18

Whoever said falling onto snow was like falling onto a cloud was a dirty liar. Falling onto snow hurt. It was also probably the only thing that kept Nick from breaking his back when he slammed into the mountainside.

His flailing cartwheel through the air turned into a tumbling roll down the slope of the cliff, chunks of loose snow and rock cascading around him as he went. His attempts to grab onto something to slow his descent were in vain, leaving him with nothing but stinging paws and a wrenched shoulder for his efforts. Sharp pebbles pinged off his face and arms before spiraling off into space, and Nick had a terrifying vision of his battered form hitting the mountainside at just the right angle that it sent him flying off into nothing, never to be found.

And then all at once, the slope flattened out. Nick came to a skidding stop, half buried in the snow and other detritus. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for another drop to take him at any second. But a minute passed, then two, and still the surface he clung to remained steady.

He laid there a few moments more, trying to figure out if any of the numb parts of his body were now also broken. But he concluded, after a cautious wiggling of digits and flexing of muscles, that everything seemed intact, if not quite as responsive as he would've liked them to be.

Only then did he chance rising. He brushed dirty snow off his clothes and fur as took in his surroundings. He appeared to have landed on an outcropping that jutted from the side of the mountain. Not a tail's length behind him the ledge ended, the lake a dark stretch of broken ice below, popping and cracking as it shifted, the sound as sharp and violent as gunshots. That he might have continued rolling right over the side and down into that jagged icy blackness with nothing to stop him made Nick feel light-headed, and he moved away.

He looked up at the cliffside. A dark streak where the snow had been disturbed made it easy to track his descent. Above it, he could just make out the bridge, maybe fifty feet above him, half-concealed by the falling snow and perfectly blending into the gray skies. If not for the russet dot that was Robin's head peering down at him from over the side, he might have missed it entirely.

"—All right?" Robin's voice reached him on an echo, and Nick eyed the snowy cliff stretching above him warily. If there was an avalanche he would be swept away faster than you could say fox pawpsicle. Luckily, the snow was wet and the winds strong. Most of it had frozen into ice on impact. Even Nick smashing full-body down the mountainside hadn't done more than leave a dent in its surface.

"Wilde?" Robin's voice reverberated with anxiety. "Y-you all right?"

"Been better," Nick shouted back. "You?"

He strained to hear Robin's response over the howling wind. He caught, "My ankle," and, "will live."

How encouraging.

"The others?" he asked.

"Fine. But the cart…"

Nick's stomach dropped.

"M-must have bent the track or something when it—" The words cut off. The wind or Robin, Nick couldn't tell. Finally he picked up, "Stuck," and, "Can't move it."

"Can you climb back up?" Robin asked.

Nick considered the cliff face. The incline looked steep but not impossible. With a little luck and careful stepping…

He reached up, digging numb paws into the icy surface, looking for a clawhold. After a moment, he managed to find one.

If only I had thought to look for rope along with shovels.

Before he could second guess or psych himself out of it, Nick reached for another. And then another. He tried to stay within the path made by his fall, where there was less snow and therefore less chance of it all coming loose and crashing down on top of him. He made it three feet up. Then five. Then seven. It was laborious going. He could barely feel to grip, and all the while the storm raged around him, plucking and pushing at him, blinding him with sleet. Ten feet up. Fifteen. Nick's arms started to burn, his legs turning to rubber as exhaustion began to overtake him. He stopped checking how far up he was. The answer was always the same: not far enough. And every time he looked and did the math—how tired he was compared with how far he had left—he didn't like the results he came up with.

He tried not to think about all the problems that awaited him once he reached the top. Robin, injured. The tarp that had been sheltering the Corsacs, gone. And the cart no longer useable. Where did that leave them?

In deep trouble, that was where.

Nick reached up for another clawhold, brushing his paw over the stone as he searched it out by feel. But the area was smooth, without a single dint or jut of rock to grab onto. He squinted up through the slicing wind, trying to see. But the stretch of cliff above him slanted at a much steeper angle, and had been worn flat by stronger winds and time. There was nothing.

He craned his neck back, trying to locate the bridge. He had to look farther up than he would've liked. He wasn't more than halfway up. He could just make out Robin, watching. The fox was almost behind him now, the climb taking Nick away from the others and back to where the mountain ended and the bridge began. But that was a minor problem; the lack of places to climb was a bigger one. Already he could feel his strength waning as he clung there, desperately struggling to come up with an answer that just wasn't there. With one paw he clawed at the stone, trying to force it to give. If he could just carve out enough of a niche to grip with… But the stone was too hard, too frozen, and Nick too weak and numb to have any effect.

"—Wilde?"

Those foxes were relying on him. Robin, Marian, Reynard and Todd. They had followed him out here into this blizzard because they had trusted his judgment. And now they were stranded on the tracks, and Nick was stuck down here like a cat stuck in a tree. Ridiculous. Useless. And Judy…

He clawed harder. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't a rational action. Even if he managed to dig out a clawhold or two, there was no way he would be able to manage the other twenty, thirty, fifty that it would take to get him to the top.

He raked his claws down the stone. The tip of a claw got caught on the tinniest of fissures and stuck there. Nick yanked his paw back and the claw broke, snapping off at the quick. Nick was too out of breath to do more than gasp at the pain of it. Blood welled up at the tip of the digit, only to freeze there a second later, a dark bead of pain on the tip of his paw.

Something inside of Nick cracked at the sight of it. With a yell, He pounded his fist against the rock. It wasn't a particularly hard punch, but it was enough to send a jolt through his body and the surrounding rock and dislodge him from his precarious perch, sending him half-falling, half-sliding back down the mountainside. He scrabbled to grab on to anything that might halt his descent, but in the end he didn't come to a stop until his toes hit the flat of the outcropping he had started out on.

Nick pushed away from the stone, took one step back, and promptly crumpled, his legs giving out from under him as the last of his energy escaped him. He collapsed back, panting and shaky and with a sick feeling of the inevitable sinking into his gut.

He wasn't getting back up that mountain.

Not without help they didn't have, using time they couldn't spare. Already the odds were stacked against them, possibly too high to overcome.

The bridge was an impossible highwire above him. Robin's blurry face was still there, still watching. Nick could faintly hear the fox calling to him, but between the howling of the wind and the ringing in his ears, he couldn't make out the words.

He lay there, catching his breath as the cold numbed away the burn from his muscles and the sting from the scrapes he'd sustained during the fall. What were they going to do now? What was possibly left to try?

Of all things, that stupid Gazelle song popped into his head, along with an image of Judy hopping in time to the beat, nudging him with a playful bump of her hip, trying to get him to join in. But no amount of prompting could make an impossible situation possible.

What was he supposed to do now?

"Wilde? You okay down there? Nick?"

He unzipped his jacket pocket, pulling out the carrot in its wad of newspaper. Layer by layer he unwrapped it, letting the wind snatch away the crinkled pages as he went. The orange bit of plastic felt almost warm where he cupped it in his palms, and he wondered distantly if it was a sign that it was still functioning or more a testament to how much body heat he'd lost.

He turned the tracker over. Taking in the excess glue at the top and the small chip on the side where Judy must have slipped with the straight razor while cutting into it. It really did look just like her carrot pen, both in size and weight, and he wondered what message he might be tempted to record, if it were.

"Carrots… No, Judy. I have to tell you something."

"Wilde? Are you okay?"

"I've been thinking it for a long time. But to me, you are…"

"Nick? Answer me, d-darn you!"

"You're a terrible actor, Carrots. I'm sorry, but it had to be said. If this police thing ever falls through, please think of another fallback career, for all our sakes."

"Nick!"

"Well… duty calls."

With great effort, Nick once again rose, brushing off the snow that had already made decent headway in burying him, and looked at Robin.

He shouted up, "How good are you at catching?"

A pause, and then Robin's answer echoed down. "Very good."

Of course you are. Grip tightening around the carrot, Nick yelled, "Then, catch!"

He waited a beat for Robin to prepare for it, then he lobbed the tracker straight up. He watched it fly, a speck of orange cutting through the wind and snow like a tacky piece of shrapnel until a dark paw shot out, snatching it up.

Nick stood there, shivering ankle deep in snow as he waited for Robin to process what he was telling him. He knew what the fox's decision would be, because he would've made the same if their positions had been reversed and it had been Judy freezing to death before his eyes.

Finally, Robin's voice echoed down to him. "Where do we go?"

"South," said Nick. "If you find shelter, s-stay there. Otherwise, just go as far as you can." It was all they could do.

"But Marian and Todd, and Reynard… how will I—"

"However you have to." Impending death was a great motivator.

More silence. When Robin spoke again, his tone was somber and hard in a way Nick had never heard it before. "I promise I'll send someone back for you."

Nick tried not to think of all the qualifiers that came with that. If they made it. If someone found them in time. If they were lucid enough to give accurate directions. If the storm allowed for a search party. If, if, if…

"I would gr-greatly appreciate it if you would," was all Nick said.

That furry red head ducked away. And despite knowing it was coming, Nick still had to stop himself from trying to claw his way back up the cliff after him, physics be damned. There was a fizzing kind of pressure building inside his chest. His fight or flight response screaming at him to do something before it was too late. Before Robin left him there, taking his best chance of rescue with him.

His paws pressed flat to the stone, he leaned his forehead against it and willed reason to return. Or barring that, a little dignity. He would not kill himself trying to follow. He would not break down and beg Robin to stay. He would give the foxes this chance and hope it was enough.

He stayed like that, pressed against the cliff until all sounds of Robin and the Corsacs had faded, until he knew that even if he broke down and yelled for them to come back that they wouldn't hear. Only then did he trust himself to move away.

He shuffled through the snow, looking for the most sheltered spot he could find on his little ledge. Eventually, he settled for wedging himself into a corner made from a boulder and one of the bridge's support beams. It was still freezing, but it was out of the wind and had a manageable amount of snow. At the very least, he wouldn't have to worry about being buried alive if he passed out suddenly.

He curled up there, wrapping his tail around himself, and summoned up the warmest daydream he could think of. No dancing, not this time. Instead, he thought back to that moment in the cruiser when Judy had been soft and happy in his arms, and he had been free to hold her as close as he wished. And this time no one pushed away or ruined the moment. It was just her and him. And Nick was warm.


Marty tore down the long hallway that connected Cottontail's business tower with his factory, checking over his shoulder with every other step. But no one had seen him and no one appeared, and he was feeling pretty good, all things considered. The check was tucked safely away in his pocket, and though he would have to cash it quickly before Peter came to and put a freeze on the account, Marty was optimistic that his plans would still hold. He might have just moved up on the suspect list, but as long as he made it out of Zootopia in time, it wouldn't matter. Peter wasn't the only one who knew how to disappear successfully.

Marty could do it, too.

Checking off wall sconces, he stopped when he came to one with a chip in it. Fortunately for him, Peter's extravagance only extended to where society could see, otherwise the business bunny might have replaced the light, and that would have really ruined Marty's plans.

A few scratches here and there and the wallpaper fell away, revealing a pressed wall of soil perfect for burrowing. Despite all of Peter's outward changes, he was still a bunny at heart, and all bunny's needed their emergency escapes.

Marty was more than happy to take advantage of that.

He started digging.


Cold. Dark. Pain. The fox wasn't sure in which order he first registered these three things, but once he did, he found it was all he could focus on. He kept turning them over in his mind like a bad hand of cards he couldn't get rid of. Cold, dark, pain. All of them unwelcome sensations to what had otherwise been until now a peaceful unconsciousness.

Or if not peaceful, at least less troubling.

He tried ignore them. That seemed the easiest way. But time passed and still they remained, continuous and uncomfortable, and eventually the fox became bothered enough by this trio of annoyances to wonder about them, if only so he could figure out how to make them go away.

His head hurt. That was where the pain was coming from. And there was a chill in the air that he didn't care for, and he thought his eyes might be closed, but he couldn't find the strength to open them.

This led to unwanted realizations about other things. For one, he was lying down. And there was a steady beeping near his ear that was almost as irritating as the pain and the cold. And there were voices speaking. Distant, tinny voices that fluctuated between serious and chipper with all the insincerity of a news report.

The thought of the news sent a tickle of memory through his battered head and a zing of concern through his heart. The beeping increased in speed. Now the sound was as irritating as the pain and the cold.

And yet shortly after thinking that, he nodded off again. Well, passed out might have been more accurate. But he welcomed it all the same. If it took him away from the irritants that wouldn't leave him alone…

For while, it seemed he had escaped it after all. But gradually he drifted back, like an incoming tide that couldn't stay out, and his mind circled back to the same three thoughts—cold, dark, pain—and the feeling of having been over this before, several times.

But this time, he found himself able to remedy one.

He cracked open his eyes.

He was greeted by a heavily shadowed room. The only light came from the doorway, which led into a painfully bright hall, white and shiny and echoing with voices. A rhino police officer sat in a too-small chair facing the doorway, his arms crossed and his great chin resting against his chest as he dozed. The fox didn't recognize him, but the sight gave him the same uneasy feeling as the news report he'd overheard earlier.

The beeping was still there. Faster now. The fox tried to shift, either to get away from it or make it stop, but his body felt weighed down, and even tipping his head sent pain lancing through it.

He cried out. The rhino officer startled from his chair just as two nurses—a lamb and a ring-tailed lemur—came rushing passed him and into the room, a bear doctor hot on their heels. The overhead lights snapped on, and for a minute the fox was blinded.

Paws prodded him. His lids were peeled back and a penlight was shined into his eyes. At least someone turned off the beeping noise. The fox was grateful for that, at least.

Questions were tossed at him. Was he in any pain? Did he know where he was? Did he remember his name? His date of birth?

"My head hurts," he told them. "And I… I'm at the hospital? My name is Craven Corsac. I—" He glanced over at the rhino officer, who had risen from his chair and now stood in the doorway, watching the proceedings with a hard gaze, and Craven's breath hitched as his mind raced ahead of him, filling in the questions they hadn't yet asked and supplying more of his own.

"My family. Is my family here? Are they hurt? Have they been arrested?"

"Please relax, Mr. Corsac," said the doctor.

"Are they alive? Can't you at least tell me that?"

The nurses exchanged looks and didn't answer. The doctor scribbled something down on his notebook, tore off the top page and handed it to the lemur. "Take another blood sample. Then send him down for a CT scan and a MRI."

"Yes, doctor."

The lamb reached for the PICC in Craven's arm. He covered it with a paw.

"Why won't you tell me if they're okay?" he cried.

"Because they can't." This came from the rhino officer. "They don't know anything besides the fact that your criminal siblings are still on the run. So unless you have something you'd like to share—"

"I do!" Craven made the mistake of trying to sit up, and hissed and grabbed at his head. The lemur stilled him with a firm paw to the shoulder. "It was Marty! That jackrabbit tricked us! He made us think—"

"Wait. Are we talking about a bunny here?"

"Yes," said Craven.

"A bunny made your family break into a factory and beat up an elderly armadillo? And kidnap an officer? And flood a tunnel?"

"Yes! I mean, no. It's complicated…"

"Oh, I'm sure a lot of things are complicated for you right now," said the officer. "So I would suggest that you keep your trap shut until you can get your story straight. You may be a patient, but you're still a wanted felon. I will be reporting everything that happens here during your stay to the ZPD, and that includes lying to an officer."

"I wasn't," tried Craven, but he didn't know how to explain, and the rhino was already returning to his chair in the hall. He gave Craven a warning look and Craven force himself to relax back.

The lamb nurse was pulling up the railings on his rollaway bed, getting ready to take him down for testing.

"Do you really not know?" whispered Craven. "About my family?"

"I'm sorry," said the lamb, and she looked like she meant it.

Cold. Dark. Pain. Craven was started to regret having left it.


"There's been an incident at the Cottontail Factory." Officer Eisbaer had to shout to be heard above the wind.

"Did they give any specifics?" Officer Dill shouted back.

"No. But Officer Hopps was requested specifically."

"Well they'll have to wait. How much farther?"

This last was directed at Judy. She looked up from her phone. "Straight ahead. Quarter mile."

They slowed their vehicles. Judy was torn between watching her phone screen and trying to make out Nick through all the falling snow. She'd had a moment of panic a while ago when the tracker showed him backtracking west. But then he had taken a sharp turn south, straight towards them, and hadn't veered since. That had to be a good sign, right?

The wolves let out simultaneous howls and sped ahead. Officer Eisbaer said, "I've got a visual."

A shape appeared out of the storm, fox height, with dark red fur speckled with snow, and Judy's heart leapt. He was hunched over and lumbering his way forward one dragging step at a time. In his arms was a heavily bundled object nearly as big as he was.

"Nick!" Judy shouted, and the fox's head shot up. Their eyes met, and Judy froze halfway off her vehicle. "Robin?"

One side of the fox's mouth ticked up. He stopped walking, head bowing to say something to the bundle in his arms, which gave a weak wriggle in response. Judy had a moment to wonder before Todd Corsac peeked out from under a layer of clothes, and Judy found herself taken aback all over again.

From behind Robin, two more figures stumbled into view. Marian and Reynard Corsac, leaning heavily against each other as they made their way through the snow. At the sight of the officers, Marian let out a strangled whimper and fell to her knees. Reynard stumbled and went down with her.

The Tundratown Police didn't miss a beat. The wolves were off their vehicles and bounding through the snow faster than Judy could dismount. They scooped up the foxes and ran with them over to Officer Eisbaer, who threw open the back door of her vehicle's trailer to reveal what looked like a mini ambulance. The floor of the trailer was padded with water resistant cushions and stacks of blankets, which the foxes were immediately swaddled in. Judy could feel the warmth from the heater blasting from where she stood. Medical supplies and equipment were hooked to the walls. The wolves cracked heating packets while Officer Eisbaer started taking medical readings.

Judy looked back out into the storm, waiting. Surely any minute he would come… but seconds passed and no fifth fox appeared. She looked down at her phone. The tracker said she should be right on top of him. She looked back at the foxes, something sharp and heavy beginning to cut into her heart.

She tromped as fast as she could through the snow over to the trailer, hopping up to perch on the edge, making sure not to track in any snow. When she looked at Robin, all she could get out was, "Nick…?"

The fox, who had been struggling with something in the folds of his many layered clothes, finally managed to pull it free and hand it to her. Judy stared down at the carrot tracker.

"How…"

"T-there's a bridge northeast of here. Wilde was—" Robin broke out in a violent coughing fit. Judy hovered over him. Wanting to help, wanting to make him answer. Eventually he managed, "Nick fell, s-saving me. Told me to take that carrot and get help."

"A bridge, you said?"

Robin shivered and nodded. "Go north until you hit r-rail tracks. Then follow them east. You can't miss it."

"Got it."

"And, Judy… I'm…"

Judy met his eyes, and the worry, guilt, and sadness in his gaze made the heavy thing pressing into her heart cut deeper.

"I'm glad you're all okay," she told him, and leapt out of the trailer before he could finish whatever he had been trying to say.

She raced back over to her vehicle, and Officer Dill, who had remained where he was almost as if he had been waiting for her.

"Where to?" he said as she hopped up behind him.

"Do you know of any rail tracks north of here?"

Officer Dill frowned. "Like for a tram? No. North, you said?"

"Yes."

"Odd," he said. But he didn't question her further.

Their pace felt painfully slow. Judy could feel time ticking with every beat of her heart, but they couldn't race ahead and risk driving right over the tracks. If they missed the landmarks, they'd never find Nick.

Finally—

"There!" shouted Judy, pointing, and Officer Dill pulled up alongside a very old but still serviceable rail track.

"Fascinating," he said, but Judy wasn't interested in the discovery, only where it would lead them.

"We need to go east now," she told him.

They followed the rail. When the bridge came into view, Judy's heart froze, full-stop.

Had they tried to cross that?

She practically fell of the vehicle in her haste to reach the edge. She got as close as she dared, peeking over the side. Snow swirled and danced, down, down, down, all the way to a frozen lake far below. It crackled and surged, a deadly chopping of freezing water and sharp ice.

"Nick!"

This couldn't be right. No way could Nick have survived such a fall. There had to be somewhere else.

"Anything?" asked Officer Dill.

Judy shook her head. She regretted not bringing Robin with them. There had to be somewhere… Somewhere she wasn't seeing…

"Nick! Nicholas Wilde!"

There, not too far down, was a ledge. Could someone fall and survive that far? Possibly. But though Judy strained to see any hint of that bright bit of fox fur, there was nothing. Just snow and ice and rock.

"Answer me, you dumb fox!"

The only response that came back was the echo of her own voice.

A rope was looped around her waist. Officer Dill finished it off with a fancy knot and began wrapping the rest around a circle he had dug into the snow.

"Have you ever rappelled before?" he asked her.

"Never," said Judy.

"Well after today that will no longer be true," he said. "Since we're short on time, and supplies, we're going to have to do this the quick and dirty way. You ready?"

A brief rundown, and Judy was hopping her way down the ice-slick side to the ledge below.

Once she was down, she picked her way around the small outcropping, even going so far as to peek over the edge, just in case there was another hidden bit below. There wasn't. And there was no sign that a fox was, or had ever been, stranded there.

Grief clogged Judy's throat. Tears broke from her eyes before she could stop them and froze along the edges of her goggles as the realization slowly sank in.

Nick was gone.


Marty dug the tunnel from the factory back to his neighborhood in record time.

He surfaced in an empty lot behind his house. The storm had finally moved on. All that remained was a foggy drizzle and the soft rumblings of thunder from beyond Zootopia's city limits.

The streets were quiet. The clouds thin and rapid in their pace across the night sky. No one was about. A perk of living in a burrow. Most of the residents here tended to hunker down during emergencies and not reappear until they were sure the coast was clear. They wouldn't be about until morning, at the earliest.

He hopped across the road and over the fence that separate his backyard from the street. The ground was soggy under his feet, the trees bowed low above him, water still dripping from the tips of their leaves. A flickering streetlight across the way told him the power was back, at least in his neighborhood, but most of houses remained dark, including his.

When they had heard about the storm, Marty had sent Grandpa Gregor to stay with the other relatives back at the family home with a promise that he would join them once he'd finished running some errands, so he didn't have to worry about being quiet as he let himself in through the back door and slipped into the kitchen.

Leaving off the light, he grabbed a fistful paper towels and wiped off the worst of the mud from his paws and feet. His grandfather was going to be upset enough when Marty never showed. The least his could do was avoid making the old bunny clean up after him too.

When he was done, he hurried into the living room and over to the small front closet where earlier he had stowed his duffel, already packed with supplies he would need as he made his way out of the city. There was a 24 hour bank at the tram station. He would stop off there to cash Peter's check, and then if he hurried he could make it out on the last tram of the evening. Then it would be finished. Justice served, and him off to start a new life.

He grabbed his bag, then after thinking about it added a jacket too, just in case. He wondered how the foxes were doing. Had they attempted to make a break for it? Or had they tried to tough it out and wait? Most of them must be gone by now, either way. Marian must be…

"Hello, Marty."

He dropped the bag with a startled hop, whirling towards the softly spoken voice. Someone stood next to the front window, half-hidden in the shadows. He must have walked right by them and not noticed. He couldn't make out their face, but the tall ears and slight rural accent gave them away.

"Officer Hopps." Marty slapped on his most innocent and clueless expression, fumbling to pick up the dropped bag. "Why are you—I mean, what brings you here? At this hour. Did something—" He let his voice rise hopefully. "Did you hear something about Marian?"

The bunny officer sighed. "You can drop the act now, Marty."

He hadn't dug fast enough. Peter must have woken up and blabbed, and now Marty was going to have to finagle his way out of this. Why had he let that rotten business bunny live? He had just been in such a rush, and upset. If only he had killed Peter when he'd had the chance.

Marty hugged the bag to his chest, eyes wide and anxious. "Act?"

Through the window, a full but low hanging moon peaked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the bunny officer's face in a pale white glow. It made her look wane and tired. "I know it was you, Marty. I know you were the one who made the Corsacs disappear. I came to ask you—implore you—to turn yourself in."

Marty snorted. Letting his cowering facade drop, he straightened and tossed the bag aside, asking, "And why would I do that?"

Officer Hopps looked over at him, and that was when Marty realized it wasn't just the poor light that made her look exhausted. The cop must've had a heck of a day. Her ears drooped behind her and her shoulders were slumped. She had her arms crossed in the standard "tough cop" pose, but her paws were gripping at her sleeves almost like she were hugging herself.

"For your own heart's sake," said Judy. When Marty curled lips at that, she added, "And the courts will go easier on you if you do."

"Well, this is certainly a new way of policing. Begging a suspect to turn himself in. No wonder the ZPD seems so useless these days."

Judy just looked at him. Her gloomy expression, her whole dispirited demeanor pricked at him. The last time they'd spoken, she had been energetic and determined and upbeat. Annoying, really. But the Judy Hopps in front of him now looked broken. Had something happened?

Then it clicked. Marty slapped his hands together and laughed. "Ah. Lost track of your partner, have you?"

Her red-rimmed eyes widened. "How did you know?"

This was going to be easier than he'd hoped. "Because I spoke with him earlier. We had a real nice chat, him and I."

Suspicion entered that woebegone gaze. "You did something to him."

"Me? Never," said Marty. "We conversed like gentlemen and then I… sent him on his way."

Outside, clouds slipped back over the moon, returning the room to shadows. Marty could just hear the officer's ragged breathing from where he stood. He waited for her to collect herself.

"Turn yourself in," she said finally. "Admit to what you did to the Corsacs, and Nick. And if you do… I promise I'll do what I can to get you a reasonable sentence."

Marty let the silence stretch, just long enough to make her believe he was seriously considering it. Then he said, "A nice offer. Now allow me to counter."

He pulled out his tranquilizer gun. The shiny surface was just visible in the dark. Officer Hopps went very still.

"Don't worry," said Marty. "I'm not going to shoot you." He tossed the gun to her in an easy underhand throw. She caught it and eyed him. "What do you think you're doing right now?"

"Making you a deal," said Marty. "You want to save the foxes. I want to get away. This way we both have a chance to get what we want."

"And how is that?"

Marty gestured to the gun. "You shoot yourself—don't worry, it's just a harmless bit of tranquilizer. Then I'll drop you off where the others are and be on my way." He made a show of looking at the clock on the wall. "If you're lucky, you might even be able to still save one or two of them."

The officer flinched. Emotion twisted her features and for a minute Marty thought she would burst into tears, right there.

But then she took a deep breath and her expression hardened. "I don't believe you," she told him.

"You think I don't care," said Marty. "That I can't empathize. But you're wrong. I know what it's like to care about someone so much you would do anything for them. I do. And I didn't want Officer Wilde to get hurt. I just needed him out of my way. I'd be more than happy to help you get him back, but you'll have to do it my way."

"By shooting myself."

"By ensuring that we both abide by the rules."

"You're the one who's hurting people and breaking laws."

Marty shrugged. "And yet…"

She looked at the gun in her paw dubiously.

"Look, you can take me in if you want to," said Marty. "We both know I can't stop you. But then I'll never tell you where the foxes are, and even if you figure it out by yourself you'll be far too late. You might be too late already."

Her grip on the gun tightened.

"Think about it," cajoled Marty. "One escaped suspect for the lives of several foxes, including your precious partner. Sounds like a good deal to me. Unless… maybe he's not that precious to you, after all."

He saw the dig strike home, as he'd known it would. It was obvious the bunny cared more than she ought to for that dumb partner of hers. Marty knew the signs all too well, and he pitied her for it. In that way, what he was doing for her now was a mercy, really. At least this way she would never have to go though the disillusionment and heartbreak like he had been forced to endure.

"It's not that I don't care," said Officer Hopps finally.

"Of course not," said Marty. "It was thoughtless of me to say so. Of course you would do anything for—"

"It's because this is stupid."

Marty stopped. He blinked. "I'm sorry?" Had he misheard?

Then, from the shadows in the corner came an exasperated huffing. "You are never going to let this go, are you, Carrots?"

"No, I'm not," snapped Judy. "What you did was reckless, dangerous, dumb—"

A table lamp snapped on, and Marty stared as a heavily bundled, weary looking Officer Wilde slouched back in Grandpa Gregor's favorite armchair. "In my defense—"

"Oh, now you want to defend yourself? You were literally shooting yourself earlier, but now—"

"Well what else was I supposed to do?" asked Wilde. "What would you have done?"

"Let's see… Maybe, anything else?"

"Genius!" the fox exclaimed. "Wish I had thought of that. Well, maybe next time."

Officer Hopps shot him a furious glare. "You're lucky there's even the possibility of a next time. Especially considering you then had to go and top off your stupidity by refusing medical treatment—"

Now it was Officer Wilde's turn to scoff. "I wasn't about to let you take down this jerk alone."

Judy rolled her eyes. "Because you are so much help right now, in the state you're in."

Nick jabbed a finger at the lamp. "I got the light."

"You're right. Thank you so much. However would I have managed that without you?"

"You know, I'm starting to dislike this sarcasm of yours. It's really annoying in a partner. You might want to work on it."

Officer Hopps let out a growl of frustration that would have sounded comical coming from a rabbit if she didn't look so furious. Marty, who up until this point had been caught off guard by their bickering, started edging backwards towards to door.

Nick saw him and said, "Hopps—"

But Judy had already raised the gun. She shot Marty in the leg and he collapsed with a yelp.

"Good thing you had a light," said Nick.

Judy made quick work handcuffing Marty while Nick pulled out a walkie and called it in. Then she rounded back on her partner. "Now will you go to the hospital?"

"Gladly," said Nick. "I think my tail is starting to defrost and it is killing me. Who knew thawing out could be so painful."

"You're lucky you still have feeling in it," said Judy. "Do you have pain anywhere else?"

"Only everywhere. Carry me?"

Judy dodged his outstretched paws. "There's an ambulance waiting around the corner. I'll call and tell them to bring the stretcher."

Nick made a face.

She pulled out her phone and something else fell out of her pocket and onto the floor.

The carrot tracker.

They both stared at it a minute. Then Judy scooped it up and stuffed it back into her pocket. Without looking at Nick, she said, "Actually, they're only a two minute walk down the road. You'll be okay for that long, won't you?"

"Carrots—"

"Be right back. Keep an eye on Marty, okay?" And she hopped over the bunny's unconscious form and out the door quicker than Nick could get out the words, "Judy, wait."

A second later she passed by the front window, one paw wiping at her eyes, and Nick flopped back against armchair he'd commandeered, thinking that escaping from a snow-packed mountain was starting to look like a cakewalk in comparison to earning forgiveness from his partner.

"Got any advice?" he asked the unconscious bunny.

All he got was a snore in answer.


A/N: Only one chapter left, guys! \^.^/