Chapter 4: Alone Together

Judy found herself strewn all over the bed, her face downturned. The mattress supported her small weight; it was the only thing grounding her in reality at that moment. It felt like a work of fiction. It felt like a cruel joke the gods played on her—not that she was religious.

It was just absurd.

'Your relationship with that fox was absurd,' a piece of her mind told her. 'What? You really think he…? HA!'

Judy pressed her head deeper into her pillow, holding her paws against her ears.

'It was pity! He never loved you! The things he said? Those were lies. He is a fox! Foxes always lie, cheat, and transpire!'

"T-that's not true!" Judy sobbed aloud.

'Oh yes, it is true. Don't you see it! He just used you! He used your reputation to get into the ZPD! Your standing with the chief!' The voice paused. 'He used you now just as he had used you with his pawpsicles! You don't even realise it!'

'B-but—'

'No. What were you thinking? What if he wasn't manipulating you? Even if he—'

'He never manip—'

'Even if he were genuinely interested in you?' the voice continued. 'What were you expecting? Fox loves bunny, bunny loves fox, and they'd live happily ever after? That's ridiculous.'

Judy didn't have the strength to retort; instead, she felt herself pressed even firmer against her bed.

'You thought he'd love you? You seriously th—'

She managed to regain some moxie. "No! He told me he loved m—"

'ALL! LIES!' her mind erupted. 'He has never and will never love you!'

The doe hated to admit it, but what her mind told her made too much sense to just brush off; it brought up some good points. But Nick wouldn't… no. Right? She changed him. She changed him. She changed him. No! She changed him!

'You didn't change him!' the voice huffed. It spoke like an adult might to a kit that tried to deny something obvious.

'Do you hear yourself? You are insane!' it continued. 'Even if he loved you, even if all of his doing wasn't just aimed to further himself…. Even then, did you really think you'd be able to stay together?'

"I—" Judy tried.

'Oh, come on… He is a fox; you are a bunny: this isn't what nature intends. This isn't what anybody intends. Your behaviour is not normal. You are not normal. What are you thinking?—You disgust me!'

"B—" Judy resigned.

'Oh, please~. What were you expecting? You can't even stay in his apartment without your fur standing on end!—Don't deny it; I know it.'

'You can even tell from his behaviour that he doesn't take you seriously.'

"W-what do you m-mean?" the doe asked into her soaked pillow.

'Don't you remember why he broke up with you?—Exactly. He is holding back, holding out on you. You don't need to be a genius to know why: he doesn't love you; he doesn't even respect you. Why would he hold back otherwise? His claws, his fangs… He may tell you honied lies, yet lies they are still.'

'Don't you remember your dreams?—Let's presume he was merely trying to be gentle towards you. Still, your dreams…. What else do you need to see to stay away from him? Couldn't it be any clearer? Oh no, wait.—He arouses you, doesn't he?

Judy couldn't deny the accusation. No matter how much hurt she felt after her dreams, even now after her breakup…. She was never really attracted to any buck…. But this fox…. He just did things to her that her mind could barely comprehend. Even now. She still loved him; she still wanted to be with him. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't want to be with her.

'Why would he even want you, to begin with? He could have any vixen he chose now that he works at the ZPD—thanks to you. Why would he put up with a bunny half his size? He can't let loose around you. He can't be himself around you: you always shy away.'

It was true; it was a sore point for her. Maybe she could shake the other accusations, but she couldn't shake this one. It was totally and utterly true: Nick could have any partner he chose. Why her? Why that stupid country bunny? That's why he'd left her. The admission of her dreams had just cemented his decision. It made him understand how much of an impact he had on her. It made him understand that she, a prey mammal, just couldn't cope with him, a fox—a predator.

While she assumed to be tough, she was still a bunny—it showed.

How late is it? It doesn't matter.

What day is it? It doesn't matter.

What is Nick doing?

Nick!

The bunny was out of touch with herself and reality. Her drawn curtain made it impossible to tell the time of day; her alarm clock was downturned. Nothing mattered. In the few moments, Judy looked at anything else than the cotton she lay against; all she saw was grey. All grey. Everything had lost its colour. Everything looked dull. Everything. Everything except the thought of—Nick. Nick!

Her continuing gruesome dreams were as bad as always—if not worse—but she somewhat looked forward to them—Nick was in them. Nick is everything. Nick is her curse and her blessing. Nick is heaven and hell. Nick is… gone—forever.

Sometime, Judy felt her stomach grumble. For a long time, she ignored it, stewing as before. Eventually, though, ignore it she could no longer.

Heading out of her bed, her every feature drooping to the floor, Judy stumbled over towards her mini-fridge and grabbed the first thing her paws could find. As it turned out, it was a 'carrots-for-two' package.

'How ironic….' She felt her thoroughly red, and puffy eyes begin to wet anew.

Putting it in her microwave lazily, the doe watched the package spin in circles, the warm light of the microwave banishing the shadows of gloom in her room.

Eventually, a 'ding' noise could be heard: the carrots were done. Opening first the microwave and then the package, she was met with disappointment. Not that her mood could get any worse if she tried—she was crestfallen.

The 'carrots-for-two' turned out to rather be 'carrot-for-two': there was a single, tiny, shrivelled carrot inside.

Carrots… Nick! Always Nick. He didn't love her. She needed to accept it.

After eating her meal, she fell asleep again, her thoughts as gloomy as ever.

An indiscernible amount of time passed once more, and the rabbit doe was awoken by the shrill sounds of her phone ringing. Who would call her? Did somebody need her? No—nobody needed her: she wasn't good for anything.

Despite that, she mechanically turned her head towards her nightstand where her phone lay. The dimly lit screen read: 'Chief Bogo ZPD'

Judy contorted her face; why did the chief call her? Was it already Monday? Had that much time passed?

She held her phone to her ear and began speaking, now slightly more energised; she loved her job, despite everything. "Hello, chief! This is lieutenant Judy Hopps, ready for duty!" The doe had regurgitated her taught phrasing.

"Stand at ease, Hopps," the rough voice of the chief bellowed through her phone's speakers. The doe relaxed visibly. For a moment, she even forgot all about Nick. "Do you know why I am calling you?" he inquired matter-of-factly.

Oh no, she had done something wrong. Now, looking at her phone more closely, confirmed her suspicion: it was 08:47; it was Monday. She should have been to work an hour ago!

"Oh no, chief! I am so sorry! I—I—" she said, her ears drooping further—if such a feat were possible.

"Hopps!" he bellowed before proceeding in a much more conversational manner. "You see, we had a director's meeting last week, and my hands are tied. I'm sorry."

Oh sweet cheese and crackers, he was letting her go? Really? No! She was never late to work; she never took vacations; she never—

"You are hereby on paid leave from duty.—As you didn't take any days off so far, I am forced to send you on leave. The board is breathing down my neck. I know how important the job is to you—suffice it to say I like the decision about as much as you do."

The doe had the foresight to mute her call before groaning loudly. "Alright, chief. I understand," she told him afterwards.

"Good. Now get rest, do things you enjoy and—let me work!" Bogo abruptly ended the call, slamming his office phone back into its holster. After hanging his head between his hoofs for some time, the chief sighed and continued his own paperwork…

Wow. First of all, how had she not noticed the passage of time? It was already Monday, and she'd been late to work. Luckily the chief called, and now she had time off. She hated time off; she wouldn't be able to do her duty. Wait….

How long did she have off? She hadn't even asked that. She'd need to get back to him on that. But—oh, right. Nick.

Her work more or less dealt with led the bunny to be acutely aware of her situation with Nick again, and she let herself sink into the cold mattress of her room. Everything still felt… surreal. She couldn't believe the turn of events.

But, before thinking much else, she fell asleep again. Way too tired. She was always tired the last few… days? Apparently, days had passed, yes.

Sometime later, she—again—was awoken by the ringing of her phone. That seemed to be rather common recently.—Maybe this time it would be Nick? She doubted it; they broke up. It was her fault, she reminded herself.

Rolling her eyes, the bunny looked over to it, a small glint of hopefulness in her eyes. It vanished as soon as she saw the caller: 'Mom'. A video call. It wasn't Nick. Nobody besides Nick mattered. Nobody.

Despite that, she knew she needed to answer. It was Tuesday—so her phone told her; her parents called her at least once a week. They were concerned for her—as parents tend to be; they just wanted to talk to her and know if she was safe.

Sure enough, two familiar faces appeared on her phone screen: Stu and Bonny Hopps, standing amongst grass and flowers, behind them a large, red shed. Occasionally, bunny kits could be heard playing in the distance. It seemed to be sometime in the afternoon. A quick look toward the digital clock on her phone proved her suspicion: it read: '18:39': she hadn't eaten in days!

Now realising that, Judy finally perceived the signals her stomach was sending her, but she didn't have much time to hear them out, though; her parents demanded her undivided attention. Intent on not letting her downtrodden mood show, the bunny curled up her lips into a fake smile, her ears standing as erect as she could manage.

"Mum, Dad!" she exclaimed in a jovial manner, acting as if surprised. There they stood, as happy as she had been—once, clad, as usual, in plain farmers' garbs. Her mother wore short blue jeans with a dull-green t-shirt. Stu was also clad in jeans, yet he wore a red and white checkered t-shirt with a brown cap. Of the two, he was much more stained; he had been working in the fields.

"Jud—" they began cheerily in unison, standing next to each other, one paw on their respective mate's shoulder. Her mother held the phone.

Her parents instantly saw through her facade. She wasn't sure how well she had been able to play off her mood, but, apparently, it wasn't good enough.

Only a fool tried to trick one's own parents; Judy knew she couldn't hide anything from them. They had raised her—after all.

"Judy!" her mother started, her ears drooping all of a sudden. "Look at your fur! What is going on?"

"Your eyes!" the masculine voice of Stu rang. He looked almost transfixed as he continued in awe. "Did someone hurt you? Did a fox hurt you? I always told you to—"

The male rabbit's eyes bulged outwards, and he looked toward the arm of his mate on his shoulder in surprise.

"You can tell us, honey bun!" the matronly rabbit continued.

What? Her eyes? Her fur? Oh. Yeah. She had cried. Looking at her coat, she found it to be more disheveled than she could remember it ever being: it was stained and stood in all directions, unkempt. How could she play this off?

"It's from work," she tried, speaking as confidently as she could pull off. "You know—patrol, robberies, chases…." She gesticulated with her hand, raising a digit after each of those words. "The usual."

Her parents' faces contorted further; she hadn't said the right thing—apparently. Of course. Why had she said that? They were always concerned for that one daughter who not only lived so far away in Zootopia, but was also a police officer—the first rabbit police officer—ever—anywhere.

"You are really doing all those things, Judy?" his father inquired in disbelief, clearly the more anxious of the pair.

"Of course—that's her job, Stu!" her mother assisted. From the tone of her voice, it was apparent she didn't like that either. But, it wasn't as if that were any news to them; Judy had told them of her reinstatement as a police officer and her most recent cases.

Her father looked at his mate, and then back to her, still open-mouthed. Then, as he was about to speak out again, her mother closed his jaw with her paw and continued instead, holding a paw to her forehead, smiling. "Shut it, Stu; you'll choke on flies again."

Seizing her opportunity, Judy spoke up. "So, anything new around the burrows?"

The laughter having ceased, her father intended to speak up once more. Rubbing the back of his head, though, dislocated his cap. Therefore, her mother spoke up, her father running out of the screen after the wind-swept cap.

The two does couldn't help but snicker at Judy's father's misfortune. "Nothing much, Judith. Not a lot of new things since we called last week… Well, nothing that needs concern you. Just a lot of husbandry and work in fields. Most of our fall crops need to be sowed, so the fields need to be tilled soon… you know, honey: uninteresting country life. I hope you are doing fine in the city?"

By now her father could be seen standing beside the doe again, red in the face, his paws on his knees, panting. The matronly rabbit looked over to him shortly, shaking her head, before returning her attention to Judy.

"Yes, Mum. I'm fine," she repeated, exhaling loudly. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually," her father exclaimed, now more or less composed again. "We were wondering when you'd come back home; these muzzle-times are nice and all, but we want to see you again in the flesh!"

"Absolutely. When is the soonest you can take a vacation?" her mother added.

"Mum, Dad! The citizens of Zootopia need me; I can't just take vacation!"

The somewhat cheerful demeanour of her mother gave way to a cold and calculated one. "Judith Laverine Hopps. Won't you find it in your heart to visit your old parents?" Her eyes regained some of their friendly gleams. "We'd love to see you again."

Her father chimed in as well, now pleading. "Yes. Surely you can get some time off soon. As far as you told us, you don't take any time off; that can't be healthy."

"Ughhhh. Fine. I'll talk to the chief. Ok?" She paused. "Anything else?"

"No—I think we are—" her father began before being interrupted by her mother.

"Did you get back to the Earsons?" she asked, leaning towards the screen.

"No, Mum! I didn't call the buck," Judy stated annoyedly.

"Why not? I was sure you'd like him," her father voiced. "I even talked to his father in person; the young buck would be perfect for you, Judy!"

"Daaaaaaad! It's always the same with those bucks: they all want me to settle down. I am not interested. Don't you understand that?!" She felt the urge to spread her arms wide, but she needed to hold onto the phone."

"But you didn't even call him!" her mother chimed. "We are doing a lot of work for you, Judy. The least you can do is get a coffee together." Her mother paused, eyeing the grass beneath her paws. "We just want you to be happy. You don't look happy right now. Maybe someone else in your life could help you. We just want the best for you, Judy."

"Yes. I knooooow," she sighed; maybe she could confide in her parents? "Don't do that for me. I found someone. We broke up."

Her parents were about to scream in joy at the notion of Judy finally finding a buck to be with, but—instead—turned deathly-still at 'We broke up'.

"There it is," Judy said. "It's out in the open now. Are you happy?" She lay back on her bed, her phone turned downwards. All her parents could see was blackness.

"What!?" a voice that sounded like her mother screamed. "Whydidheleaveyou?! I thought you better than that! You have to take care of your male! She paused. "Wait. Was it your fault?" she continued in disbelief.

"I think so," the younger doe groaned half-heartedly, burying her head firmly into the pillow. She was beyond crying by now. Maybe she could cope better if she told her parents some of the story—she intended to remain vague. "I admitted something I should have told him sooner. He didn't take it well and left me at his home—alone. I left before he came back. Now I am here. Simple. He doesn't want me. He never wanted me. And now I ruined it."

The words were muffled, but they reached the matronly rabbit still. "Think Judy! Think!" she began, exasperated. "He didn't leave you: he needed time to think!"

"Wh— you really think so?" Judy began, awestruck.

"Of course I think so, Judith! Did he tell you he'd break up with you?"

"Well, no. But—"

"See?" she cut her daughter off. "It was just too much for the buck! You need to talk to him. You can trust your mother, can't you?—I had plenty of experience!"

Shortly after, her father seconded her mother's conclusion and decision to seek the 'buck' out.

"Alright. Alright." Judy placated, now holding her phone again. "I'll visit him."

"We are sorry, Judy; we just want the best for you," her father repeated from earlier.

"No—you are right," the young doe affirmed, feeling more determined than she had been the past days. "I'll visit him before this day's over." With that, she noticed how late it actually was. Her phone clock stated: '20:03'; apparently she had been talking for far longer than an hour.

Considering the time, Judy went about ending their muzzle-time call soon. As expected, there was little resistance from her parents, as they were ecstatic over her taking their advice. If only they knew he wasn't a rabbit buck, but rather a tod….

Nick….

She wondered what Nick was up to while physically and mentally preparing herself for their confrontation. The bunny intended to make things right. The conversation with her parents rekindled the spark of hopefulness inside her. Nick had, after all, not stated that he would break up with her.

Maybe, just maybe, he really did only intend to think about the bombshell she had dropped in his lap—as opposed to leaving her over it…

She had left him. He still couldn't cope. Not that he had any sense of time anymore. There he sat, feeling the couch give way for his body; in his eyes was burnt a thousand-yard stare.

He had already undergone fits of crying, of anger, of denial…. There was no point anymore. The fox just sat there and relished in the slowly fading scent of his beloved bunny—clinging onto it as one might to a life raft. As time wore on, it got fainter and fainter, and the canine sought objects that still held the scent strongly. The clothes she kept stored in his drawer, the blanket they had used to watch movies on cold Friday nights….

Had used….

She left him; they wouldn't be watching movies together anymore. They wouldn't meet outside of work anymore. Would they even work together anymore? She'd surely request another partner…. And that was good, as well.

He failed her. He failed himself. She had opened his heart to him, but he had ripped it asunder. Why had he walken out on her? She had needed him most at that moment and he had just continued walking. He'd slap himself for that—it wouldn't make any difference. It wouldn't bring her back into his life.

He had never loved before… but Judy. Judy was it. He knew, despite their species, despite everything, that she was everything he did—and will—ever want. Therefore, he couldn't believe that she was gone once he returned. How long ago was that? The tod had no idea.

Days and nights blent into an indistinguishable mix of seconds without Judy, of seconds without purpose, of seconds without meaning. The only time he actually saw her was in his dreams. Each and every night visions of bloodshed and mutilation, visions of primal violence towards Judy. They convinced a part of him that it was better that way, that he'd actually hurt her. They only further increased his indecisiveness.

He had no idea of either the day or the hour—all he felt was a deep longing for Judy, a longing that he had no means to ease other than by continuing to inhale her scent. Eventually, though, the grumbling of his stomach overgrew that emotion ever so minutely. And so, with his tail dragging behind him on the floor, picking up copious amounts of dust in the process, the tod went towards his kitchen.

Then, upon finding nothing, the tod decided to make himself scrambled eggs. He remembered cooking something else with eggs for the two of them: pancakes. They'd used to eat pancakes together—once; the world had still looked bright and hopeful that day.

His curtain-drawn room was dark, yet he didn't care; his night vision made it almost as bright as noon under a cloudless sky. But even his excellent vision didn't prevent his next slip-up: the fox almost dropped the eggs he held onto the floor.

At the last second, he caught them, though, and fell to the floor in the process. Barely stopping from cursing himself, he got up—slowly and surely.

The eggs now by his side, he went about retrieving one of his pans—a rather small one—from inside his stove, and placed it on top of one of the ceramic heating plates, turning it on.

While it heated up, he grabbed hold of, and then began, cutting onions….

Judy. Always Judy. Judy and nothing but Judy was on his mind. What was the doe doing anyways? Hopefully, she was now better off without him. Was it a day or a year since they broke up? He honestly couldn't tell—nothing mattered anymore.

He had been foolish enough to leave her in her most desperate time of need, in her time of vulnerability; the rabbit was very seldom vulnerable, he knew. Because of that, it meant so much more for her to open up to him. It meant she trusted him, trusted him a lot. A couple of years back, the tod had never thought it possible for any mammal to trust a fox. Foxes just weren't made to be trusted, no matter how hard they tried… No matter how hard he tried.

No. He got what he deserved. And she got what she deserved: she deserved better. What was he thinking anyways? A relationship between predator and prey wasn't proper—for good reason. He had had a lasting impact on her—not a good one. Why was she giving him a chance, to begin with? Was it pity toward his upbringing? He thought back to when he admitted some of his past to her in the rainforest district.

'Or was she—'

A sudden, searing jolt of pain cleared all thoughts out of his brain. He instinctively hissed, drew his hands back, and let the knife he held clatter onto the countertop; it fell onto the floor only a short time after.

Blood was quick in tainting his left paw; inspecting it, he found to have cut rather deeply into two of his digits.

Those damn thoughts of Judy must have distracted him! He hadn't used his expert cutting grip he practised, thinking back on it. Henceforth, his digits had been much more vulnerable.

After the shock and after the pain, every hair of his—admittedly unkempt—coat stood on end. Every cell of his body was fit to burst, and he felt like throwing his fridge outside one of his windows.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!—THAT'S WHY SHE LEFT ME!" he yelled, clawing at his scalp.

And with that, he fell to the floor, sobbing.

Eventually, he was awoken by a shrill beeping noise. 'Is the popcorn done already?' he thought. After some more time, he further regained his bearings and stood up from the hard floor. He sniffed the air: it smelled burnt. That's when it hit him. That noise wasn't the microwave—it was his fire alarm: he had forgotten to turn off the hot plate!

With haste, the tod scrambled through the clouded air and came to a halt before his stove. Then, he withdrew his pan from the red-hot cooking plate and turned said plate off.

His mind worked on routine alone at this point, and the next thing he needed was fresh air. Due to that, he briskly opened the window of his combined living room/kitchen. After that, he went about opening all the remaining doors and windows of his home. 'Hopefully, the fire department won't show up.'

A solid what-felt-like twenty minutes later, he closed everything again and practically fell onto his couch, as tired as he had felt in a long time.

'I can't smell her anymore.' His ears sank even further. There was now little to no trace of her left. Maybe her clothes still held some of her smell. No. He deserved this. He deserved all of this.

Before he could think on that much longer, though, he became aware of the sharp stinging sensation his left paw still bore. Yeah—he had forgotten that—somehow.

Despite everything, the fox didn't want to get an infection, so, following his police training, he went about the usual process of tending to a wound. The alcohol in his medical cabinet, now staining a wad of cloth, hurt even more than the initial pain of the cut when he cleaned his wound with it; a loud growl escaped his muzzle. Before long, he grabbed his first-aid kit that lay beside the rubbing alcohol in the cabinet beneath the sink and bandaged his two hurt digits.

Finally, Nick returned to the couch after what felt like an eternity. He found the energy to look at his phone: it was Sunday, and the clock read: '22:05'. 'I won't have much time to sleep,' he thought, remembering his shift at the ZPD tomorrow.

Again, it didn't matter. It just did not matter to him. Nothing mattered besides Judy. Maybe he got to see her again tomorrow and at least apologise—that is if she would hear him out….

Monday morning—the tod hated Monday mornings. Not only did he hate Mondays—they were usually the first day of work for him after a couple of days of break—but he also hated mornings. He had never really adjusted to the diurnal shifts his job demanded of him.

Regardless, he went about and made himself as presentable as he was willing to, grabbed his keys, his jacket, and his sunglasses and went to work in his police blues. He wouldn't be able to deal with any snide remarks on public transport; therefore, he drove to the precinct with his car; the ride was eventless, his thoughts still strewn everywhere—yet they always found their way back to Judy. Maybe he'd meet her…

To his dismay, he didn't meet Judy that day or the following. Instead, all he had been met with was paperwork. Stack after stack of paperwork. He hated paperwork.

When he had taken his place at the front of the bullpen that first day, he had been surprised not to find Judy; she was always the first in the bullpen and the last to leave work in the evenings.

The chief had assigned him paperwork; that was the usual protocol for officers whose partner was unavailable. The waterbuffalo hadn't said a word about that, though, and the fox had been too afraid to ask.

Judy was surely trying to avoid him. She had most likely requested a different shift from him so as not to see him ever again—he had really messed up.

Here or there, a colleague or another spoke to him about his sorrows, yet he was as closed off as a metre-thick vault door. The tod didn't even have the energy to be snarky; his every feature hung low.

The other officers seemed to quickly get his mood and avoided him thereafter. Maybe it was for the better that everyone avoided him—he couldn't hurt anyone, then. Just like he had hurt his mother….

The paperwork he did was tear-stained and sub-par, but he didn't find it in him to care. He had gone to work, clocked in, done the absolute minimum amount of work, and left again. His thoughts had never strayed from Judy. She had made her intentions clear by leaving and had been reaffirming that by having shifted her schedule to avoid him. Did she hate him that much? He never saw her as petty, but what he did might just warrant that behaviour.

He deserved it.—He earned it.—He earned it.

The tod sighed, now drawn back from his thoughts into reality. Into the grim reality. He lay in his bed again… it was… how late was it? Looking toward his phone clock, he found it to be Wednesday, 10 pm; he didn't care for the minutes, if he were honest.

He was curled up in bed, his fur ashiver for more reasons than one. About to fall asleep from exhaustion, his ears perked up. Then, after a couple of seconds, the noise came again—it was a distinct, wooden 'knocking' sound.

'Who'd be knocking at this time of the night?—Nobody cares about me.'

Nick was about to return to his previous, prone posture when the knock came again, this time more loudly.

Growling, he got out of bed and stormed towards his entrance door, his fur bristling. The tod was about to tear into the mammal that disturbed him so late at night, but the mammal he saw, was the one he hadn't ever thought of seeing again.

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