Chapter 35

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AN: one of my pre-readers was a bit worried about a section coming up, and said it might be worth cutting due to potential controversy/ sensitivity. I decided to keep it in because the viewpoint explored (I won't deny that it's pretty much my one) comes with a big caveat at the end: that maybe (I) don't have the right perspective to truly understand why the thing in question could well be seen as hurtful. A lot of my writing is me exploring various ideas, and if someone does have a perspective on it, then please share so I can understand better.

In any case, I do hope you all a happy new year. I think it's redundant to wish it to be better than last, so I hope it's all better for you than 2019! And with that, on we go.

.

"Okay everyone, step back," Judy called, waving her paws out. "Step back, give her some space!" She glanced around, making sure everyone was following, only to be cut off by a young voice.

"I'm trying, but I've kinda got a problem."

She turned to see a young brown-furred racoon, a year or two behind Kris or Ash, his tail currently in Honey's paws, almost like a comforter. "Did she grab it?"

"I let her borrow it," he said, the bunny smiling a bit.

"That's very generous," she commented, walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. "Thanks." She then looked down at the cling-on honey badger. "Come on Honey, let the nice raccoon's tail go."

"-His name is Max, Max Thrash," she corrected, still a bit wobbly but managing to open her paws. Out he pulled it as Judy smiled, walking up and giving her a big hug. "There-there, take your time. Breath in and out, in and out."

"Yeah," she groaned, sounding a little hostile. "I know breathing exercises." Though sounding a little irritated, she was happy enough to comply, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in and out, then another, then another, and so on and so on.

Nick watched from a distance, smiling as he pulled up his radio. "We came across a mammal in emotional distress, Officer Hopps is currently destressing her, over."

"Ten-four," someone else copied. "We had a bunch of loonies near our side causing a fuss after the arrest of this wacko weasel or something…" Nick's eyes narrowed a bit, his ears drooping back. "Anyway, they were having a fight or something and we managed to break it up, one nasty lynx also in custody, over."

"Ten-four," he began, pausing. "Why exactly was the weasel arrested?"

"Heard he's been spouting nonsense in City Hall, that's all. Also, maybe next time you could ask if we need backup, rather than nit picked on our job. Copy?"

"Ten four," Nick replied, clipping his voice a little. After all, he kinda felt that all that could be avoided. Despite his new outlook on life he was still aware that a certain few mammals out there, even amongst his brothers in blue, did not like foxes one bit and, more often than not, that kind of sentiment spread to weasels too. So, given their comments, he'd wanted to make sure.

Now though?

Well, as he always said, never let them see that they get to you. As he also said, albeit less often, never kick a hornet's nest. That weasel may have been doing the latter, but those cops had certainly done it by not doing the former. He shook his head. It could be a lot worse. Heck, with all the Lang wolves here it could be a dozen times worse! He might as well enjoy the relative peace as it lasted. He looked on as Judy began comforting Honey through her exercises, calming her down, before turning his attention to the young racoon, running up to... a wolf?

She bent down and pulled him in tight. "There's my caring little drummer boy," she swooned, turning down her muzzle to give him a few affectionate, if unappreciated, licks.

"MOM…"

Nick couldn't help but chuckle. God, his mother had been something embarrassing at times, and that was before the fact that this little coon boy would be permanently preschooler sized compared to his adopted mother.

An adopted mother who…

He tilted his muzzle a little.

He fully admitted that he may have been born with an abnormally good ability in it, but his time on the streets had only pushed him further in developing his facial recognition and name remembering skills. After all, being able to remember a face and a name from a glancing conversation at a party a few years back could always give him the edge in the present when he least expected it. In fact he'd had to temper the ability a little as, for some mammals who would get members of the same species mixed up or could forget someone's name after just one other conversation, it could be positively freaky. Heck, on spotting one mammal five years down the line on the subway and greeting him, he'd straight up triggered what was half an existential crisis and half a begging diatribe asking him how the heck he did it, with theories including secretly videoing everyone and then spending hours every night rote learning it all to make it stick.

In the foxes defence, the mammal in question wasn't exactly run of the mill; he was an incredibly rare Falkland Islands Wolf (Dusciyon Australis, as Mr Fox would put it), one of only a few thousand in the world and likely the only one in the city if not the continent. As for knowing him before, he'd been acting as a business representative for a food export company, signing a deal with old George Macquarie which would see the elephant seal import a thousand braces per month of his favourite foodstuff, i.e the ones that had given him his underworld nickname. So, more memorable than just a glancing acquaintance.

Still, it was a lot better than that poor guy… On resupplying the canid with his name, and seeing him close his eyes and repeat it a dozen times to try and make it stick in, the wolf had then had a phone call. Once that had ended, he'd turned back, paused, and asked. "Rick Wilde… wasn't it?"

Nick promptly corrected him, producing a self chastising "Oh Shoot…" before his stop had come up and he'd had to leave.

Regardless of how uncanny it was for some mammals though, this (true) wolf would likely be used to it. Nick had never met her in person before, but he and quite a lot of others would recognise her from newspaper clippings, news reports or even the odd television interview. And so he felt no concern as he walked up to her, waved his paw, and spoke. "Murana Wolford, I presume?"

She looked at him and nodded. "Yes, Officer Wilde," she spoke, letting her raccoon son down. "Don't wander off," she reminded him, his ears going down.

"How about while you handle your adult stuff, I go check out that band," he said, gesturing over to the group on top of the rock, playing out loud.

One of her eyebrows raised up, and her balled fists planted themselves on her hips. "Well, from that tone I think observing a boring adult conversation might help teach you some manners."

"Please can I go check out that band?"

"Stay out of trouble," she said, waving him off and watching him go. She then turned back to Nick, the fox's eyes half lidding.

"Shall we bore ourselves?"

"No. Let's just say what needs to be said," she cut in. "First, I presume you know why I'm here."

"Yeah," he replied, gesturing over to City Hall. "There's a certain DA in there who has a little thing against you."

"You're fortunate that I'm not insulted by your unflattering opinion of me," she replied, folding her arms. "My drive in this is to get justice for that child and against Wassermaim for hurting that child more than anything. While his legal crusades against me in the past have certainly been irritating, I saw no reason to use my influence to mobilise ZNN fully against him for that."

Nick nodded, thinking out loud. "I guess you thought it better to just let his time run out…"

"He's been against me long before he was made the full DA," she spoke, her voice a constant no-nonsense tone. "At first, I could understand that, given that my initial placement at the head of Lemming Brothers was solely to set me up as a fall mammal. I may have swiftly dismantled that scheme and suitably disciplined its participants, but an outsider could easily just see the red flags without seeing who was really holding them. Particularly given how a number of my lemmings have subsequently tried litigating me on frankly ridiculous charges out of revenge for their ruined plans. I have long presumed that after I defended myself from the initial legal action, I became his white whale, someone he desires more than anyone else to finally take down. After his conduct during the Howler Crisis, I'd also say that my species might play a part, though that is something I have little concern over. Out of all the disgusting and terrible mammals I have faced or suffered under in the past, to me he is mid to low C tier at best."

…

"Wow… Any fire mammals nearby, because was that a burn or was that a burn…" Nick spoke, shaking himself down.

"Burns are my speciality," she said, a curt smile growing on her muzzle.

Nick nodded, before tilting his head. "Also… You were hired to Lemming Brothers as a PLEASE?"

"Please?" she remarked.

"You know. Provide Legal Exculpation And Sign Everything? -Barney Stilton's job... -From How I met Your Mother… Uhhhh, Neil Ratrick Harris' character, I… You haven't seen that, I guess."

"I have better things to do with my time," she remarked, her gaze hardening slightly. "As a police officer you must know that there are terrible mammals out there, rapists and child murderers and torturers of the weakest and most vulnerable, and that the only justice in this world is the justice we force upon it."

He nodded. "Yeah, we have an Officer Wolford in our precinct, I've heard him say things to that effect."

She smiled. "I know, it's why I married him."

…

"-Okay, for the record, he never said anything!"

"That's another reason why," she said, her smile growing. "Regardless, we're not here to discuss my personal life, we're here to discuss the safety of this child. I'd say I was using all my resources against him, but that would include some I promised my children that I would retire from use, so that's not the case. Let me just say that officers of the law would not approve of them, and leave it at that."

"Okay," he said, glancing over to the impromptu stage, spotting a bunch of Lang wolves. "Before you say anything you regret, let me just say that Lady Lang's crew have already said they've got plans in the works… Nothing dark, flame or wolfy, thankfully, but plans… -Though I wouldn't put it past them to go back on that."

A small yet deeply satisfied grin held itself on her face and she chuckled a few times. "Well, maybe I can see if I can exert my influence there too. Nothing Dark, flame or wolfy indeed."

Nick's ears pricked up. "Ah, so you also… believe?"

"When you put it like that, I'd say I do," she said, wearing a well matured and cultured smile.

"Right," he agreed, before shaking his head. "Given who your husband is, you probably know the rumours. Boogeyman for the ZPD, Baba Yaka for the underworld."

"And long may that arrangement remain," she said, pausing as she looked up. "Hmmmm, I wonder how Max is doing. I'd better…"

She was cut off as a small TV crew parted through the crowd, headed by a skunk anchor. "Oh Hi Mom! Mind if we give an interview!"

"Of course not, Skunk Son," she chirped, relaxing. "Max'll be fine by himself, I'm sure of it."

.

.

Max stared at her, his brow furrowed and his fists trembling. "I said I wasn't!"

"Yeah, yeah…" the mammal facing off against him, a snow white ermine spoke, her nose turned up. "You say that, but let's face it. You were totally gonna do it."

He trembled a little, before turning back to the nearby litter bin. "I was just drumming along to the music!" he yelled, "Look!" He pulled out two sticks from his back pocket and began beating them against it. Not just the overhanging lid, which he hit with a constant rapid light beat with one stick, but the sides too, splitting the final stick between that and the post. Pulling them back, he gave a drum roll down on the lid, then the lower tuned side, then finished it off with a whack to the deep base of the post. "See! Drumming! I just showed you."

"Sure," she snarked. "But I know you're only doing that as you're embarrassed about getting called out for your filthy dumpster diving…"

"I wasn't gonna do that!"

"Yeah, whatever, Trash Panda!"

"Don't call me a Trash Panda!" he yelled, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "My name is Thrash, not Trash! And I don't look like a panda, they're bears, I'm not a bear. I'm a raccoon!"

The ermine let out a wet raspberry of a laugh. "Trashy Panda, Trashy Panda, Trashy…"

"STOP!"

"-Panda. Trashy…"

"Yeah," came a new voice, "I know you are."

She cut herself off, turning to spot a silver fox with burning amber eyes sliding down the rock and landing next to her, his gaze anchoring on her. She glared back. "And you are?"

"The guitarist from up there," he spoke, pointing back up to the band, all taking a short break. He then pointed back down at her. "And you are?"

"Fabbie the Ferret," she spoke, giving her hips a wave and bringing out her phone, taking a selfie. "Now, if you don't mind me, I've gotta get around here. My Instagrowl followers love this social justice stuff…"

"Oh cool then, though… Maybe they won't like you winding up that cool coon back there, don't you think?" he spoke, slowly moving out so that he was in front of her. She frowned, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"And what do you care, huh? Listen, if you wanna go play with that dumpster diving trash panda, then be my guest." She raised her nose and began walking off, but not before giving Max one last look, giving a tsundere style 'hmph' as she left.

The torch key racoon almost went after her, but stopped himself, closing his eyes and breathing in and out. In and out. "Don't give them a reaction. Don't give them a reaction…"

"You do know that that never works, right?"

He opened his eyes and looked up, spotting the silver fox standing there, paws crossed in front of him. "I know, but…"

He glanced left and right, before waving him on. "Come on, let's give her a lesson, shall we? It's the only way that she'll learn, you follow what I'm bringing out?"

"I… uh… I don't think my mom will…"

"Just trust me, okay," he said, finding an alcove and pulling out a bulky armoured laptop. He immediately began typing away. "She said she was Fabbie the Ferret, on Instagrowl, and there we are…" he said, opening up her profile.

"What… are you doing?" he asked.

"Something I learnt from the coolest mammal I ever knew," he replied, spotting all her recent pictures amongst the protesters. He glanced up to the rock, letting out a shrill whistle. "Get any of that Felix?"

A massive biker wolf glanced down from the rock, up above. "Any of what?"

"Nothing. What about you, Felix?"

A slightly smaller biker wolf joined the larger one. "Well I don't know…"

He groaned. "Fingers crossed for my pals then. Saad, Jason, Mike?"

A sand cat, african wild dog and black rat leant out and shook their heads, earning an even larger groan, only cut off when a coyote girl with a black-fur-dyed face joined them. "Yeah, I got it. I know that type."

"YES! Dana, thankyou, email it over," he said, pointing at her and then down.

The raccoon looked at all of them, confused. "Who… who are they?"

"The wolves are some cool mammals" he said, as he began typing along. "The others are my friends from ZAPA."

"ZAPA…" Max began, his eyes widening. "You got into the Zootopia Academy of Performing Arts? You got in…"

"Yup…"

"I'm planning to apply too!"

"Which instrument?"

"Drums!"

The silverfox laughed, glancing up at the wild dog. "Someone's got competition, Jason," he teased, before turning back down as his computer pinged. He gave a thumbs up to the coyote girl.

"Putting it up against her one?" she asked.

"Kind of," he said, giving her a knowing look. She gave a knowing look back, as the rest of the mammals gave them some space. "Now…" he paused as he saw the various pictures she'd been posting that day, all showing her seemingly in the crowd protesting, and with plenty of captions about how important it was to stand up for species equality.

It pinged as a new video was uploaded, showing her posing amongst the Lang Wolves at the edge. It was only a few seconds long, showing her there, her arms crossed, staring at the police line. Both their eyes looked up at the title. 'It doesn't matter who did it and who's on their side. Stand against speciesism.'

"Oh she is asking for it," he said, opening it up and finding a little line of code, which he changed. Instantly the video became unavailable, before an uploading sign was flashing and, then, a new, longer, video was up. Pressing play, he sat back, paws behind his head, smiling slightly as he watched a top down view of the ferret loudly accusing Max of wanting to dumpster dive, before opening out into the slurs. All there on her channel, for everyone to see, including the mammal who'd made the digital switcharoo. Max blinked, full on grinning and jiggling with excitement by the end. 'Listen, if you wanna go play with that dumpster diving trash panda, then be my guest.' With a single claw, the silverfox deftly closed the lid of his computer, looking down at the awe inspired torch key raccoon. "I think I shall. Nice to meet you, Max."

"Yeah, thanks so much! She actually won't get away with it!"

"Nice change, isn't it?" he smiled.

"Yup, totally is, uhhh… Who are you?"

"Conor Lewis," he replied, paw out. Max shook it hard, only to look up as a call came down from the sandcat.

"On again in one?"

"Yeah, coming," the silverfox said, jumping up. He paused, before glancing down, smiling. "Wanna join us Max?"

The racoon blinked a few times before he began shaking, a wide ecstatic grin growing on his muzzle.

.

.

"PSC, PSC…" Ash wondered out loud.

He'd got the text a while back, and while he'd first planned to tell the cops about Beavis, his curiosity about PSC won over. In any case, knowing a bit more about it might be helpful. Who knew?

And so, pausing for a second or two, he brought out his phone, typing in the acronym. After all, someone might have already figured it out…

From the first page, it was clear that nobody had figured it out. It was just a long series of different acronyms, ranging from scientific terms to the names of colleges. He typed in 'prey' after it, wondering if that would have any effect.

None.

Then 'fox.'

Nothing.

Then 'sheep.'

He paused, blinking. A video was displayed right at the top of Ewetube. 'Prey Sheepification Conspiracy: They're after Ewe too!' Uploaded by a Ewetuber called 'Gruinard Gal'. He remembered what the Packson twins had discussed earlier… Was this really Honey's Ewetube channel?

He plugged in some earpods and clicked play. Looking on, he watched as a cartoon of a mystery mammal, her face covered by a bag with a question mark on it, seemingly gave a lecture from a 'room', or rather a background drawn in the appearance of a room in a highland castle.

"Hello fellow resistance! This is Gruinard Gal, with a special 'Big Horn' episode, containing important information on protecting yourself from the Great Cudspiracy."

Okay, yeah, this totally was Honey.

"Now, we all kinda know that the sheep have the most beef against the preds. 'Specially the wolves, which was why they brainwashed them into obedient dumb-dumb sheep dogs ages ago…"

He chuckled. And she was totally stupid. If he'd known this was what she'd been doing before meeting her, he'd have never believed what she said about Maisy! Heck, he couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that wolves had said she had useful ideas or something, given her opinion of them. Still, it was so stupid it was actually amusing, kind of like some flat earther videos he'd seen in the past.

He watched on.

"But eighty-nine percent of non-sheep mammals are also prey," she continued. "So yeah! You bleat your ass they have something in store for you. Of course, full on culling for Ökosystemraum is their ultimate end goal for you lot, make no mistake! But, in the meantime, they want you all acting more like sheep. Thinking more like sheep. And as a result, the woolly masses are all over the place, slowly but surely trying to make it so that all the other prey think and act like them. And this ain't just big stuff, and there is big stuff, just look at the things that fell from the sky in the Paris incidents of 04' and 13'! Yeah, Interpol, I know you're covering something up there! 'Military prototype failures' my wooly-butt! But it's the little stuff too. It's a shearing by a thousand clips! And they're even after our children! Don't believe me, case in point this nursery rhyme book." An inset image appeared, showing a cute little cardboard book. Ash blinked, they'd got it as a gift for their upcoming kit. A paw (covered by a brown paper bag with a question mark on it) opened it up to a cartoon picture of a sheep, some other characters, and some big bold words covering it. "Baa, Baa, Blacksheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full. One for the Master, One for the Dame, One for the little boy who lives down the Lane..."

Ash's head tilted, slightly.

"I think we all know that when all non-sheep mammals are gone, or at least reduced to the Strangelamb ratio of ten sheep mammals to every non-sheep mammal, they're gonna start clipping their own… They want nothing but bland uniformity, but we all know that, right!?"

"No," Ash spoke, having personally known sheep.

"And what kinda sheep do they like the least, what kind amongst them are considered sub-sheep. Black sheep, I'll tell you who! Now, I'm not saying black sheep lives matter here. That's a hella nope. They're gonna get what they deserve, eventually… But they're the second class citizens of sheep kind, and I think they know that we know that. So, right here, they show a submammal being completely subservient, parting with the thing they value the most, just givin' it away when asked and being happy about it! They're tellin' little kits and cubs with this stuff that when their master comes, they should be grateful to give away all their stuff to their betters, and it's something to be happy about. It's 'sharing', it's 'cute', it's being a 'good citizen.' Ya' don't think no, or ask about your rights, or break the herd, just complete brain dead obedience, fittin' in with everyone else. That's the sheep way!"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. It… It was a little baby book with a silly little rhyme! In any case, when he'd read it he'd always assumed that the black sheep had been proud that he (or she) had so much wool, and was going to happily go off and sell it.

It reminded him of a controversy around this old slapstick TV series from the silent era and beyond (though the main characters had always had a tradition of almost never speaking, though their later screams and wails had become famous). The core premise had always been a feud between a mischievous mouse, Jerry, who would often attempt to steal, rob, or just plain squat in a larger building, and the unfortunate European wildcat Thomas whose job it was to try and remove him (though plenty of other episodes involved Tom starting the altercation). The series had always attracted controversy: at the beginning the outlandish slapstick violence and constant species-based bullying was only bested by the sheer gall of having the criminal Jerry often win! Then it had been that the cartoon was speciesist against both mice and cats, even though both species were amongst its biggest fans. Finally, and more recently, the controversy had spiked around Tom's frequent employer back in the early days and up until the fifties. Only ever seen from the waist down, often brandishing a mop and always speaking in her heavy southern voice (almost a bit like Honey's, but deeper and less energetic), she'd gone unnamed but, in general media, was often given the name 'Old Mammy Lacoste.'

She had been played by either a sentient alligator or a sentient crocodile, not that you could tell without seeing her face.

Many episodes had seen her walking in or around, suddenly get outraged by Jerry's squatting or stealing, and hire Tom to deal with it. And would often end with her brooming Tom out, or whacking him hard in outrage, after he either failed at the task, had the house completely trashed by Jerry and the blame pinned on him, or, most often, both. Back when he was little, he'd always wished she'd asked Tom and not been so mean to him, though then again he kind of understood why she was mad. She was definitely like his mother, going around in an apron, wanting her house to be super tidy and clean, and getting really upset that it wasn't.

It was only later that he'd learnt that no, she was 'meant' to be a maid, her portrayal speciesist. While very rare in Zootopia, even in the warm districts, the southern edge of the States had a sizable minority of sentient reptiles, albeit matched by their non-sentient cousins, surviving as they'd done for eons in the deep swamps and bayous. Unlike North African mammals, who'd spread all over Europe with the Roman Empire and settled, Africa's reptiles had, by and large, been too far south to be pulled up and unable to handle the cold winters. That meant that the idealistic 'new mammal nation' settlers had generally… ignored them, at best. Pushed deeper into the uninhabitable swamps, portrayed as unevolved morons and denied citizenship until the mid-twenties. However, before and after that, they'd often come out of their territory and sought employment. They never got much, generally surviving with their traditional homes and (cold blood assisted) food supplies. However, there were plenty of consumer goods and services they would want, and so trade was frequent. The men would work, bringing out fish and lumber that no mammal could hope to retrieve, selling wholesale for reasonable returns. In contrast, the females did something else, helped by a major advantage they still had: five fingers. For the tenth of the cost of a mammal, they'd work as domestic servants and maids, a deal that was like mana from heaven to poorer mammals, especially the dexterously challenged odd toed ungulates. Old mammy Lacoste had been based off of the old reptile maids of the deep south. Which made her, and the cartoons, speciesist.

Only Ash didn't get it. He'd never thought of her as a maid until he was told that; he thought it was her home and she owned it and was damn proud of it. Heck, thinking back there were plenty of episodes where it seemed like she owned the house. Ranging from one where she had a bed there (which a sleepy Thomas, on threat of losing his job if he fell asleep after a long night partying, was tricked into sleeping) to one where she literally called it her house (on being informed, while at a friends poker evening, of Tom's illicit party by a sleep deprived Jerry (at which point she charged back outraged)). Heck, if the fear was that it made you think of sentient reptiles as lesser, that wasn't true for him as it had literally made him think of her as like his own mother, being super proud of her house and all.

He shook his head, maybe he didn't get it as he wasn't a sentient reptile and to them it was something much bigger, deeper and truly painful. But now, to him at least, the fuss over her seemed like a fuss over nothing. Ditto for Honey's complaints about 'Baa Baa Blacksheep'; it didn't make him feel subservient or happy to give his own stuff away. Cuss him it was his stuff and his to give out to those he wanted to have it! It was just a story about a sheep with black wool, three bags of it to be exact.

Not that Honey thought it to be the case. "Nope! We mammals in the know know the truth, but not all the little kits and cubs out there do, and this book and all sorts of other little things out there are meant to reprogram them with sheep ideology and sheepthink, making 'em good little drones ready to get lost in the herd. But, this is just the first example. There's more. There's hella more!"

Honestly, he was really curious to see what kind of crazy things she'd come up with next. He was cut off though as someone spoke out. "-Ash."

He looked up, put his phone down and spoke. "Agnes?"

There she stood in front of him, as always her brown dress and white spots giving her an innocent fawn-like look; it seemed even more delicate than usual today. "-Yeah, uhh… You… -doing anything?"

He shrugged. "Watching this weird Ewetuber that the Packson's said 'quote' had a lot of interesting points… She's like this weird flat earther, only she thinks that all sheep are evil."

The vixen gave a nervous snort. "Sounds… odd…"

"It is, it's actually a bit funny that it's so crazy." He paused, sensing that she was holding back. "I could show you… We could watch and laugh at it, if you want?"

"I… yeah, maybe we could. That sounds fun, I…" She paused, looking at him, her eyes trembling a little, before she leapt forward, grabbing him tight in a strong hug. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Uhhh… Uhhh…" he struggled to say, the vixen currently squeezing him, hard. "I…"

She choked up a sob before letting him go. "I'm sorry, sorry for being such an idiot!"

"I…" he began, not sure what to say. He glanced around, spotting Mitch standing there, not sure what was going on himself. The Scottish wildcat discretely stepped back, leaving them alone. "What exactly are you thanking me for?"

She looked down, looking down, sniffing. "You were right, too…"

He blinked. "That's not answering my question. I'm still confused."

She choked a little half-laugh, half-sob. "Sorry, I… What was I saying?"

"That I was right too, at which point I asked if you could answer my question, at which point you asked what you were saying again. Still not answering my question… So I'm still confused, something me being right again doesn't make up for."

…

"I…" she began.

He blinked, looking around, a blank and slightly impatient look on his face. "Is communication that hard?" he asked.

She snorted. "You talked some sense into me."

"When, exactly?"

She turned around and slumped down next to him, against the wall. Not sure what to do, or if it'd even help or not, he followed suit, the pair sitting down together. "Yesterday," she began, "I was… I didn't know how to react, and I was scared, and I thought Kris was gone and… and he was a criminal now, he'd be changed, he wasn't the mammal I'm in love with. But you… You were right…" She looked down and sighed. "I wasn't loyal." She sniffed. "First once, then twice."

"Okay…" he began, "what are you going to do about it? Do you have a plan? Plans are helpful."

"Well, I did, and it worked," she said, looking up and smiling. "-Yesterday, I… Yesterday, I called his father, telling him I wanted to stay in contact with Kris, and giving him my number and… -last night, he called. Kris called."

Ash blinked. Dr Silverfox must have given him the number while they talked in private.

"-And I was scared when I heard him say my name, but… But… It's still him," she sniffed, smiling. "It's still him, and he's okay! He's managing it! He's okay, and he misses me, and he said that hearing my voice… Hearing my voice made him feel so happy, it was something for him to hold on to as he's stuck in there and… And he misses me, but when he gets out he wants to hold me tight, and stay close and warm, and love each other… And I want that too now. I want him back so soon, and Brittany told me that they think they know who framed him. He's gonna be okay! But I wouldn't know that without you telling me what a dumb cussing idiot I was, and Kris would be lonelier without that, and… and… Thank you, Ash. Thank you…"

She kept on sniffing as she held onto him, crying into his chest for comfort. Ash meanwhile bent down over her, stroking her softly. For a start, it was what you did in a situation like this.

But, there was more than that.

He'd just thought he was telling the truth the day before, but now…

He'd helped her, helped Kris, he'd put her mind at ease.

Like a certain Binturong and a few other special mammals had, at his darkest moment. He shivered, looking down at the sweatbands on his paws, before looking at Agnes.

He'd helped her through it.

It was something he could do.

Something he could keep on doing.

Something he wanted to carry on doing.

For her. For Kris, when he got out, repaying how much his cousin had stood by him when he was a cussing jerk…

He spotted Mitch walking forward again, having a look and spotting them, together, Agnes cuddling into his lap. Ash smiled a big wide smile and gave him a wink, before turning down again and kissing her on the back of her head. Not quite sure what to do next, he got out his phone and began carrying on the video, Agnes giggling at some of the silly nonsense being said, while he rubbed her shoulder. He was going to help her through this, and help Kris and the others.

And that felt good.