Chapter Seventy-Five
Quiet Assurance

Two memmle were skulking in the cool darkness of the bullpen. The ZPD was empty and the city outside was dark, with few lights still remaining on at this late hour. The shops were all closed; the streets were populated only by those nocturnal, while the rest were in their beds sound asleep.

The water buffalo checked his watch as it flicked to half past four AM, and he pulled over and started to unwrap a bandage that he had fetched from the ZPD storeroom, sitting down on his chair and patting the palm of his hoof on the table before him. "Up here," Bogo encouraged to the watching fox nearby.

It took him a moment to realize what Bogo had meant, but then the fox turned upwards to the large table the Chief was next to, and he pulled himself towards it, his paws digging into the wood and his feet scrambling behind him for a moment, before, he managed to pull himself up onto its surface. He moved carefully on the tabletop, coming to sit on the edge of the surface that faced Bogo, sifting at him mutely as the burly buffalo took the fox's paw in his hoof and held it close to his eyes.

"You damn idiot, Wilde," he muttered, taking up a pair of tweezers and holding the fox's paw still, as he delicately made to remove a small piece of smashed glass from the fox's paw.

"Don't call me an idiot," the fox shot darkly. "I'm not the one who sent Hopps out there with no backup! I'm not the one who let one old goat hold up the entire ZPD! I'm not the one…" Nick snarled with dryness. "I'm not the one who set her up to wind up in hospital! That was your mistake, that was your responsibility, that was your fault!"

Bogo nodded, solemnly. As he had expected, the fox's anger had shifted into accusation. It wasn't often in the past that he had to deal with an officer, who was so deeply attached to an injured person like Wilde was... But the fox's mental state, he did know how to deal with. "The only 'mistake' on my part, Wilde, was forgetting how delicate and easily broken bunnies are. She clearly was too weak and under-trained to manage things."

Nick stared in agitation to the unexpected words. Then his teeth bared and he snarled, "You bastard, the heck she was. No one could've stuck out over what you put her up against. Not a whole shipload of vicious, murdering gang members. There should've been a dozen of us before we even let her set foot inside that place!"

"Perhaps the fault is Mister Black's. It was he who was unable to hold the harbor and tell us something was amiss when the shipment first arrived. It is Shuck Black's fault."

"The heck it is." The Chief allowed himself a small, grim smile he didn't let Nick see. The more Nick pushed the blame away from himself, Bogo knew, the harder the fox would press his anger and his blame against him... and in doing so, away from Nick's self. Bogo had seen situations like this far too many times, with the innocent savior of the injured victim left mentally scarred for life, who'd be left blaming themselves for what had happened. Though it was delicate to handle, and though it risked the fox's respect for him being forever affected, Bogo knew, he had to make Nick believe that it was the Chief's fault... he had to make sure the fox didn't start blaming himself.

Putting down the slightly bloodied pliers, the buffalo took up a piece of cotton wool, while unscrewing the lid of a small bottle of medical alcohol, and shaking out a little of the contents onto the cotton pad. "We both know what's going on here," Nick said, spitefully, his words driven by his disgruntled emotions, "you're getting old, Bogo. You're losing your touch, you're making mistakes."

Bogo snorted as he continued his act of the 'self-important chief' and made to sarcastically reply, but he was silenced as the fox's speech continued, and the dabbing of Nick's paw slowed to a stop as Bogo took to listen, "Sending us into Erkin to 'find' evidence for you to put a raid on that place. You think that was legal? You think it's okay to send officers to illegally search a place just because you suspect they're breaking the law? Sending Jack to follow me without publicly investigating my actions like you should've..."

Bogo raised a hoof, but decided after a moment he shouldn't have been too surprised that the fox had figured out that he'd had someone tail him. "At the raid when the badger attacked Wolfard, and you said you'd make what Snarlov did to him just sound like an 'accident' in your report. We found proof that Judy was being headhunted by the gang; that they'd specifically made an attack on her apartment when she should've been there. You got a safe house arranged, yes, but did that stop you from putting her in harm's way? Sending out Judy with no backup is just the last of a long line of mistakes you've made. You're getting old. You've lost your touch."

His mind finally catching up with his own voice, the fox gritted his teeth and held his free paw against the straining ache of his head, pressing his eyes into the darkness of his paw as he grunted. "I'm sorry, Chief… I do respect you an' all, it's jus'... I don't even understand why I'm here. Why am I here? I should be at the hospital, with Judy, helping Judy! I shouldn't be here sitting around aahnd!"

The fox broke off with a hiss as the Chief intentionally pressed down just a little too hard with the cotton disinfectant. "For one thing, Wilde, she'll be in emergency examination and you won't be able to see her yet anyway. For another thing," the Chief added a moment later, his voice a tone quieter as he dabbed more softly at the fox's paw, "you're in no psychological condition to do anything or see anyone." Bogo sat back and pulled out a reel of white bandages, holding it against the fox's paw and tying it around his wound, gently. Wilde grunted — not completely happy about the Chief's comment — but hardly able to disagree, given what he was doing and why he was doing it.

"My paw's fine," Nick grunted. "It doesn't even hurt."

Bogo chose to ignore this lie, leaning back into his chair with a low sigh as he looked at his hoofwork, his voice quiet and dry as he asked, "You don't have any other family do you, Wilde?"

Nick blinked at him, and then his voice came to be soft and honest, "No."

"Any friends you trust who can watch over you tonight?"

"'Cept for Judy? No, there's no one I trust."

Bogo nodded in understanding. "I have a spare bedroom. You can sleep round mine tonight. I'm not having you on your own like this."

The fox watched Bogo carefully for a few long moments, taking in his expression as the buffalo gazed off at empty space. "Thanks... Thank you, that's very, uh…"

Glancing to the large claw marks down the wall, the Chief chuckled. "I'm glad I had the foresight to bring you 'here', rather than going to my place first, though. That's coming out of your wages, you know." Nick scratched at his collar, looking off at nothing as Bogo shifted back up towards him. The fox zoomed out for a bit into the far wall, but then he got back to reality and questioningly furrowed his brows at Bogo. The Chief cleared his throat, meaningfully, and then Nick realized what he had meant.

"Oh, erh... yeah," he said quickly, tucking his legs up onto the tabletop, swinging himself around and dropping down onto the floor. Bogo waited patiently, watching the fox carefully. The fury had evidently left him, but he was anything but in a good mental state. He was talking and acting mostly naturally — but the Chief knew it could only be skin deep. A part of the buffalo wanted to go down to the storeroom and steal away a little tranquilizing round to put the fox out for a few hours — but he knew sedation was no way to cure mental injuries in the long run.

Clearing his throat, the buffalo took his phone from his pocket. "Here, Wilde, I have a few things I have to do before leaving tonight. There's a friend of mine you might want to speak to," he added, putting in a number. "Why don't you and her have a little talk, and I'll get finished up over here."

The fox tilted his head to the Chief, his expression blank and his gaze empty as he stared in confusion. Bogo tried to give him a reassuring smile, while the phone rang. He stepped away as the phone clicked, and heard the high voice from the receiver, "Hello?"

"Rose, it's Bogo here. Have you got a minute?"

"For you? Sure. What do you need?"

"Knowing your work rota, I'm assuming you recently were involved in the emergency examination of a female officer." He spoke quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Nick. "I've got one of my officers here who is a very close friend of Officer Hopps. He—"

"Nick?"

"Yes. Have you met him?"

"No, Hopps regained consciousness for a few minutes and wanted to know if he'd been told what had happened."

Bogo nodded. "Well, 'Nick' has been left in quite a bad emotional state from what's happened. He wants to know what's going on, but I can't allow him out in the open public in this state. I'm wondering if you could talk to him and try and reassure him a little about her condition."

"I see. Her exact condition and chances of survival are still mixed at the moment. It'll depend on how the surgery goes… But I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," the Chief said. "I'll hoof you over." Bogo turned and held out the phone towards Wilde, who looked at the phone with suspicious and mistrust. The Chief took a step closer to the fox and pushed the device into his paw, gently forcing him to raise his arm up and the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" the feminine voice prompted.

"Heh— hello?"

"Is this Nick speaking?"

"Ughm… yes?"

"Hello, Nick. My name's Nurse Flo. I was one of the nurses present at Officer Hopps' examination."

"Carrots?"

"That's right, 'Carrots'. She's okay, Nick. Her condition is stable."

"Well, wha— what's wrong with her?" Chief Bogo made slowly towards the door and quietly out into the corridor. He knew, as he walked, that even if she pulled through fine, Hopps was going to need a lot of counseling to get back on her feet... but he also reminded himself that Wilde was going to need just as much emotional help as she would.

"The majority of the injuries, while looking bad, were mostly quite simple and non-life-threatening: concussion, broken wrist, bruises and cuts about the face and some dislocated ribs. All just need time to heal. However, I also must add that there are some complications. If it was just that, she'll be in a lot of pain for a while, and will have significantly reduced mobility for upwards of a year. But she would heal fully with time and with the proper treatment."

"So... so what're the complications? Is she going to be okay? Can I speak to her?"

"I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment," Flo stated. "She is under general anesthetic in surgery. During the fighting, I'm afraid to say: her skull was quite badly fractured and the bone depressed into the cerebrospinal fluid, thus, putting pressure on the brain. This resulted in blood leaking into the eyes and from the ears, and affected her level of awareness, wakefulness and ability to communicate. If left untreated, the bone could have further applied pressure on the functions of the brain and created serious, long-term or irreversible mental problems. The s—"

"Sh— she's gonna be a vegetable? Oh god, she can't—"

"Nick, the surgeons are, as we speak, working to remove the pieces of fractured skull and are to return them to where they should be. She is having the best medical care this city can provide, and we're doing everything we can to help her."

"I... I know," Nick forfeited, his despondency breaking his heart slowly in two. "I know, I'm sorry…" Nick sniffed and huddled his shoulders closer as to bring himself futile comfort.

"She asked about you. She wanted to know if you'd been told."

"You— she spoke to you?"

"Oh yes, she came out of an unconscious state for a few minutes. After my medical questions, you were the first person she asked about. Usually it's parents, or…"

"What?"

Flo glanced over her shoulder and down the corridor — down a long corridor of many doors, with one specific door that 'accommodated' a beige-gray timber wolf of interesting qualities. She wondered if Jim had gotten the idea from Nick and Judy. But then again, she had a job to do so she threw away the small tint of curiosity. "Nothing. The CT scan has also identified internal abdominal bleeding, which they're also working to correct. The blood had pooled out into the respiratory system, and was making it difficult for her to breathe. She's now on a ventilator, while the surgeons are fixing the blood leakage. After that, they'll have to clean out any loose pools of blood before they stitch her closed again."

Wilde fell back against the wall, his head thumping back against the hard surface as his mind span with everything that had happened. "I... fuck, I just want to see her."

"I would recommend waiting until tomorrow. Let her get some rest for now. And get some rest yourself. Sleeping will be impossible, but if you can try to take your mind off it just a little, it will help."

"I— I was the person who found her. It... she— I noticed her... that her pants were pulled off and her..." His voice a shaking tremble of abysmal anxiety and dismay, the fox lost his tongue and felt his body's heat explode to the need of pants.

"Here is one thing at least I can comfort you on: the rabbit you call 'Carrots' has not been defiled."

His eyes opening wide, Nick stared ahead at the plain wall. "You're saying she... wasn't—"

"No, Mister Wilde. Though I don't doubt the attacker's intention was to force sexual intercourse onto her, he or they were unsuccessful in their attempt."

In the span of that moment, lots of crushing weight had suddenly disappeared from his body. His eyes drifted shut — this time, in a slow and sighed release of tension, rather than that of an attempt to stop the searing tears from falling down his cheeks. "Thank God," he whispered. He opened his eyes gradually, his body numb, and almost calmly said, "So what're her chances? Is she going to be okay?"

Over the receiver, the fox herd Flo let out a slow, soulful huff. "I want to say 'yes of course', Nick… I really do. But you've learned that in this job it's best not to promise anything. I may not have done a great job 'comforting' you, I admit. But I can, at least, remove your fear of not knowing what's going on. The only comforting thing I can say to you is this: she's young, she's strong, she has great willpower and she has a lot to live for. That helps things out a lot. The attack itself aside, there's nothing that could have been done different to improve her chances. I have every confidence in the 'possibility' of a full recovery."

As she spoke, the door to the bullpen opened again and Chief Bogo stepped through, observing the fox carefully as he entered, and pulling the door with a soft click behind him. He was holding a small black box in his hoof behind his back, which he kept carefully out of sight of the fox.

"Your 'Carrots' will be in my charge of care once the surgery is over. I will keep you updated of any developments as and when they happen overnight."

"If you could, that, that'd be just great, thank you."

"The anesthetic will start wearing off some time in the middle of the afternoon. When that happens, I judge, she will be wanting to see you just as much as you want to see her."

"I'll be there, you can count on that. How do I find you?"

"Go to reception and ask for Nurse Flo. The receptionist might say I'm busy, but be persistent and she'll give me a call directly. I'll see you then."

"Okay, great— and thank you!"

As the fox was moving to press the 'end call' button, the Chief reached across and took the phone from his paws, taking a few steps away from him and speaking, quietly, "Rose?"

"Bogo?"

"How is..." clearing his throat, his voice dropped further still as he glanced at the fox over his shoulder. "How's Jack?"

"Not well. He's lost a severe amount of blood. Hypoglycemic shock occurred, his pulse is minimal and his blood pressure is next to zero. I'm surprised he hasn't flatlined already. If we'd arrived as little as two minutes later, he would have been dead on arrival. Him being strangled also cut off blood to his brain and caused a transient ischaemic attack, which could easily have become a full-on stroke. He'll be put into the ICU, if he pulls through the surgery. That is life support to keep his condition stable. A blood transfusion will be made as soon as possible, and we're putting him in a medically educed coma for now. It's about all we can do."

The Chief nodded grimly. "Do what you can for him. He's a damn good agent. We need him."

"To say his chances are good would be but speculation and lies. Do you really want me to reassure you?"

Bogo said nothing, holding the phone against his ear in the darkness of the room. He sucked on a thin breath between his teeth, and spoke into the receiver, dryly, "I'll see you later."

"Take care." The buffalo slipped his phone into his pocket and silently glowered at the floor. He felt eyes upon him, and turned up to the red fox stood in the corner, his fur matted and untidy, his uniform stained with blood and his cheeks with hot tears. He was red around his eyes because of the constant rubs he'd give them, and his ears were low, while his tail dusted the ground beneath him.

Never before had Bogo seen the fox in such a state — rarely had he seen anyone looking so exhausted and bedraggled. Bogo stepped quietly towards the fox and put his hoof upon his back, turning him and guiding him at the door.

The Chief pushed it open and held it, while the fox half walked, half stumbled through — leading him out of the back exit and returning him to the car with which they had arrived by. Bogo stashed the black object he had fetched in the glove compartment, before, sliding on his belt and pulling the car away.

...

In a sterilized, white medical room, a rabbit lay motionless on her back. A team of medical staff moved animatedly around her, their faces covered with masks, their paws gloved and their bodies covered with plastic, medical aprons.

Judy Hopps' chest rose and fell slowly, mechanically, as a large machine slowly hissed, beeping as the ventilator inhaled and exhaled into her lungs for her by the pipeline of the transparent, plastic wires that followed from the large piece of machinery and into the rabbit's nose.

Machines beeped all around, the clear pipes from her nose twisting with the colored tubes going into her arms. The surgeon's green, plastic gloves were stained with bright crimson, while he stood back and pawed a bloodied piece of stainless steel to a nurse waiting beside him. "The wound is cleaned," he stated, "now moving to remove the pooled blood."

Set by the rabbit's head, another doctor lowered a pair of tweezers into the bone of her skull, delicately taking hold of a piece of hard white, thus, removing the bone and carefully returning it to its rightful place.

The beeps went on, the rhythmic, steady sound of the ventilator's breaths continuing in perfect rhythm with the synthetic rise and fall of Judy's chest. The surgeons went on their jobs, their minds focused and tireless, their gloves stained with the essence of Judy's precious blood that was spilling out of her from her awful wounds.

The rabbit stared lifelessly at the deep blackness behind her closed eyes, her mind absent from her body, her soul drifting in the emptiness of her anesthetic-educed night.

Author's notes:

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Grooms decision thus chosen blind.

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