Chapter Seventy-Six
The Longest Day

The last stitch came in place. Stepping back carefully from the naked figure lying on the bed, the doctor looked over his work, the nurses around him congratulating him with quiet well-dones. Then they each stepped back and finished up with the operation. "That's all we can do," the doctor decided with a sigh.

"You've done a marvelous job, Doctor."

"Thank you, Nurse. Alright," he said, looking down at the patient lying unconscious on the operation bed, "let's get finished up here."

The sleeping body of Judy was silent and motionless, her life being kept together by the piece of machinery that pumped and drained air from her chest. But all the while in that artificial existence, her eyes moved underneath her closed shutters in the remnants of pure hope.

...

This building which the fox entered into was far too big. The walls and ceiling were undecorated and gray, and the corridors were wide and long. He paced silently behind the figure of a large buffalo, as the Chief led him to a small staircase, which he climbed clumsily up to a large elevator. Bogo paused and turned down towards the fox, his large finger jabbing against the 'call elevator' button. The Chief watched him carefully for a few long moments, until the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

They travelled up the elevator to a room high above the city's streets, and when the door opened, Nick walked blindly out, wandering down the corridor and pressing his paw against the cold glass of the window in the eyeful of the light-speckled blackness beneath.

With almost fatherly care, the buffalo kept an eye on the fox the whole time, continuously judging his emotional state and trying to stay one step ahead of whatever he was thinking — what he was thinking of 'doing' — and if it was safe to give him space, or better to step in before he did something he'd later come to regret. It wasn't likely that Nick was feeling suicidal… Bogo turned his large key into the stiff lock.

At least while Judy still lived and breathed, he wouldn't dare to touch upon his own life, at least Bogo hoped so. The door clicked as the key gave way to the pressure of the buffalo's motion. He moved to push the heavy door open, but then he paused as another thought hit. What if Judy didn't pull through?

The door opening a crack, Bogo averted with eyes which were — in a way few people ever had seen — deep with concern and compassion. He knew about Scarlett. He remembered the investigation. But he also knew about the biological factor, which would've made taking Judy as Nick's mate — especially after his previous mate's untimely death — so very difficult... and so very deep because of it.

For all his years seeing all the sides of this city, Bogo knew of so very few monogamous people, who had taken a second mate, and each of them had felt such a strong bond with their partner — stronger even, despite what the populous assumed, than the biology-induced attachment they had felt with their first mate, due to the sheer emotional effort and level of trust and affection they needed to be able to accept a second mate in the first place...

Bogo knew from experience that if Nick lost Judy now, with all that had happened, both in the last few days and in years gone by, it would devastate him. The Chief's lower lip stiffened as his expression tensed. This was a dangerous situation, but for all that danger, he apparently didn't miss the misery of the situation, for as he gazed at the figure of the despondent fox, the Chief realized with sudden dawning that he was—

Nick turned without the Chief expecting it, and Bogo flinched away half a second too late to stop the fox from catching sight of the glimmer of wetness about his eyes.

The fox squinted for a moment, his mind focusing on something other than the condition of his lover. He couldn't believe what he'd seen — or, thought he'd seen — and yet... he knew it was there. "Would you care to step in, Wilde," Bogo said, his voice a touch more distant and a good deal softer than it normally was.

Nick did so, his body acting automatically, his mind having been spent and his flesh exhausted. Thus, one foot stumbled in front of the other to carry him unsteadily inside, finding some last few fumes from the well of strength he didn't know he had within him.

"We should try to eat something," Bogo added, stepping past the fox and flicking on the light. "I'm as in no mood for eating as you are, Wilde, but... we have to have something." Nick nodded, said nothing, thought nothing and felt nothing as he did so. Then he remained stock still by the door, with his stiff body, and just gazed at the bare wall.

Sighing, Bogo retreated from the kitchen and back into the living room, putting a guiding hoof on Wilde's back and leading him towards the sofa. "Come on Nick, you damn fox you. I would offer you a shower," he snorted, trying to inject just a touch of humor as he guided the fox to fall back into the large piece of furniture, "but then, no doubt, you'd lose track of where you are and what you're doing. And I'd have to get all worried about if you were okay and go in to get you, barging in on you in just your fur... The neighbors are going to talk about this enough as it is… leading a fox back to my apartment at the dead of night."

The Chief watched the fox's expression carefully, but didn't expect to get anything in response. After a few long moments though — after the thought had slowly sunk into the fox's slowed mind — the smallest of smiles grew on his muzzle. "Yeah," the fox said lowly, his voice a broken version of his usual 'sarcastic charm', "don't worry about it, Chief. I won't kiss-and-tell. Heh, the other officers all know you've got the hots for me, anyway."

It was a dry and cracked version of the sarcastic and charming tone he usually spoke with, and the reproduction of a smirk showed so much more sorrow than joy — but it was something of the old 'Nick' Bogo knew, and the smirk was something other than the stare of emotionless silence he had been forced to watch before. Despite the severity of the situation and all the Chief's fears, a warmth crept on Bogo's face. "It's good to know you're still in there, Wilde. I was starting to think we'd lost you."

Nick managed the trace of a chuckle, his head nodding weakly and his brow low with weakness. "Huh, it'll take more than this before you'll have seen the last of me, Chief. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to lay down and die."

Bogo nodded, watching silently as the fox's body folded in on itself. It wasn't a neat or compact shape Nick tucked himself into — more that he collapsed and fell apart into the large sofa. His eyes were shut; before, his body even landed flat against the cushions, and the Chief judged he had passed out before his head had come to rest.

The Chief waited for a few long moments — just long enough to feel self-conscious about doing so — and he turned and made to pace away, but then Nick's voice caught his attention, and he glanced back towards the fox as he said, "I knew it, Bogo... first thing I thought when I woke up, 'today is going to be a very long day'. I shouldn't have left the house. I should've stayed at home, hidden Judy beneath the sheets."

Nick glanced up towards the Chief, realizing a moment too late what he'd pretty much just admitted, yet he dryly chuckled amidst his slip-up. "You know we're a couple, right?" Nick didn't wait for a reply, as he lowered himself deeper into the couch with a new smirk— an expression of distant self-satisfaction overpowering the fatigue and unhappiness for a moment.

"Yeah, course you know. Jack told ya, didn't he, the little piece of... hurgh, mustn't speak ill of the dead…" His expression tightened for a moment, and Nick forced his thoughts to process. "The jackrabbit I could well end up owing Judy's life to. He could've fled. I guess he gave his life to..." Nick mumbled something too quiet to hear, and his expression became faint like the apathy that clubbed his emotion.

Bogo wondered back towards the kitchen after the fox started snoring; he had stood quietly beside him until then, aware that — while he was clearly no 'Judy' — his presence could still offer some little comfort that may have helped him sleep.

After turning on the oven and sticking a random item of food inside, he had paced to his desk in the blue darkness of his office room, pouring himself a large drink from a glass decanter and watching the sleeping fox carefully in the warm light of the living room, while sipping back the stiff liqueur. His focus went onto the paperwork, to the drawing of the city he had scribbled on that morning of the Hives that he had guessed would be where the criminals were, and the circled 'x' of Erkin Electric.

Scowling, he set his glass down and picked up the piece of paper, his heartbeat increasing and his breaths deepening as he scrunched up the piece of paper in his large hooves. He tossed it against the wall and put his arm down with a thump on the desk, his head falling into his palm as he gritted his teeth, his free hoof searching the surface for his drink.

He found the glass, picked it up and then the statement that Nick had earlier made hit him like a fat rock 'you're getting old, you're losing your touch...' and in the space of an instant, the glass tumbler became a scattering of shards. Bogo stood instantly from his uncomfortable seating, drawing his arm back and checking his palm for cuts, while the fox's final words rang around in his head 'you're making mistakes.'

He twitched back to the sleeping fox, whose arms and legs were splayed out around him with his head hanging limply at an awkward angle. Bogo stepped towards him, silently crossing from the darkness and into the room with lowered eyebrows. He drew close and noticed the twitching of Nick's nose, his closed eyes, his fingers and clawed toes as he obviously dreamt a shallow dream. Unsure of exactly what he was planning to do, the Chief reached out towards him. His hoof came to within a few inches of the fox's face — his expression twitching and his ears in tune with the sounds of his own imagination — and then...

Bogo moved away quickly as something buzzed in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, glanced across his shoulder at the sleeping fox, paced away and looked upon the name 'Rose'. He pressed answer and drew it to his ear, his voice quiet as he breathed a, "Yes?"

Long moments of nothing but Bogo just listening, he then spoke a few quiet words of thanks, and the fox's body jolted from its faint slumber, his eyes pulling open and his legs stretching out beneath him, while his gaze wondered about the room, with his partly dysfunctional mind trying to remember what was going on.

By the time he had recalled his situation and looked back ahead of him, the face of Chief Bogo was hovering close by. The buffalo knelt down on the floor in front of the sofa to speak with the fox, with neither having to crane their necks. "Wilde, I've just had a word," Bogo whispered unhurried and clear. "Hopps is out of surgery, the internal bleeding has been stopped, the pooled blood has been cleaned and the fractured scalp is corrected."

Nick just gawked — the day had been too long for him to be able to process what he was hearing. He sat reactionless, while the Chief waited for a reply, and when none came, he prompted Nick further... "She's pulled through the surgery, Wilde. She's going to be okay. Everything that was immediately life-threatening has been treated. Her bones have been set, her wounds cleaned and stitched, her broken wrist corrected... she's going to be okay, Nick..."

Lowering himself towards the fox, the Chief repeated slowly into his ear. "She's going-to-be-okay."

...

"What do you mean she's going to be okay?!" screamed the Lord of Zistopia, his hairs blazing up on his silken black coat as he shouted violently at the image of a white wolf. "What kind of moronic idiot are you?!"

The white wolf's ears lowered, his slit 'good' eye fixed upon the floor at his master's harrowing words, his voice filled with such unrelenting outrage that even Wulf was turned a tinge afraid. "Alone, you had her. A host of armed thugs at your back, but you..." His soothing and enchanting voice now repugnant and harsh, the Lord's breaths shivered as he tried to control the surge of black malice which emanated from him — almost visually darkening the very room itself with an aura of deep vengefulness.

"You dead space. You piece of worthless shit! The time, the money, the research I put into you and this... this is how I am rewarded?" Throwing himself at the badger who was holding the laptop bearing Wulf's image, Secretary Appleby stepped swiftly to the side as the black panther snatched at the device, his golden eyes aflame as he exploded into the microphone, "Fortunately, I am in a 'good mood'. Go to that piece-of-dung Svelte and get yourself fixed up. I'll have you brought back here to discuss your future."

The Lord's snarl turning to a high scream, the black-furred Lord of Zistopia threw down the laptop upon the floor, his growling cry of hatred continuing long and loud as he beat his foot down time and time again on the device, until the glass was smashed upon the floor and the screen broke away from the keyboard. He picked up the keyboard and hurled it across the room. It broke open — its battery and hard drive clattering upon the floor — as it smashed upon the black wall.

Appleby watched silently and impassively as the Lord turned and kicked over a table, ceramics smashing upon with loudness. "Surrounded by crap!" he shot, turning sharply to the fireplace and drawing his muscled arm dramatically across the mantelpiece, which sent the clock and its ornaments flying and smashing on the floor.

"Phone everyone, Appleby," shouted the Lord, turning to the badger, "phone every-fucking-one we know: I want their ships, I want their guns, I want their missiles. I want the city of Zootopia turned to a pile of fire and scrap-fucking-metal, and I want them all to know it was me! I'll see Admin Tower toppled and the Administrators hanged from the flagpoles of their country. I'll see their industries burn and the lake surrounding the city poisoned with blood. For thirty days and thirty nights the sky will be black with ash and red with fire. The sun won't shine, the dawn won't come and there shall be no end to the torment and all... all shall know it was Iwho was the cause! I who am the one with all the power! I who AM Almighty!" The panther ran out of air, gasping deeply for breath. His voice now a hoarse growl, as his deluge of spiteful maleficence and satanic intentions had been vented out to the world.

"I feel as though that may be unwise at this time, Sir," advised Appleby, pacing smoothly towards the panther and taking a clean, white pawkerchief from his inner-breast pocket. "Your plans are anything but 'dashed', after all." The badger reached out towards his panting, growling and sobbing master, and fearlessly reached to dab the tears away from his eyes. The panther snarled and grabbed the pawkerchief from Appleby's paw, biting on it and ripping it to shreds.

The badger's reaction was nothing more but to raise a brow at this behavior, taking a step towards the mess on the floor and picking up the wooden frame of the broken clock. "As much as I would love to, Sir," he said, his voice deeply sincere, "I very much doubt your accomplices would feel—"

"Bastards," the Lord shot, his voice becoming gruffer as the tears grew stronger. "They're all bastards. They don't respect me. I'll show them, they'll pay, they all will. I'll show them."

After a pause, Appleby cleared his throat and began again, his voice a tone softer, "I very much doubt, Sir, that they feel the 'mood' is right to initiate that stage of the operation. May I also remind, Sir, of the repercussions of making such a bold move prematurely?"

"Bastards, all of them," the Lord muttered, the power in his voice fading and his body crumpling as he slid down against the wall. "One rabbit… one fucking, tiny rabbit. Tell me again why we give a crap about her?"

"Mister Wilde, Sir. For the sake of Mister Nicholas Wilde."

"Wilde," the Lord repeated, his speech now choked with tears. "Can he really be so vital as to hold up everything?"

The rarest of occurrences happened then — the crack of a thin smile appeared on the badger's impassive expression. "Your second-in-command believes so..."

The panther's gaze turned towards the badger and held his expression, carefully. "Perhaps he will require 'scrubbing' from the plan."

Appleby cleared his throat. "If that will be all, Sir? I had better fetch a broom." The Lord said nothing. "I will arrange a meeting of the Heads, Sir," he added, pausing in the doorway. "It may take some time, but I do believe a face-to-face update on the situation will be required to ensure the smooth transition to the next phase of the operation."

Sir Appleby waited for a few, polite moments in the doorframe. Then he just glided away silently. Zistopia's Lord goggled down at the black surface at the floor, tears slowly dripping from his muzzle. With a low growl of bitterness and shame, he pulled the smashed frame of the laptop closer and rested his head on it as a makeshift pillow.

His body curling up in on itself — his thick tail coming to cover his head — the Lord's lips pulled back as he stifled his sobs, while his white teeth glinted in the light of the rising new day.

Author's notes:

Hesitance jumps around your mind,

Grooms decision thus chosen blind.

Your thoughts most succulent of snack,

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