tips of his cheek-fuzz, and so mocked in a high, whiny tone, "I guess you could always try again next time, but it will never be quite as cool as me; will it?"

The resolve wavered and waned into a sidelong glance with a gnawed bottom lip. Gideon pushed the ribbon aside to stand upright, shoulders back and chest out (gut sucked in), "This can't be any worse than getting shot at," he declared conversationally before marching towards the showboating rabbit, hiding well the crack in his voice.

"That's the spirit," Nick commended, punctuating his pep talk with a chuckle while tucking his own blue ribbon back into his fanny pack. From his vantage point against that remote fence, it was plain to the city-fox that his cousin's blazen approach upon the earthen-brown rabbit turned and quieted many of the local heads, and got a few chuckling comments from others, as well. Alone, Nick hoisted himself up to sit on the horizontal beam and lean against the fence post, eyelids heavier than they'd been all day, Should get me a few minutes of napping in before I'm needed for anything else, he yawned, utilizing one of the many talents honed while living and working on the streets of Zootopia: sleeping in any position, circumstance, and for any length of time available.

Speaking subjectively, Nick's eyes were closed an instant before a distant gong and cheering sounded the start of the tractor pull, and so stir him from his ephemeral slumber. He then heard the juicy munching and smelled the sweetness of someone eating a caramel apple nearby as a ferret sat on the fence mere inches from the end of his footpads. His legs dangling idly, sporting a tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting, cargo-pocketed slacks with holes in the knees and frayed cuffs at the heels; his amber eyes swiveled behind the dark "mask" of his fur to glance at the waking fox as he swallowed his bite of candied treat. "How're you staying up like that, are your pants glued to the fence?" he asked, gesturing with the almost finished dowel of the fairground snack.

Nick covered his mouth to yawn before letting his own leg swing down in equally idle motion, "Don't be ridiculous," he said disinterestedly, "I keep a gyro in my pocket for balance."

"Oh, of course…" replied the ferret, tail sweeping behind him as he munched, watching the two competitors in the not-too-distant strength challenge, before adding, "I didn't expect to find you here, of all places."

"On a fence?"

The ferret shrugged with a smirk, "Well, you do tend to not bother with decisions, Nick, but I meant out in Bunnyburrow; what with your allergies."

Nick shimmied to get comfy, eyes closing again as his paws folded on his trim stomach, "Believe it or not, I'm out here with Judy, even though she's a bit… preoccupied with bunny business at the moment. So, I'm catching z's. Why're you out here?" came the smiling response.

With the caramel apple finished, the ferret crossed one leg over the other and held the dowel between his teeth so that both his paws might hold the fence he reclined on, "I came over thinking someone was signaling for help, but turns out it was only your shirt," he grinned, and followed up at the next logical question, "I stayed because I wanted to see if you'd fall off."

"Would you have helped?"

"Pfft, the grass is so soft here, you could drop glass and it would be fine, but I would've taken a picture, maybe woke you up."

"How altruistic of you, Travis," huffed Nick, and pivoted about from where he sat to set himself down on the other side of the fence, so that he might lean forward onto it.

Travis followed suit, also watching the contest as he moved the stick from one side of his mouth to the other, before holding it between his fingers like a pencil, "I'm out here taking care of my mom's fish while she and everyone else is off on that cruise," he stated without much enthusiasm, "High-maintenance salt-water fish, exotic stuff. But, I could hardly let something like the TBR pass me by without going at least once, so I took a break from fish-sitting to peruse."

The fox smirked as he looked out at the now shirtless Bo and Gideon hauling farm-equipment down a lane for the amusement of others, "See anything you like?"

The ferret scoffed, "Good sir, I'll have you know I am spoken for… but if I weren't, well…"

"How is Quinton these days?"

"Getting his quills done so he doesn't tear up the couch, bed… everything again; lengthy process, you know how it is," and shifted tone as well as subject, "We missed you at the theatre last week?"

"Yeah… my bad," groaned Nick, "And I was so looking forward to seeing you in a lizard costume alongside a cross-dressing warrior from an ancient empire," he then smiled, ears flicking as the gong sounded again to end the tractor pull amongst cheers from the audience.

"Dragon, dragon, not 'lizard'," corrected Travis, "I'd hate to have to do that… tongue thing. It went rather well, though, so no complaints otherwise. By the way, do you know that fox down there racing against Bo?" he asked.

Nick's eyebrow quirked severely, despite his best efforts to remain neutral, "You don't?"

Travis shrugged, "Thought I did, but the fox I knew would chuck his pants before his shirt," he petered off wistfully, "So… can't say for certain," and bit down on the candied remains of the dowel again, "I thought I saw him walking off from here, and figured him one of your many acquaintances, if not a friend."

Really… pondered Nick, his tail swaying like a metronome, "As it so happens, he's my cousin and a local boy."

"Shut up, he is not," Travis beamed and laughed, pivoting to lean sideways on the fence with a paw against his hip, "'Local boy', huh? Let's see…" and tapped the dowel on his lip as he glanced up in thought, "He's… a Tweed, one of Tod and Vixey's sons?" guessed the ferret.

"No, not a Tweed… but you're close," mused Nick.

"'Not a Tweed, but close'…" was repeated, Travis now leaning back against the fence and popping the stick in his mouth to gnaw on it, arms crossed, "The… Whitends? I don't think they had a farm, they lived in the apartments in Preds' Corner itself," and looked hopefully to Nick.

Nick only shook his head, grin kept in check, "You'll never guess," he said matter-of-factly.

"There was that… what was her name… a family of foxes, foreigners that lived here a few years… the Lamours?"

"Would you like to phone a friend?"

Travis turned back around with arms aloft in good-humored defeat, "Fine, I give up; who is he? Probably from the Honey Hills or some remote corner of Horseshire."

"Like I said, you were close with the Tweeds, only a few houses down, in fact," Nick explained, and gestured out towards the stout baker already unhooked from the tractor, "Okay, you ready for this? Gideon. Grey."

"Yeah-huh," Travis vehemently doubted, and jut a thumb out towards the distant fox while knitting his brow at the nearer one, "He is naked from the waist up, something Gideon hasn't been in over a decade-and-a-half," and then crossed his arms to huff, "So, who is he really?"

"He really is," Nick responded calmly, offering his own unsmiling but patient face, and stood upright, "and I'll prove it to you."

A scoff came abruptly, "This should be good. Are you going to go into one of your… 'chain of deductions', Basil of Baker Street?" he said not unkindly, "And prove beyond a shadow of a doubt about how that obviously is Gideon Grey, even though I can see that he obviously isn't?"

Putting his fingers to his mouth, Nick let out a high, shrill whistle, "Hey Bangs!" he called with a wave. The stouter fox could be seen excusing himself before hiking back.

"Cute," said an unamused ferret, arms still crossed, and then shrugged with an unimpressed gesture of a paw he pulled from his elbow, "but that's not Gideon."

Gideon paused en route to block the sun from his eyes before his face visibly brightened, and so began to jog.

"That's not Gideon," Travis repeated, if less confident than before, candied dowel dropping from his mouth.

"Travis!" called Gideon as he waved on approach.

"That's not Gideon!" Travis squeaked to futilely convince himself, and flinched in an attempt to escape only to find that Nick's encircling tail blocked him surer than a concrete barrier. The ferret gawked at the shirtless, sweaty fox now on the other side of the fence, doubled over and gripping his knees to catch his breath; this provided the stage actor an opportunity to cover up his world-shattered shock as best he could.

Softly heaving and panting, Gideon did stand upright at last, "As I live and breathe, Travis Blackfoot!" he finally managed, grin as wide as possible, "Ya'know, I keep hearing you're in town ev'ry once-in-a-while, but it feels like we're always missin' each other," and sniffed with a rub of his nose, beaming still, "I guess that's a bit my fault, losin' track of time as I do."

"Hey, Gideon, hi," Travis said weakly, but putting up a strong front of emotional stability and nonchalance, "Yeah… I guess we've just been… busy?"

With a cheery grunt and a hearty, "C'mere!", the stouter fox lunged through the spacious fence gap to grapple a still dazed ferret, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with such an immense joviality that he guffawed, unaware of any cringing from the huggee.

"Okay, break it up," laughed the taller fox, clapping his cousin's bare back before withdrawing his paw in disgust and an appropriately exaggerated grimace at his palm.

When Gideon set the ferret down, he took a step back and ran a paw through his bangs, "Gosh, I haven't seen you since…" and glanced down in a momentary recollection of lament, before brightening up again, "Ya'know, since our school days. Word is you're an actor, right?"

"Y-Yeah…" replied Travis, staggering but catching himself, amber eyes never leaving Gideon, "That's… it's a living."

"Eww, you're all slimy with effort," Nick rebuked, utilizing his bandanna for its originally intended purpose of a handkerchief before tucking it into a pocket, "Go… towel off or something," he then instructed with a dismissing flick of his wrist.

Gideon touched a paw to his own chest and examined the matting of sweat with a single awkward chuckle, "Oh yeah, I should prob'ly do that before I go huggin' anyone else, huh?" and rubbed the back of his head with an apologetic smile, "Okay, I'll be right back, so you don't go anywhere," and briskly jogged away with a sweep of his tail, sparing a quick grin over his shoulder.

Travis stared at the brick-red back, his claws digging grooves into the wooden boundary before he stumbled away from Nick, who immediately pursued as they strode into the shadow of the nearby shack covering the fence's gate.

"Whoa, hey, Travis, I know he was musky, but-"

"Shut up," barked the ferret, stopping to brace himself against the shack's outer wall, trembling as he balled one paw into a fist. His entire face was scrunched, and as his ear flicked he looked to Nick with scorn, "What?" he demanded, "Don't you have somewhere else to be, other pathetic displays to criticize? I can't be the only show in town."

Nick lifted his sunglasses and quirked a brow, crossing his arms and preparing to speak, but was cut off almost immediately, hardly getting a syllable out.

"You…" accused Travis, if only to stop whatever it was the fox planned to say, but lingered as his face combined guilt and the disbelief of being betrayed, "You knew, didn't you? That's why you really befriended me those months ago, that's why you're really here in Bunnyburrow, because you found out somehow…" and then spat, "Didn't you?"

Great… groaned Nick and rolled his eyes, "You'll need to be a bit more specific with whatever you're pinning on me."

The ferret turned full on him, chest heaving behind its tie-dye veil, paw loosely holding the shack wall as he scowled, "I bet he isn't really your cousin, is he? That was a ploy so he'd trust you and divulge everything. I'm sure Judy told you what happened at Carrot Days, but then you kept on digging, kept on prying…" His fingers fell limp from the wood as he took a step back from Nick's masterful nonchalance, his own composure showing its cracks as he glared, "So, what happens now, retribution for transgressions as a kit? Is that what they're sending the ZPD out for these days?" When no answer but frosty disapproval came, Travis riled all the worse into full dramatic gesticulation, his voice rising clearer and clearer, "They laughed, Nick, the whole of the city laughed and scorned when a fox became a cop, from the marshes to the tundra, from the desert to the meadow, from the Underland to City Hall… but they, the masses, don't know the true terror of a fox in uniform, do they?

"No… it's not only because a fox is part of the aptly and contrivedly named 'shifties', we small predators who have only our wits and shadows to protect us; not strength, not numbers, nothing but the cracks into which we crawl like insects," he said in a building tempo of passion before calming, cooling, "It's because foxes aren't like the others into which they are grouped, are they? It's just like my gramma said: we ferrets… we 'mind our own business', it's our credo, and are not as hated as foxes are. Raccoons are not as hated, even though they are seen as scavengers and thieves. Not wildcats, despite their assumed trickery and ferocity. Not even weasels. Certainly not otters. Foxes are hated. Foxes are the betrayers. Foxes are the ones you can't let out of your sight…"

Travis approached a statuesque Nick, trembling paws reaching up to unnecessarily straighten the luau shirt's collar with as much poise as he could still muster, "In days long past, us 'shifties' did what we had to to get by… to survive in a world that even bunnies, squirrels, and rodents knew greater safety than we. And we did, Nick, we did… by any means necessary… We played the game. Foxes didn't. Foxes couldn't. They… you went against the rules and played your own game. You boast about how you 'don't lie or keep secrets', but it's because you can't, because you discover terrible truths that are never meant to see the light of day and then you flaunt them… You take away the shadows that protect us… that's why you can't be trusted… even by the untrustworthy.

"And now? There's a fox in authority," he laughed a hollow, pained laugh and stepped away, paws out in grandiose demonstration, "It must scare a lot of mammals… because they don't know what a fox will do with that power. So, I ask again… what happens now?"

Nick's finger tapped on his arm as he listened to the exposition, and then he put his paws together and steepled his indexes to touch under his nose, "What 'happens' is I ask about this… 'game' you speak of. Does it have anything to do with Grav and his family?"

Travis, as an expressive individual onstage - and in times of passion, offstage - projected his emotions expertly… and the soul-crushed transition from indignation to despair would have formed a tear in the eye of the most callous critic. Indeed, it seemed that the fox drew back one of those shadows the ferret wrapped himself in, and his theatrical bluster was navigated with insulting ease. "…Grav?"

"Hopps, yes."

"Wh-… Why do you think he has anything to do with this?"

Nick's paws folded behind his back, "I'll sum things up for you: We - Judy, Gideon, and I - encountered Grav last night. In the exchange, we pushed each other's buttons and he jabbed at Gideon about how you were in his employ to grease the wheels of a schoolyard bully."

Travis expressed his disquieting, muted shock profusely.

"This brought up a few concerns for me, as you can imagine," said Nick, and paced a path around a petrified Travis, "Number one: Gideon insists you and he were best friends, and after what I just saw, I am inclined to believe that; judging by the redness in your ears, I think it was something a bit more on your side of things," to which Travis clapped his paws over both ears to see if they were still warm and shied away, if darting glances back at Nick, who then continued, "Number two: both Grav and Judy imply that Gideon was a loveable little scamp before he became a bully, but when he turned it was nasty and was kept that way until Carrot Days.

"Finally, number three: I heard a very traditional rabbit today mention an 'ancient pact' between wolves and ravens, and with your spiel about a 'game' and 'rules' - which, by the way, I thought only happened in the city," he emphasized with harsh significance, "I can't help but wonder if there is some sort of… 'pact' involving ferrets and rabbits, something antiquated but that still holds water, something that could be called upon to handle things, shall we say, 'discreetly'? Now, these concerns of mine lead me to a single conclusion based on my previous line of work: the Greys were hustled, in which the mark and goal was Gideon," and stopped pacing to stand before the ferret, "And that, Travis, seems to be the only part of what I said that doesn't surprise you."

The ferret panted, holding his head as though afflicted by a dizzy spell, "The Great Fox Detective, indeed…" he muttered, "I can see why foxes were thought witches in the past."

"Yes, I'm amazing," Nick said offhandedly with a wheeling of his paw, "Let's get back on track."

"How did you know to find me, Nick?" asked Travis, "Did you wear that shirt to draw me in?"

Another roll of his eyes and a sigh, Nick obliged to answer, "No, I can't have said for certain I'd find you here… I would've expected you in the stands as opposed to this outskirt seating, and rather hoped to wait until I returned to the city to ask you about what happened with Gideon back at Woodlands. Regardless, I was sure you would've been willing to answer."

Indeed, the amber eyes seemed willing to talk, if after one more inquiry, "What made you think I would answer you at all?"

Nick shrugged with not only his shoulders, but also with the corners of his lips, the arch of his eyebrow, and the tips of his ears, "Because Gideon was once more hustled into nefarious activities - which we excitedly thwarted, by the way, remind me to go into details later - but you weren't the one to get him to do it this time, which… well, if a con worked once, then there's no reason it shouldn't work again, right? Predictability is one of the many tools under the hustler's belt. So, I made an educated guess that you felt remorse, and wouldn't mind chatting."

Travis heaved, his paw gripping at the tie-dye shirt, ears flicking to check for anyone's approach. He gulped, nodded, and at Nick's unspoken invitation, sat beside him against the wall of the shack and hugged his knees, "Fine… I guess I got myself into this with my little… tantrum. Someone came by one day… back when I was still a kit. It was a bunny, but it wasn't Grav or either of his parents, someone I didn't recognize then and wouldn't today. There… is a sort of agreement that weasels started, and my family was big on it so many generations ago we thought its practice six-feet-under… My dad wanted nothing to do with it, but the farm belonged to my too-bitter-to-die gramma. It was a simple request… an odd request: all I had to do was egg Gideon on and I earned four years in any university without paying a dime. That was a golden ticket for a family of farm-ferrets; so long as we didn't ask questions.

"And it's not like anyone got hurt… not really. We were too clever for that… never leave any lasting marks, scare them too much to tattle," he rubbed his wrist and hung his head in shame, "It was easy… it was fun… I had to report back to Grav every now and then, so he could tell me what I needed to do to keep Gideon on edge, to provoke his 'predator nature'… When we got older, though, I started having doubts…" He raised his eyes again, "Gideon protected me, Nick, he looked out for me, and I looked out for him… even if I began to regret everything we did I didn't want it to change, not if it meant we couldn't be friends anymore."

Caressing his chin in thought, Nick utilized the momentary silence, "You got into the con-artist gig young and perhaps weren't fully taught the cardinal rule: don't fall for your own scam… or in your case, fall for your mark."

Ears went warm and red once again as Travis shrunk in stature, "It was… a confusing time for me. Gideon was the best friend I ever had, and I never understood that I shouldn't actually grow to care for him… but I did. After Carrot Days, we got word that the job was finished, and that when I graduated high school I could continue my education however I saw fit… I was so happy, because it meant I could tell Gideon how I really felt. But then… they took him away," choked Travis, and gripped his arm tighter to tremble, "He was gone for three weeks and I missed him so much… When he got back…" and slumped against Nick, "No… it was like he never did come back… The next time I saw him, he was bundled up in a hoodie and a turtleneck even though it was the middle of summer, sitting with his back wedged between the roots of a tree, whittling away at a block of wood until it was a splinter.

"I had it all planned out, how I would tell him at our favorite swimming spot, or where we picked the juiciest blackberries, or the whistling tree trunk… but he didn't want to do any of that. I tried to get him to take off the jacket by pulling on the hood, but then he screamed at me, and stared at me like I was some kind of monster… I don't remember all that we yelled at each other that day, until he told me to walk away first." Travis's voice went low as he rolled his head to rest on the fox's shoulder, eyes closed, "He said he would never show me his back again…"

I see… "Which, if I remember my mustelid culture correctly, is the sign of trust."

Travis opened his eyes, but he did not seem to focus on anything in particular, "I knew there was no hope for 'us' anymore, that somehow he found out what I did, about how I sold him out, so I tried to forget that I ever knew a 'Gideon Grey'… it was easier when I went to Brackwater High and he into the Lost Boys… they're a remedial class. I made what amends I could with Judy and the others he and I tormented at Woodlands; I thought things were going well for a while." His chin trembled as his whole body shook when he looked up at Nick, "And then the PredaTherp scandal broke, and all it meant when a predator went to 'therapy'… no one believed me, but I knew that's what happened to Gideon. I… I finally understood why he hated me so much… I was sick for a week after that…" Travis struggled to sit up and wipe his eyes on his wrists, "I couldn't stay in Bunnyburrow anymore, so when I graduated I went to Julliaardvark in Gnu York after collecting my Turkish Delights; and no, Nick, the irony isn't lost on me. The rest is, as they say, history."

"Until a few weeks ago," prompted the fox, Around the time Tad approached Gideon about hosting a pie-eating contest for the TBR.

A pause weighed on the bewildered, suspicious ferret, before he sighed his defeat and nodded, "…Yes. I thought it all behind me up until a few weeks ago when I received a call about a 'job'," and flicked his fingers in an air-quote, "The theatre was going through a dry spell at the time, so I was willing to hear it out… but at the mention of Gideon's name, I hung up immediately. No matter what they were paying, I just couldn't hurt him again." After a minute more, Travis seemed to have collected himself, running a paw through the short fur on his head, "In retrospect, I wish I got a name or something from the guy, maybe let the police know or warn Gideon about any trouble coming his way… but that would mean calling him."

"Heaven forbid."

"I was prepared to meet him again, Nick, I really was," Travis insisted, "I was prepared for profanity, screaming, sobbing, glaring, silence, claws… But when he hugged me, and laughed? What… what could I do?" he pleaded, and then wrung his paws together, "I guess shouldn't have taken it out on you, though. So… sorry."

Nick scratched behind an ear as he reached around to grasp the ferret's shoulder, "Don't worry about it, but I imagine you'll want to scamper before Gideon gets back, so I'll leave you with this one pearl: we both love Gideon, and weren't there to protect him when he needed us most, but we're here for him now. How's that work for you?"

The amber eyes, a bit brighter than they were before, scanned the fox half-embracing him, "I guess you really are his cousin, otherwise I've been reading you all wrong in the short time we've known each other."

Nick smirked, "I really am his cousin, and I challenge anyone to get a proper read on me," and clapped Travis's back before standing to usher him off, "Now mosey along, I'll cover for you."

Mildly staggered as he too stood, Travis took a few steps forward before looking over his shoulder, "…Thanks, Nick, I guess you never realize how much you have on your chest until you get it off. I have some… thinking to do… and fish to feed. See you later," and so retreated to the tree line, before stopping one last time and rubbing his arm, "I'd… appreciate it if you… if you didn't…"

"Travis, I'll impart another pearl of fox wisdom unto you: avoid situations with complicated explanations, most of all, having to explain your own secrets after they've been found out."

"…I'll keep that in mind," the ferret said, smiling some before disappearing.

Safely alone not only from anyone in his immediate vicinity, but from anyone remotely visible, Nick collapsed against the shady wall of the shack, heaving and panting and holding his head, That was a mistake… I shouldn't have brought Gid in on that, but what's done is done. At least he seemed happy… and I guess Travis got some absolution in exchange for information, so win-win-win. He propped up his arms on his knees and breathed deep several times, Maybe I should follow medical advice for once in my life and get some proper rest. Like right here, in this shady patch of grass… My gosh, it really is super soft… maybe I can close my eyes for a just bit- No! No, bad Nicky. I still have to cover for Travis, and then I can sleep. With a lurch, he made to stand up again but fell forward onto Gideon's awaiting back.

"And hup," said Gideon as he hoisted the sack of flour that was his cousin, paws securely hooked under the taller fox's knees.

Nick grunted his understandable confusion, finding it a staunch challenge to keep his eyelids up, much less his head, and therefore powerless to prevent it from resting against the other head nearby. "I… what…?" asked Nick, attempting to peer through his leaden haze at the fact that he was ambulant, yet immobile.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," said Bo, a strong mitt clapping to the lankier back, "Found you napping face down in the grass," he explained, "A very compromising position, Gloves, someone could've walked up and snagged your phone or wallet but you'd never be the wiser until it was too late. It's a good thing we found you first."

Sweet cheese and crackers… dreaded Nick, conjuring up one of his most self-chastising admonishments, "Okay, thanks, but I can walk just fine," he slurred.

"Before that, try lifting your tail," challenged Bo. When an efforted grunt was all the fox could manage to keep his crimson bushiness from dragging, the rabbit reached his conclusion, "That's what I thought. You are going to the first aid tent for some proper sleep; doctor's orders."

"Lanny's a nurse," he argued, or tried to.

"Close enough, and he got his sleep before pouncing off to save your sorry tail, so you're gonna do the same," rebutted Gideon, "But since you're awake, you can tell me what happened to Travis. You didn't scare him off, did ya'?"

Ugh, this is high school all over again… and the police academy… and that one time at Haymarket… "Fish," muttered Nick.

"'Fish'?"

"Exotic fish, high-maintenance… Look, I have his number and will give it to you later, okay?"

Gideon scoffed and then berated Bo, "I told you we didn't need all that rigamarole with the pictures! Now thanks to them, I missed catching up with someone I haven't seen in years."

"Documentation is crucial in these events," Bo shot back, "Besides, you know where he lives, so just go visit him next chance you get."

"Well… I guess," he accepted with a huff, before berating Nick, "And you stop squirming, unless you wanna be dragged by your tail."

It really would be like Haymarket, then… "Fine, fine, I'll behave." With that, Nick sagged on the shirted, less sweaty back which he was carried, pressing closer so that his arms weren't propped up so uncomfortably and bobbing along in front of him, like the sort of shambling ghoul that he most certainly felt, but rather let to dangle down Gideon's chest and cross over to a loose hold. It was difficult to stay awake, much less alert, but Nick gradually conceded to the idea that any attempts on his well-being would be thusly countered by the two burly tractor-pullers ready to protect him, and allowed himself to relax.

Gideon grunted and shrugged to get a better grip, "I said stop squirming, not stop living."

"Make up your mind, sheesh."

"It's that tent right there, Hoss," Bo pointed out, "I'll go on ahead and make sure there's a bed for him," and so ran off with a quick pitter-patter.

At the groaning chuckle of his valiant steed, Nick couldn't help but smirk, "'Hoss', huh."

"Yeah…" admitted Gideon, the roll of his eyes nearly audible, "I'm not sure Bo quite gets the whole 'nickname' thing, but he was tellin' other bunnies that it's what foxes do, and I guess they think he's a 'fox expert', so it's sticking. Dunno where he got such an idea."

Nick recalled when he churned the bunny's mental gears after teasing him with the implied spiritual weight of nicknames, "What a mystery it is."

"I had to come up with one for him, of course…"

"And?"

Gideon sighed louder, "I went with 'Chuck'."

"Esther called him that yesterday."

"I know, I know, but he seemed happy enough with it, and now I gotta call him 'Chuck'."

"I mean… you can still call him 'Bo', if you want. Nicknames aren't legally binding… at least I don't think they are. They aren't, right?"

"They might be for bunnies, but he'll be expecting it ev'rytime he calls me 'Hoss', and tha's what jiggers me most. I s'pose I could've come up with something better, but we just finished the tractor pull and that was the best I had."

"How'd that go, anyway?"

"Oh, I won!" Gideon beamed, "And I got me a pretty blue ribbon in my pocket to prove it, too."

"I knew you could do it," Nick commended drowsily, "but for the record, how did you win, exactly?"

"Well, you know what I said was the finish line? It's actually what they call a 'concession line', because it's a race for distance; they re-explained the rules to me afterwards. Bo gets to the line first to discourage the other puller into giving up, like a mind game."

"That's… actually pretty sly for a bunny."

"I know, right? Well, he did that sure enough, but I went through all the trouble of getting into that harness, and even though I figured I'd already lost I was gonna at least clear the start line. Bo saw me truckin' and got all excited so he kept pulling to jump ahead of me, and then I'd go a little further, and so on until all I had to do was outlast him, but even then it weren't easy, no sir. And then I won."

"Sounds to me that congratulations are in order," yawned Nick, while still expressing as much sincere interest as he could.

"Thanks," chuckled Gideon, "It's my first ever award, too, at least for a competition; gonna put that right up in my bakery. And jus' wait 'til Ma, Pa, and Essy find out. Especially Essy," he grinned from ear-to-ear quite impishly, "I know for certain that none of her awards are for tractor-pullin'," and then glimpsed over his shoulder again to grin, but perhaps less impishly, "Hey Stretch, d'you think I might have a shot at winnin' more strength contests? Never really thought about it before, but I built myself a fair bit of muscle doin' carpentry with Pa, and maybe if I convince Bo to help me work out-" but stopped in both speech and pace at the steady, quiet breath of sleep in his ear, and so snickered, "If I was borin' you that much, you coulda just told me." Gideon took a quick glance about before whispering over his shoulder, "I don't know if you Wildes do this, but it's something us Greys do…" and craned his neck for a light lick on his cousin's cheek. Nick's mouth pinched in a momentary grin before Gideon ducked through the first aid tent flap to the hospital bed within…

---

It was a cold day, as all days were. Not a day was not cold since the time of the ancestors… if anyone knew of warm days it was not them or any child, grandchild, or great-grandchild of theirs. Warmth only came from home and family… for those that had a home… for those that had a family.

Mr. Fox had a home but no family, so the duck he caught could feed him for a month, so long as he got it back to his den, which was a long way off from where he caught it. With the fowl secured in a sack and his crossbow slung over a shoulder, Mr. Fox trudged through the snow, the snowflakes that drifted down settling on the sickly, grayish-red shag of his fur, and the smoky rags he wore. He looked up to the bleak slate of the sky, still clinging to the echoes of a tale he heard as a kit, that the sun would come to walk amongst them again, as it was said to do in time immemorial. But those were tales for kits, cubs, and pups to give them just enough hope to grow up… to pass it onto their own children… to live another cold day…

Along the way, he came upon Mrs. Wolf, who howled and cried in the snow over a stone, which she decorated with flowers made of dyed linen. She begged, "My pup, my pup, have you seen my pup?" to which Mr. Fox answered:

"I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,

but there is no pup, ma'am, no pup I have seen…"

Mrs. Wolf cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Mr. Tiger, who growled and cried in the snow over a stone, which he decorated with charms he'd counted. He begged, "My cub, my cub, have you seen my cub?" to which Mr. Fox answered:

"I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,

but there is no cub, sir, no cub I have seen…"

Mr. Tiger cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Ms. Fox, who cried without tears in the snow over a stone, which she did not decorate but held tight. She begged, "My kit, my kit, have you seen my kit?" to which Mr. Fox answered:

"I've been from there to here, and ev'rywhere between,

but there is no kit, ma'am, no kit I have seen…"

Ms. Fox cried again and began to dig. So, off went Mr. Fox until he returned to his den in the knotted roots of a tree. There were many who had lost a kit, cub, or pup to either the cold or the dark, but Mr. Fox had no kits to lose, and so kept to himself. He set a coal into his stove for warmth to dress and prepare his catch for the month ahead, and when finished sat himself down for tea but was soon stirred by a knock on his door. His den was well hidden, and the door doubly so, so he practiced caution in answering, peeking out through the barest crack to find Ms. Rabbit, sickly and garbed in smoky rags, as were all who lived in those cold days.

She asked, "My fox, my fox; have you seen, my fox?"

He poked his nose through the door to look about, "What should I have seen?"

She asked, "My fox, my fox; have you heard, my fox?"

He poked his head through the door to listen about, "What should I have heard?"

She asked, "My fox, my fox; do you know, my fox?"

He stepped out from the door, "What should I have known?"

She asked, "My fox, my fox… Why, my fox?" with a voice softer than the snowfall and stronger than the tree's roots. So, off she went into the cold, but there awaiting her was Mr. Lion, who with Ms. Rabbit looked at Mr. Fox and did what none other could those days: they smiled. Paw-in-paw, as though she were his cub, they walked towards the east, where it is said that if one looked hard enough they could see the sun heralding its fabled return from behind the mountains…

---

Nick jolted awake but not from a nightmare, his green eyes aglow in the dim light as he breathed steadily, newly energized by a thorough sleep and a fading dream, his brain buzzing in the creative flair of a fresh mind. His attention snapped towards a figure sitting in a chair on the other side of a bedside table, and then spun about in the temporary sleeping arrangements to face the fox wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a low-knotted necktie, who then glanced up from a phone - Nick's phone - with a surly passivity. "Dawson!" Nick exclaimed quietly, and scooted forward until he could sit on the edge of the bed with excited gesticulations, "It's a good thing you're here, because I think I figured out-"

"Stretch, I'm gonna stop you right there before you choke on your own foot," Gideon said curtly.

Nick stared and frowned, fingers out in explanation before they curled in with both indexes pointed, "Appreciated. So… you worked out the necktie, I see."

"Yep."

"And… I've been asleep for a few hours, then?" he assumed, glancing at the shadows creeping up the tent walls.

"Only an hour or two off from sunset."

"Anything… happen while I was out?"

"You got some texts, dunno from who, though, and… Travis called… said a bit more than you did before realizing it was me," he answered soberly, "Was in quite a state, too… he's gotten kinda dramatic over the years, hasn't he?"

"You could say that."

Gideon chuckled, "I kinda like it. We talked for a bit… for a while, actually," and looked significantly at his cousin.

Sighing a heavy sigh, Nick responded, "Probably about what happened when you were kits?" and to a nod, continued, "I'm glad I was asleep for that conversation… He told me about it while you were at the tractor pull… he did have fish to look after, Bangs, but he also needed to work a few things out."

"Yeah… I s'pose it was best you didn't say anything, all things considered… you were barely awake as it was," and scratched his neck, "I really ain't sure what to make of it… I'm as happy as a robin in spring to hear from my best friend again… but findin' out what he did… Which when paired with how he felt about me…" and his ears warmed, "It's jus'… I ain't sure, is all." He extended an arm to return Nick his phone, "I still want to be friends with him, of course, and gave him my number, and he's with someone, so there's no… ya'know… anything lingering there. We're jus' gonna… start from square one, as it were."

Nick lifted a leg to prop his elbow on a knee, smirking, "You were right, though."

"What about?"

"Travis really was, and is, a true friend, which you can lord over Grav until kingdom come."

Gideon gave this some thought, and then snickered, "Yeah… wipe that smug grin right off his face with it, too," and sighed a happy sigh, "Oh! I got a call from Essy, and she's bein' escorted here by Bo, who, by the way, I got to see all geared up in his Burrow Watch duds before he left, and lookin' pretty snappy, too. I mean, it ain't really a uniform, not like a cop," and gestured appropriately, "but it's presentable. So, uhh… you were about to tell 'Dawson' about something you 'figured out'?"

"Oh… right, I was going to do that, wasn't I," admitted Nick.

"D'you… wanna re-think what you were gonna say, now that you know I ain't him?" smirked Gideon.

Nick hummed in thought, and looked at his phone while chewing his lip, "Actually, I think it should wait until Esther and Bo arrive. Think you can handle the anticipation?"

The baker shrugged with a casually disinterested grin, "I wouldn't mind a breather between revelations."

"Such a good sport," said Nick as he smirked, and unlocked his phone to check on the text messages he was said to receive, "Alright, let's see if anyone else wants our heads on a platter…" and hummed in thought, "Mom wonders if I still like curry… of course I do…" and typed out a quick message in reply.

"I can't wait to meet Aunt Jackie and Uncle John," grinned Gideon, "D'you think they'll come out here, or should we go into the city?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Right, right… dastardly plans and all that."

"This one's from T-Mobull," said Nick dismissively as he continued onto the next text message, "And th-" he stopped, and glanced up to Gideon for a moment, "This one's from Captain Kela," but then remembered that his cousin wouldn't know who that is, as evidenced by the confused eyes searching for some answer on the tent walls. "He's the alpha of the ZPD's wolf pack, of which I am the omega of," Nick explained, and at the stouter fox's wide-eyed amazement, continued, "No doubt one of his wolves is a plainclothes cop keeping an eye on the exits of Knotash, and about… fifteen minutes ago spotted a helicopter leave its airspace. Best he can figure, it's headed for Bunnyburrow."

Gideon's jaw about hit the floor, and it was all he could manage to not shriek out in exultation, "Jude swiped a copter!" he gleed as quietly as possible, beaming from ear-to-ear with elating paws balled up against the underside of his plush cheeks.

"'Jude commandeered a copter'," Nick calmly corrected, "And let's not get ahead of ourselves, we cannot assume anything when it comes to Magnus; I'm surer of that more now than ever. Come, dear cousin, we'll rendezvous with our fellow conspirators and see what we can uncover about this wayward whirlybird," he instructed. Nick leapt to the tent opening to push and hold up the heavy curtain to allow Gideon through, only to find that he had visitors sitting patiently in a set of chairs on the other side.

Bo sprung up from his seat, no longer in the remnants of his laundry but in a clean collared shirt of the ranger's forest green, ironed and tucked into a pair of similarly colored trousers, neatly pressed and held up by a utility belt, on which a walkie-talkie hung dutifully. He certainly seemed happy for the inclusion of less prickly company.

Someone who did not spring up was Esther, remaining cool (quite cold, actually, though perhaps not because of how she was dressed) in her charcoal, ladies' jeans, legs crossed tightly with hardly a motion in her still colorful toes; her arms were similarly, tightly crossed over a lavender v-neck. Contrasting it all was how her bangs were tidily combed and brushed over to one side that it might partially cover the right half of her face if let to hang, but were instead pinned up by a vibrant, beaded barrette of rose reds and jade greens (no doubt something she picked up from a festival vendor).

"Oh, hey guys, didn't know you were here," greeted Gideon as he stepped out, "How long've you been waiting?"

Bo answered, "Only a few min-"

"All day," Esther succinctly cut in, to which Nick flinched, stuck in place holding the tent flap open. She did not glance up from whatever it was she stared at across the first aid tent, and hardly moved a muscle or flicked an ear at the stony silence that was the wake of her declaration.

The rabbit, along with the taller fox, were both frozen solid with the fur of their napes pointed to the ceiling, but Gideon - as is the case with tods to their close vixen relations - was resistant to her wiles and so able to challenge her assertion, "C'mon, Essy, it can't've been more than-"

"All. Day," she enunciated, and that time glared at Nick with icy blue eyes, head hardly a degree turned more than necessary to catch him cringing in her sights.

With his composure refreshed (if newly, severely tested), Nick whispered to Gideon, "I'll, uh… I'll take care of this. You and Bo find out about that helicopter."

"We'll meet up at the picnic table behind the med tent," he collaborated.

And then Nick said aloud in his most polite manner, "Ms. Grey, the doctor will see you now," while holding the tent flap open a little higher with an ushering sweep of his paw. Esther uncrossed her legs but not her arms as she rose to full height to stride past Bo and her brother, disappearing inside the secluded room; Nick sagged and muted a sigh when her back turned, and then followed in after.

Bo's ears were pinned back as he watched her feet go by, only looking up when it was him and Gideon. "Will Nick be okay by himself?" he quietly asked and nodded at the tent flap, idly cracking one knuckle of his paw and then another, "Esther's really scary, and as soon as I said he was awake, she-" but stopped as the baker promptly ushered him out of the medical tent.

"Her eyes ain't gray, so he's fine," the fox said with his own manner of conversational succinctness as he kept his paws around the rabbit's broad shoulders to continue insisting their combined departure. The instant Bo's ears sprung up and pointed in the direction of Nick and Esther, Gideon quickly clapped his paws over them instead and kept ushering until they were around the back and at the agreed upon meeting spot, "They've got fox stuff to smooth out, so no eavesdroppin'. Besides, we've got more important things to do."

"Like what?" doubted the rabbit, paws on his hips as he arched a brow, standing outside in the waning afternoon to study the more excited fox, who then stooped and pulled Bo into a huddle with a paw blocking his mouth secretively. Hazel eyes darted about before stepping closer, even putting his paw against Gideon's back (and finding that the fox didn't even flinch when he did), "I thought whispering wasn't needed any more."

"Take nothing for granted," whispered Gideon, and after a nod from the bunny, continued, "Nick got a message from his wolf buddies in the city, about how a copter flew outta Knotash and is heading here right now. Now, I've seen a copter or two land in Bunnyburrow from time-to-time, but we need to find out where it's goin', and who's on it."

Brown ears pinned back at such news, before swiveling forward and brow knitting in thought, "'Where' should be easy, there are only two helipads I can think of in Bunnyburrow: the main one at the general hospital in the town proper, and another at the hospital in Preds' Corner, in case of emergencies that can only be taken care of in the city. Since it's at least two-hour flight, there's always an itinerary; someone in the Watch should know about that," he said and slipped out of the huddle to unclip his walkie-talkie, "I'll get on the horn and find out; shouldn't be much more than a few minutes."

Gideon took a step back as the Watch member spoke his radio-code, and then crossed his arms and had himself a seat at the picnic table, looking off towards the darkening sky of the east where Zootopia's twilight radiance was already influencing the heavens.

"Well," said Bo, yanking the fox from his reverie as he, too, sat adjacently at the table, "I sent out the call and should hear back ASAP, but the best I'll get is a confirmation of where it's landing and where it came from, not a passenger manifest."

"Tha's okay," grinned Gideon, "We'll give all that info to Nick and he'll figure it out, sly fox like him, probably even deduce what they're wearing," he chuckled, "But I'd bet my tail Judy's on it, prob'ly flying it, too."

The rabbit considered this, "I don't know if she has a license to pilot a helicopter, but she might've gotten someone else to fly it for her. She's always been really likeable, easy to make friends with," he said with a smile, which turned into a smirk, "So I'll bet my foot that she won someone over to aid her."

Gideon smirked back, "You're on, Chuck," and held out his paw, to which Bo grasped and shook it, "Judy's on that copter, but we'll see if she's flyin' it or not," and then canted his head to the suddenly nervous rabbit ears scanning the area, "'Swrong?"

"I… thought I heard a howl… except distant, or very quiet," and Bo gave his shoulders a shake, "It was probably someone at the festival, or the wind," and allowed a smiling scoff, "Look at me, jumping at noises; guess I'm still spooked by the idea of the Gravedigger, even if it was only a mimic…"

"Hey now, there's no shame in gettin' spooked, all things considered," advised Gideon, "Can't deny that Doug Ramses shoots sharp enough, Gravedigger or not." He then lifted his head with ears flicked, spotting movement from beneath the tent's wall as a pair of foxes in notably good spirits ducked into view, and so Gideon made his observation, "I'd say you two smoothed things out, huh?"

"All is forgiven," Esther in a singsong tone.

"And I'll be sure to be more mindful in the future and avoid the need for so thorough an apology," abided Nick.

"Or not," she cooed, and he leered.

Bo's ears pivoted before he did and bit back anything he was about to say as the taller fox and the vixen seated themselves at the table. Hazel eyes darted back and forth between them, "You know, you two weren't really out of earshot…"

"Why, whatever are you talking about, Chuck?" Esther innocently asked.

"We made amends in a culturally fox-like manner," explained Nick.

Bo, however, would only narrow his eyes at them and pout, "Mazel tov, but was it really the time or place for that?"

"You're right," Nick immediately responded with a clap to the table, "celebrations are best left until after Judy's return," and the earthen-brown rabbit nodded, paused, and then pinned his warming ears back. "So, Punch, it sounds to me that you've got some concrete answers bout that helicopter."

With an awkward clearing of the throat, the Watch member minutely adjusted his walkie-talkie, "That's… pending."

"Good to know we're not idle," commented Esther.

"No point in us sittin' around pent," said Gideon, "Stretch, what'd you figure out?"

"Ah yes, the big question of the weekend as asked by Judy: 'Why Gideon?'," Nick began with a gesture, and to the bewilderment of the named fox pointing at himself, continued, "To which Grav so graciously jabbed, though I did not know it at the time, the answer: 'Convenience', and perhaps even an apt modifier, 'mostly'."

Esther bristled while muttering under her breath, "And it stirs my pot as much now as it does when I heard about it last night…"

"You mean for the TBR, right?" asked Bo.

"Actually," Nick said with care, "this is about events leading up to the Carrot Days Festival from sixteen years ago."

"I… Yes, I do remember hearing about that," said the rabbit, "Gid scratched Judy, the older bunnies said 'Enough was enough', sent him to therapy, and then expelled him from Woodlands, and that's that, right?"

The table sobered drastically before Gideon spoke up, much to his elders' surprise, "It was a bit more than a slap on the wrists," he explained, claws raking his forearm for an instant.

"We won't go into details," Esther followed, and reached over the table to touch her brother's paw, "but it was more a punishment than any kind of help, one 'disproportionate to his transgression', to turn a phrase… we've only recently discovered how truly brutal it was."

"You know it ain't therapy when you need a therapist for it afterwards," Gideon said with a trying grin.

The rabbit sat in shock, before turning on Nick, "And that happened because it was 'convenient'?"

"If I may?" pressed Nick, and when he once more had the floor, "Thank you. When I say 'convenient', I'm being ironic because Gideon's path to pred-therapy was anything but; quite the opposite, it took a lot of setup to get him there. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I can smell a con a mile off and everything I've heard about what happened back then stinks to high heaven," he snarled, and then continued professionally, "The best hustle is one that goes undetected and unsuspected, and were it not for the truly diabolical ends and means, I - as a former hustler - would admire its masterful execution, but my moral compass is since stronger than that," he grinned. "However, even the best cons leave behind breadcrumbs in the form of coincidences, which only those in the know, like myself, could even recognize as more than mere happenstance:

"When I hear that a kit is sent off to pred therapy for scratching somebunny's face not in a few days' time, but the next morning, I assume there are shenanigans afoot; I don't care how unnervingly efficient rabbits are, those types of decisions and arrangements are not made in an afternoon, unless they were prepared beforehand. Coincidence number one.

"By his own admittance, Grav Hopps purposefully wound Gideon's crank and kept him on edge for the express purpose of 'bringing out his predatory nature', a fox who by all accounts should have been a regular Winston Poohbear-"

"'Cept I didn't care for honey as a kit," Gideon broke in.

"Really?" started Nick, grunted, and then continued, "Anyway, a bully was made out of our plush pushover," to which Gideon snorted at the identifying wave, "by the son of Clea Hopps, or as she was known during her stint as pred therapy's head shrink, Dr. Cleopatra Lapis. Coincidence number two."

Bo scratched behind an ear in thought, but was otherwise quiet.

"I could name a few mammals I've heard of over the years that came out of pred therapy bone-chillingly different to how they went in," Nick said, and then folded his paws on the table to look at, though not address, a nervous Gideon, "But I can only name two who've undergone such a change prior, which makes his circumstances coincidence number three."

"'His'…" repeated Esther, "You're talking about Xander Pounceski, aren't you? That tiger from the Cliffside patient records last night."

"The very same," confirmed Nick, "According to his nephew Tyler, Xander wasn't always a criminal, even though he did have a rough upbringing, made a lot of bad choices, and was known to fly off the handle, especially when cider was involved. After losing his job, his mate, and almost losing his life, he begged for a second chance from his brother, Tyler's father, and boy howdy, Xander crawled the long road to turning his life around; got professional help, became a loving uncle, landed a job in a small accounting firm, even found a prospective new mate. For years he was clean, sober, respectable… until out of the blue he was snapping at the smallest things, keeping untoward company, withholding secrets from his loved ones, all very unusual behavior for him that was explained away as 'falling off the wagon'. A few short weeks later, he was caught embezzling, laundering money, cooking the books, you name it, and wound up in pred-therapy rather than face long overdue prison time for his sordid past."

Gideon ran a paw through his bangs, "But… this 'Xander' fellow already had skeletons in his closet, it sounds like."

"Getting a predator into therapy, unless they volunteer for whatever reason, is a complicated process," Esther explained, and looked pointedly to Nick, "There has to be proof that they are a threat to society due to their biology, not their circumstances."

"I'm glad to hear we're all on the same page," commended Nick, "It wouldn't take much for Xander to lose everything he worked so hard to rebuild, especially if it meant he could 'opt for a lesser punishment'," and quoted the air, "Truth be told, even 'volunteers' have to 'prove'," he continued to air-quote, "that something as extreme as pred therapy will do the trick, whether from something in their own history or… something more genetic."

"Blue, I can't help but feel that you're drawing certain parallels that I'm none too comfortable with," remarked Esther, joining her brother in mild, anticipatory glowering.

Nick first glanced away, and then spoke to both Grey foxes as carefully and maturely as he deemed necessary, "There isn't a lot I know about my aunt and uncle, an oversight which I look forward to correcting as soon as they return on Thursday, but there are specifics that garnered my attention. Esther, you've no doubt considered what would motivate a father to run cross-country from his homeland with his newborn kit," he said, and hesitated to continue as if standing on the threshold of permission. Her fingers curled into loose fists, exchanging a pursed-lip glance with Gideon, before she nodded her permission. Nick tread carefully, "What I say next is only speculation, but something happened in Goliath's past, something he escaped from… and by my modest geo-political knowledge, likely saved you from… Maybe it was the trigger of his exodus, I can only surmise on that point, but something was surely used as leverage against him," and then looked to Gideon.

"Was Pa blackmailed?" dreaded the stouter fox.

"I do not think directly, no," paused Nick.

"So what did happen?" asked Esther.

"You said that Greys' emotions run right under the fur, correct?" recalled the taller fox, to which the vixen seemed unsure to feign indignation or rationalize an offhanded comment, "If - and I must stress this 'if' - Goliath had any history of violence in his youth, like Xander, but as I also recall was said, a strict ethos of nonviolence, then I wouldn't doubt that a cunning, resourceful psychiatrist like Clea Hopps had the means to cast a shadow of a doubt as to how his son would develop. Something like a newly marred bunny, for example, wouldn't take a lot to convince a bunch of rabbits of what 'needed to be done', quote/unquote," and then turned to Bo, "No offense."

"But Pa never hit anyone," argued Gideon, "and I was doin' jus' fine until Grav came along!"

"What exactly are you insinuating here?" inquised Esther.

"Only that you can tell a lot about a mammal based on their friends and habits, or in this case, the fact that Clea is mated to Magnus Hopps, a rabbit who has the Gravedigger's ilk on his payroll," Nick answered sternly, "Hiring that type of expertise means you agree with the methods: longterm, meticulous setup to strike at an opportune moment such that no one suspects your involvement. Goliath had a pressure point that could be exploited, perhaps to prevent the asking of too many questions when they came to take his son away for three weeks, and indeed, no questions were asked then or when he returned, either. That's why the Grey family was chosen to swipe a kit from, and not any of the other fox or predator families available at the time."

"Really, Stretch…" doubted Gideon.

"That's an understatement," huffed Bo.

Nick's brow quirked patiently, "Okay, farm boys, time for some critical thinking: before you sow the seeds, you need to plow the dirt, but before you do that the field has to be cleared, correct? It not only has to be prepared, but there are conditions for the land itself before farming happens. So, riddle me this: when did Grav show up on the playground? Anyone?"

The table was either resistant to answer, or opted to answer eventually after a quick count on the fingers, but then Esther spoke up in the silence with an almost dawning lilt in her voice, "It was little more than twenty years ago…?"

Nick clicked his tongue and flicked an approving finger, "What else was happening around that time?"

"Aside from the TBR, it can't have been too long after Simon King went missing," she answered, and grimaced, "Blue, I really hope I'm wrong about this, but judging by the look on your face, I think I just stepped into the same realm of crazy as you did."

"I'm sure you remember how things were before the Kings spearheaded Zootopian's child protection laws."

"Of course I do, it came with my studying law history," she replied and looked to the younger mammals at the table, "I wouldn't say it was anything so dramatic as an 'epidemic', but there

was definitely a persistent 'rash' of missing children in previous generations. Those that were lost were either runaways, orphans, delinquents, or some combination thereof, and came from families without the means to search beyond their neighborhoods, or hit investigative dead ends and cold trails," and then looked at her brother, "Trisha Rose, for example, would have been another statistic some decades ago."

To which Nick picked up, "When Simon and Ryan were cubnapped right off the King's ranch, but only Ryan was recovered entirely by chance, it shook the upper crust of Zootopia when they realized that even Memphis and Sarah, the brown sugar sitting on top, weren't immune to such tragedy; I'm also sure that Tim O'Nare's spirited tirade aided in this revelation. So, you have Zootopian aristocracy scrambling to safeguard their own children and you get trickle-down legislation pushing revamped protection laws through City Hall, the voice of the populace

rises up in the ballot box, and democracy shines through the metropolis once again." He then steepled and drummed his fingers together to glance over them at the fox and rabbit sitting on the other side of the table, "But what about out in the country, like Bunnyburrow, or even further out in Preds' Corner?"

"It's ironic that Bunnyburrow was scoured to find Simon, yet didn't feel the full impact of those new child protection laws," sighed Esther, "but when you don't have as high a population per square-foot (at least outside of the bunny community), not to mention the geographical distance from the city, it's no surprise that those new laws weren't upheld as strictly," and then arched a brow at Nick, "Which, unless I'm mistaken, segways into the point you're meandering to."

Nick dropped his cheeks into his palms to pout, "Everything's set up in their favor, but I've yet figure out why they did it."

"'Why'… what?" questioned Bo, "You already figured out 'why', that's what you've been on about this whole time, isn't it?"

Nick's paws moved to the top of his head as his chin plopped to the table, "I know why it was Gideon, but not why Magnus and Clea needed a kit - or any child, really - in pred-therapy in the first place. Having the suspect and the murder weapon is great and all, but without a motive or placing them at the scene of the crime, it all amounts to another heaping pile of circumstantial evidence," he grumbled in newly blossomed apathy, "Maybe I'm just chasing my own tail on this…" As Esther rubbed his back consolingly, he sighed, "If I had some direct connection between them and Gideon or even the Grey family, it'd be something to go on."

"Maybe they're connected to one of those three bunnies that sent me off in the first place?" postulated Gideon, "Except I wouldn't know 'em if I tripped over 'em…"

"And I never got their names," lamented Esther, "There was this… really fat one, looked like a marshmallow that's been held over a campfire too long-"

"But not all the way burnt," finished Gideon, "Yeah, I think he was the one in charge. Gosh, he was stone-cold serious… not like a s'mores at all…"

"And that lady with the glass eye," shivered Esther, "It still gives me the creeps, every time I think about it…"

"Or that really old bunny with the speaker in his throat," said Gideon, and tapped at the bottom of his neck.

Bo scratched behind his other ear, and then spoke up, "Gloves, that thing you said about coincidences…" he began, if doubtfully, and looked between the Grey foxes, "I could be wrong on this, but I think you just described the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board," to which Nick's ears perked.

Gideon flinched and knitted his brow, "My fate was decided by a buncha party planners?" he about growled.

"They do more than festivals, Hoss," rebutted Bo, "the 'Board' acts as a sort of… council of elders, I guess. I saw their pictures every now-and-again while setting up in the past week or so, but from what I heard, two of them died some years ago, and the only one remaining is Reggie Hopps. I recognized him when he came by my hospital room last night, the really fat one that looked like a s'mores, but he was warm and soft when I met him. Turns out he's been on sabbatical for a few years, and only came back to town recently for the TBR."

Esther frowned her incredulity, "How have I never known about him until this weekend? He's Judy's grandfather, for crying out loud, and prolific."

"Clearly, he doesn't want to be 'known about'," observed Nick under his breath.

"Ya'know… I don't think I've ever seen his picture up in the Hopps house…" Gideon considered, "Come to think of it, Stu was never too talkative about him, either, and if ever there was a 'grandpa', it was always Pop-Pop."

Bo blinked and looked between them, "You didn't know?" and at confused shrugging or shaking of the head, "Stu left the city when he was, like, fourteen or something. Unlike Judy, he wanted to be a carrot farmer, but-" and was harshly interrupted by the electronic cough of his walkie-talkie.

"Boulder come in, over."

"This is Boulder," the rabbit replied hastily, and after a momentary scramble, "What's the word, over."

"Got your ask on whirlygig, over."

"Go ahead, over."

"Set to land in Brambles, over."

"Roger that," smiled Bo, looking up at the rest of the table, and then licked his lips in an eager attempt, "Who's flying, over?"

"Mr. Lucky, over."

Bo's eyes spread wide as he gulped, "Say again, over."

"Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, repeat, Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, over."

"B-Blest be," he said weakly, "Over and out." Bo hooked the radio back onto his belt before addressing the three foxes staring raptly at him. "I don't think it's Judy flying in from Knotash," he managed to say, his throat audibly dry, "Unless she found a way to get onto the helicopter of Felix Oswald Lapis."

Nick sat upright with a thoughtful hum and sweep of his tail, "Well…" he said, "If ever a fox needs a confidence booster, tell him his crazy plan came to fruition."

"The Lookers!" said the Grey siblings in unison.

"Looks like I got his attention after all," smirked the taller fox, "Judy must be playing the long game, no doubt gathering as much information as she can in her 'gilded cage' before the twenty-four hour time limit at 4AM tomorrow. We, on the other paw, are tasked with receiving the good Felix properly."

The earthen-brown bunny groaned at such an assessment.

"What, I thought this Felix was a super swell kinda guy?" Nick questioned.

"He is," Bo answered, "It's just that… from what I know, Felix Lapis only makes trips out to Bunnyburrow in extraordinary circumstances outside of routine visits, and never once has he ever landed in Preds' Corner, that I can remember, except to talk to the residents about that Caribouan Cruise. The Lookers must be causing something awful for the Knotash bunnies staying there, and when he finds out that you brought them in just to get him out here…?"

"Relax, I'll handle it," grinned Nick, "How long until he lands?"

"Another hour-and-a-half, maybe a little more."

"Then we don't have a lot of time to prepare…" the taller fox stated, and pivoted with a leap to his feet, before holding a formal palm to Esther.

"Prepare for what?" she asked, accepting the gesture to stand beside him, and studied his face an instant before her own tail flicked, "Bless my soul, Mr. Wilde, I daresay you're up to some manner of mischief."

"And you don't intend to stop me, I hope?"

"Only if I don't get to play part in it," smirked Esther.

"Wait," urged Bo, standing up as well, paws on the table.

"Hey, hey," pouted Gideon as he sauntered about to stand near them, "There'll be no 'manner of mischief' goin' on-"

"Thank you," breathed the rabbit.

"Unless I'm part of it, too," and joined in the smirking.

"No," groaned Bo, promptly following the trio of foxes walking away from their rendezvous and towards the adjacent parking lot, giving the designated ambulance driveway a wide berth, either Grey listening in and inputting on the quick exposition as detailed by Nick. The rabbit's ears only caught sparse phrases as he bounded forward to catch up, even vaulting in front of them with his shoulders squared as authoritatively as possible, "I cannot allow mischief to just happen, especially when the Felix is involved!"

Green, smiling eyes glimpsed from one set of blues to the other, before alighting on hard hazels, "Punch, you trust me, right?" asked Nick, folding his paws in front of him, and when the stony front wavered a slight degree, "Then you should know… should feel at the very core of your being that I only want Judy's safe return, and justice for what happened to Gideon. Right?"

Bo's face scrunched as he glanced down and to the side, "Yeah…"

"Then whatever I have planned is, ultimately, geared towards those two goals, logically speaking," Nick concluded, "Therefore, the good Felix has nothing to fear from a little… lighthearted 'mischief', a little fox hospitality, nothing more."

Brown fists unclenched to perch firmly on his hips before Bo answered, "This… will be kind of like bantering, then?"

"Only to find out if he's on the up-and-up," assured Nick, "After all, we are dealing with a mated pair of conniving, ruthless manipulators, who've already proven themselves not only willing and capable of committing atrocities without earning so much as a sidelong glance, but having already done so before they ever came to Bunnyburrow. Allow me a conversation with Felix Lapis, and I'll find out if he's in with them or not."

Bo's shoulders squared higher as he inhaled sharply, and released his breath upon realizing he held it, "I can't just look the other way on this, you know that…"

"I never said you should," he shrugged with an easy smile, "Did I, Bangs?"

"We'd best have the Burrow Watch's top fox expert keeping an eye on us, of course, to make sure we stay outta trouble," added Gideon.

"It would be the responsible thing to do," agreed Esther, "and goodness knows, we could use the extra help to make sure it goes as smoothly and legitly as possible."

"How about it, Punch?" grinned Nick, holding out a paw, "You in?"

Bo stared at the palm, and then looked up, "If it'll bring Judy back," he resolved, and grasped the fox's paw, "But… what connection did Magnus and Clea have to Gideon, to do what you said they did?"

Nick grasped the paw a moment before folding both of his behind his back, and strode forward as he spoke, "I figured it was obvious: Grav wanted to meet the 'monster' he heard that foxes were, so Clea used him to turn Gideon into one; years later, Reggie learns that that same fox scratches his granddaughter's face and Clea provides the means to 'cure him of his predatory nature', along with any inherited predisposition towards violence she could exaggerate from four years of bullying and a father with a mysterious past. Magnus no doubt supplied her the resources and bunny-power to find out everything she needed to know to make all that happen, and being Reggie's son, likely had his ear on certain matters and maybe even stressed immediate action. As to 'why', well…" he said darkly, and then addressed no one directly, "Do I want to go through the laundry list of unspeakable crimes children have been known to be kidnapped for?"

"No," asserted Esther, "I plan to sleep sometime this month, thank you."

And so Nick continued, "Magnus can tell us himself when we land him in the slammer for his most recent assortment of villainy, and if he is exploiting Hexward for such, then I don't doubt that the Felix would be more than happy to be rid of him, provided he's not in on it himself."

"Could they really do all that?" dreaded Bo.

"Like he said, they've likely done it before" Esther said forlornly, "at least once we can assume with Xander Pounceski, but who knows how many lives they've ruined. Clea's a disgrace to the mental health profession, and the damage her predator therapy has done to the institution is overshadowed only by the damage she's done to her 'patients' and their families."

"She'll get what's coming to her," declared Gideon, "Her, Magnus, and Grav; the lot of 'em."

"Indeed they will, but first we need our beloved Judy back," Nick reminded his collaborators as they returned to the van, "We've still quite the road ahead of us, and we'll need all the gumption we can get."

---

The day's end was nigh. Clouds gathered in the west, but not to hinder the waning rays of golden sunlight, but to catch its oranges, pinks, reds, and purples in a skyward dirge. Off in a field adjacent to Preds' Corner General Hospital, visible from its helipad, sat the yellow-striped tent which was destined to bear witness to a fatal tragedy, but instead hosted merriment, justice, and resolution; at that moment, it was repurposed by a string or two pulled from Bo Briar, its walls rolled up to become a canopy over a temporary linoleum floor and sturdy wood table and chairs.

Nearby and downwind was a grill tended by Gideon Grey, preparing an assortment of shish-kebabs to wet the palate of predator and prey alike. He wore formal black slacks and a white button-up shirt of a sheen-boasting fabric, with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and collar open, front draped in a thick apron. A pair dark sunglasses sat above his eyes as he watched, turned, and seasoned the food.

At one side of the table sat Esther Grey, garbed in a sleek, onyx formal skirt and cream blouse, boasting a frill up its center and shiny buttons on the cuffs. Her bangs remained pinned to one side of her face, held up by the red-and-green barrette, and a pair of petite, round sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. The laptop which securely held all her work was in the briefcase unclipped and awaiting its utilization near her crossed legs.

On the other side of the table was Bo Briar, done up in black dress slacks and a red, silk shirt, cuffs left open and a pair of reflective sunglasses folded to hang in the 'V' of his garment. It was quick, about as last-minute as he could manage, but he found those that were willing to set up the tent, the grill, the table… as well as the red carpet and the large sign reading "FELIX" on the top of the tent facing the helipad.

And Nick Wilde, who sat at one end of the table facing the oncoming helicopter and whose silver tongue and casual charisma tied everything up in due time, fished out the second suit his father loaned him before he left the city. Unlike the other, more business-casual colors, this one was black and dark-gray pinstriped, the shirt a fine silk with austere, metallic buttons, and the tie a solid stripe of blood-red scarlet, that in the sunset looked ablaze. He was the only one of the four without sunglasses, letting instead his vibrant green eyes watch out over the expanse as the helicopter landed.

It was small, as it was for a rabbit, and when its landing skids settled onto the helipad, its main rotor blades folded back over the tail. The pilot was barely visible through cockpit window, only a vague shape, especially at the distance it was, but a shiny black vehicle drove up on the side facing away from the tent. The distant sound of doors opened and closed, muffled by the sizzle of shish-kebobs, and as the vehicle departed it took a turn not towards the town, but indeed, towards those awaiting the Felix, even coming to a full stop at the end of the red carpet. The chauffeur hopped out, a taller, proper rabbit in a pressed uniform, and approached the door to open it. Out stepped who could only be Felix Oswald Lapis himself, a long-earred rabbit with pitch-black fur and a snow-white face, and though of average height and build he stood in a towering, lordly manner. From the midnight blue of his shawl-lapeled suit to the bright gold of his smooth buttons that glinted in the sunset, he was a rabbit of a commanding presence, and scanned those present without a sound or hardly an expression until he saw Bo… and his face flickered with disappointment. One of his tall ears then pivoted to the other rabbit stepping out from the car behind him and into view, and so did a tremor shake the four of them to their cores when they saw with whom the Felix kept company…

---

Author's Note:

Snuck in a Mulan reference there as part of the head canon that all Disney material is present in the Zootopian world, some way or another; certain stories with humans are simply played by whichever actor fits them best.

Speaking of, Travis makes his debut after a few mentions here and there throughout the story, doesn't he? About his scene, "Julliaardvark" is a reference to The Julliard School in New York, and "Turkish Delights" is from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe is - for the sake of my story - the "30 pieces of silver" metaphor for payment of betrayal (and why Travis mentions the "irony", since in the movie Edmund's betrayal eventually leads to Mr. Fox's petrification, even though in this world-mythos, Mr. Fox is the betrayer of that story; it's worth noting that Edmund Pevensie was associated with foxes in the story). Fun but: a young ferret is called a "kit", and a family of ferrets is called a "business" or "busyness".

Someone else who also makes his debut after numerous mentions, finally, is Felix Oswald Lapis, based wholly off of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, having recently returned to Disney.

For the sake of clarification, the off-screen time with Nick and Esther is PG-13.

Thanks again for reading!