Bogo idly sorted through his papers from behind the podium, making sure he had all the salient points underlined, each relevant factoid included, and every last minute detail listed in order of relevance to the case. He looked up to see Mayor Ketchikan glowering at him from his own podium, waiting for the burly cape buffalo to commence his part of the massive, outraged press conference that had assembled on their collective doorsteps. The crowd buzzed and hummed with overlapping discussions and conversations.

Bogo felt more than a little satisfaction at the lemming's rancor. 'How are you enjoying this "impromptu press conference" Mr. Mayor? Fun, aren't they?'

He shot the lemming an aside glance and leaned forward to speak, only to clear his throat, draw back, and take a long, deliberate sip of water. Ketchikan seethed and balled his tiny fists; Bogo merely arched his eyebrow in triumph and leaned forward once more.

"Excuse me," he rumbled into the microphone. "I will now be fielding questions. Please, keep them to the point, and I will answer them to the best of my ability."

A great clamor of overlapping voices rose up like a tidal wave, each representative trying to make their requests heard, but a single barking voice drowned the rest out as it rang clearly through the hall; a stout, punkishly dressed badger with a stylized ear-tag who was practically walking on the other reporters.

'They gave her a press pass?!' Bogo thought, incredulously. 'Ah, well, she'll probably make Ketchikan squirm a bit before we have to remove her.'

"You," Bogo said, pointing to her. "Please quiet down, the rest of you."

"Ahem! Honey B. of The Daily Badgering. My question is two-fold; first: just what is the nature of the emergency, and second: is there presently any danger to the public?"

'Surprisingly cogent.' Bogo set his papers down on the podium, the page with the relevant information facing up. "At this moment I cannot comment as to exact nature of the attack, but I can tell you what we do know. First and foremost, early yesterday morning, two of our personnel responded to a public disturbance and instead interrupted what appeared to be a terrorist cell. Further exploration revealed a device affixed to the Bridgeway water main in Tundra Town. In the ensuing investigation, three additional devices were discovered in similar positions in Savannah Central, Sahara Square, and the Rainforest District. Since the exact nature and composition of these devices was unknown at the time, the ZPD responded with all possible force and precaution in the location and neutralization of the aforementioned apparatus'. As of seventeen hundred hours last night, our experts have successfully neutralized and removed each of the implements from the pipes, effectively removing the threat entirely. Any and all persons who were relocated during precautionary evacuation will be given clearance to return to their homes as of thirteen hundred hours today. I am happy to say that Zootopia is no longer under threat from these devices. Next question!"

A giraffe reported raised a hand and spoke. "Chester Speckle of the Zootopia Pan-Media News. Were the perpetrators apprehended? If not, have any organizations claimed responsibility for the attempted attack?"

"Unfortunately, the three primary suspects managed to escape, assaulting and injuring two of our personnel in the process." A surprised murmur rolled through the crowd, Bogo continued. "Although they did escape, our operatives made positive IDs on each suspect. We are currently working closely with Interpol to form a more comprehensive case against them. Next question!"

Honey B, her voice once again drowning out any competition, asked: "Is this attack in any way related to the break and enter at the Rikko Warehouse a few days ago; the very same warehouse that was located directly above one of the mysterious devices? The very same warehouse that, incidentally, housed the lone access port to the water main?"

Bogo blinked in surprise, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden and distressingly accurate deduction. "I can neither confirm nor deny any connection between the two events. Next question!"

Honey B overpowered the crowd once more. "Is there any connection between the perpetrator and 'mastermind' of the Rikko incident, one Emmanuel Beetz, and the terrorists responsible for the attack? Was Mr. Beetz a patsy, and if so, why did the ZPD accept his confession so quickly? Why didn't a larger portion of the ZPD conduct a more thorough investigation? Was there external pressure to close the case early?"

"At this stage of the investigation, I cannot comment on any possible connections between the two events." Bogo shuffled through his notes, finding them all profoundly useless. "Ms. B, I would ask you to keep your questions on-point and to refrain from multiple consecutive inquiries. Next question, from someone else, preferably."

Honey B again spoke out over the crowd. "One final question! The two ZPD personnel responsible for discovering and foiling the Bridgeway Plot, the ones that were assaulted and injured by the suspects: would they happen to be Detectives Nicholas P. Wilde and Judy Hopps as implied by Mayor Ketchikan's message to the media?"

Bogo glowered at the obtrusive badger for a moment before locking an especially acidic aside glance on the Mayor. After a moment he relented and nodded slowly. "Yes. Detective Wilde and Detective Hopps were the responders to the complaint that, in turn, led to the cell being exposed. Next question!"

An antelope raised her hand. "Natalie Springbok, Savannah Herald. Where are Detectives Wilde and Hopps right now? Shouldn't they be fielding questions?"

"I assure you, Wilde and Hopps are presently in the midst of some very important work regarding the investigation."

Judy groaned and rolled her burning wrist, her pen falling from her stiff, claw-like hand; over the course of the past few days she and Nick had accumulated a tremendous amount of paperwork complete; they had been filling it out since that morning, and were only just now past the half-way mark.

"Nick!" Judy called out, reaching over to her partner with her afflicted paw. "Do you think you could do me a solid and gnaw my hand off? It's too far gone, release me from my pain…be my angel." Nick craned his head over and gave her hand a long, wet lick. Judy pulled her hand back with a disgusted cry, wiping it feverishly on her pants.

Nick smacked his lips and spoke in a low, creepy voice. "You use Evian fur lotion and you sometimes wear L'Air Du Temps…but not today. Thp-thp-thp-thp-thp!"

"Gross, Nick!" Judy chuckled, rolling her wrist. "Though we should be celebrating, this is our first official paperwork session! Bluh! The only thing worse than getting our asses kicked is being forced to confirm it with two-dozen forms signed in triplicate! I have to account for every net and pellet I've fired, and that doesn't include the pellet I removed manually, that one gets its own pile of paperwork!"

Nick scoffed as he eyed the particularly fat booklet of paper before him, 'affectionately' nicknamed 'the Doc' by the less responsible members of the force. "Could be worse, Carrots. At least you still have your sidearm! Do you know why they call the weapon loss/reapplication form 'The Doc'? Because filling it out feels less like paperwork and more like a prostate exam! A stern, embarrassing in-depth inquiry that ends with a fee, just like going to the doctor."

"I thought you liked 'knuckle-deep'." Judy said, chuckling wryly. She stretched her arms over her head, grunting as the joints popped. "Thoughts on lunch?"

"I could go for a bug-burger," Nick said, idly filling out his report. "A couple termite patties would hit the spot real nice."

"Careful," Judy chided playfully. "Don't want you getting, fat, now do we?"

"Bitch, I do what I want!"

Rapid footsteps drew their attention to the entrance of their cubicle; an out-of-breath pig lab tech named Greg Snoutsen leaned against the frame, waving the blue folder in his hand.

"Results…from the, the…" he panted. "Ran all the way from…the results for 'the substance' has come in."

"Well?" Judy said, excitedly. "What is it, Greg?"

Greg took a deep breath and shook his head, handing her the folder. "Totally inconclusive. It isn't toxic, psychoactive, or harmful to any of the major organs. There's no biological component, no harmful chemical chains, nothing that could remotely cause an adverse reaction once ingested. Blood serum, spinal fluid, and neurotransmitter tests all came back negative. It's completely inert!"

"That's impossible!" Judy said, shooting to her feet. "It has to do something!"

Greg shrugged and held his arms out in front of him. "I'm open to suggestions. All I know is that we can't tell the Chief that he just got his ass chewed out over a couple of fancy kegs of harmless slime!"

"Why'd you come to us, then?" Nick said, reading over the report, what he could understand suggested they'd run the gunk through just about every test known to mammal-kind. "What could we have to offer?"

The pig shrugged, wringing his hands together. "Well…you're WildeHopps? How'd you even figure this whole thing out in the first place? Clutching at straws, I know…looks like I'm pulling the nightshift tonight."

Judy shook her head and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the ceiling. Nick motioned for Greg to leave, mouthing 'thank you'. With that, the tech left, his footfalls sadly tapping away down the hall.

Judy massaged her temples before thudding her face down on her desk. "If only they hadn't taken those papers with them! It was all there!"

Nick looked at her sympathetically, to say this week had been crazy was an understatement, and his partner was both physically and mentally drained. He stood up and walked over to her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, then. Let's go get some lunch. I'm getting the extra-greasy termite burger just to spite you! Gotta love that trans-fat!"

"Fat…" Judy's ears perked up for a moment, her head snapped up, her eyes wide, her brow furrowed as she exhaustedly tried to connect the dots in her mind. "Trans-fat? …No. Lost it. Yeah, fine, get your diabetes burger."

"Live dangerously, Carrots!" Nick said, pulling on his jacket.

The safehouse was small, clearly for a mammal somewhat shorter than a gnu; tall enough that he never quite hit his head on a doorframe, but low enough that he was constantly wary of it. The floorboards were (poorly) treated wood and in terms of structural integrity were well past 'springy' and heading down the inexorable road to 'spongy'. The interior was made up like a coastal townhouse from a bygone century, with faded, stained and peeling floral wallpaper and chipped, water-damaged moldings. Also, it stank. All places in the Rainforest District stank, stank of mildew, stank of stale water, and stank of damp fur; it just stank all around. Elim would content himself that any moist, cloying mold-stench was preferable to a jail cell. He was still antsy, though; he wanted to get underway and get this job over with.

He sat in his chair, a flimsy rusted part of a four-piece set of patio furniture Grigori had 'liberated' from their neighbor, a nosy old armadillo that recently had a fatal run-in with a flight of stairs, courtesy of a certain lynx. He rolled the stolen cop weapon over in his hands, it was light, made of composites, Kevlar, and hard plastics save for the metallic rails that made up the mass-driver. An expensive little toy, no doubt it had some kind of special features to it. He had a good idea about how it worked, he'd had enough pepper pellets tossed his way, but it was the much larger-bore underslung launcher that had piqued his curiosity; it even had its own separate magazine containing two large rounds. But what did they do?

He examined the writing on the side of the launcher. "Ah."

"AAH!" Grigori screamed. "Watch your claws, you little shit!"

Elim looked over to the other side of the room, Grigori and Finn were practicing their routine for the big show on Friday. Finn was coiled around Grigori's forearm like a snake, his pointy little claws digging into the lynx's hide. With a flick, the burly bobcat flung him to the floor, Finn landed on his feet and hopped into a fighting stance.

"What's the matter?" he hissed. "Did da meen ol' ferret give baby a boo-boo?"

Grigori growled and lunged forward, swiping at the quick ferret. Finn ducked out of the way and scurried out of reach, dancing and flipping about as he laughed. "Eh-heh-heh-heh! You'll have to be faster than that, Kitten!"

Elim took aim and pulled the trigger, a coughing explosion followed as the weapon kicked in his hand. The slug opened almost as soon as it left the barrel, a shrill whistling sound filled the room as it hurtled through the air. Finn only had time to turn his head before the net engulfed him, sending him skidding across the floor.

"Huh," Elim said, mildly amused. "So that's what it does."

"You didn't know what it did," Grigori said evenly, before shouting "and you shot him?!"

"It says 'net launcher' on the side of the gun," Elim sneered, re-examining the barrel. "Well, 'E-net'. I wonder what the 'E' stands for?"

"It stands for 'Elim, get me out of this fucking thing before I hamstring you and eat your fucking liver'!" Finn bellowed from the corner of the room, "…–net."

"Okay, hold on," Elim looked up and down the side of the weapon. "It ought to have a release button thing. Oh, hey, maybe it's this yellow one?"

He depressed the button and a sharp clicking filled the room, Finn gritted his teeth and gurgled, seizing on the ground. Elim took his thumb off the button and scratched his head as Finn panted in shock on the ground. He pressed button again, and once again Finn began seizing.

"Elim!" Finn roared. "What the hell?!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Elim said, chuckling. "Just making sure."

He pressed it again; a low enraged gurgle escaped the convulsing ferret.

"Okay, that one was for me."

Grigori snatched the gun from his hands and scowled at the gnu. "Elim! I had no idea you could be so cruel!" he turned to Finn and held the button down for ten seconds straight. "That's more my thing."

"Hey, it's starting to feel kinda good!" Finn said, laughing and gurgling.

Elim took back the sidearm; he walked over and tapped the sensor at the tip of the gun against the little black hub at the center of the net. The strands immediately went slack and Finn wriggled free, dusting himself off.

"Neat toy, Elim," he said, casually. "Where'd you get it?"

"From that fox cop," Elim muttered, examining the net, the fibers were incredibly fine, but apparently extremely strong. "It'll come in handy tomorrow, you think?"

"Packs a wallop, that's for sure!" Finn said, smirking. "So, what gives? I thought the Boss wanted everyone to be good and fat with the stuff before we dump the catalyst?"

Grigori scoffed. "Boss doesn't want to give the bunny any more time to figure this out than they have to."

"That was Plan A," Elim said, ignoring Grigori and opening the fridge, revealing dozens of metal canisters. "This isn't. We up the dosage and go right to the source, it'll be about as effective. See, in Plan A we were using less of the stuff, not to mention it would get more evenly mixed by the various turbines. That's why saturation had to be so high. But now we have gallons of it that we're just gonna dump straight into the primary pump. It still won't be as effective as Plan A was going to be, but I guess it's all relative given how this is going to go down."

"Just a few more people are going to notice something's wrong before the whole city tears itself apart." Grigori said, soberly. "Poor bastards."

"As opposed to us rich bastards, eh?" Elim clapped Grigori on his muscular, rippling shoulder. "Try not to think about it, instead, think about how you're going to get that money to your family without setting off too many alarm bells."

Grigori huffed and shrugged his hand off. "I already have that covered. I arranged for my second uncle twice removed to die in a mysterious accident and leave Mama all his money."

"I didn't know you had a second uncle twice removed, Kitten," Finn said, fussing with the deactivated net.

Grigori shrugged. "He was a recluse, a bit of a hermit. So much so that no one even noticed the fact that he never existed in the first place. I paid a few smart guys to create a paper trail and stock market history for someone who never lived, and then I turned their heads on backwards and threw them into a swamp. As far as anyone knows, Victor Vasko is a reclusive old hermit who played the stock market and got rich. He was worth as much as forty million dollars before he died. And it all goes to his closest living relative, Mama, with the first payment of five million rolling in yesterday."

Elim and Finn blinked in surprise and exchanged looks, Elim laughed and clapped his hands together. "And they call me the smart guy! Well, I can't think of a lady who deserves it more than Mama Yevgenyevich."

Finn chuckled and nodded. "Yeah! Anyone who had to raise you of all people deserves a sainthood!"

"I was, how you say, a proper little shit when I was a cub," Grigori said, gesturing at Finn. "Unlike some, I grew out of it!"

Elim stepped between the two as they prepared to spar yet again. "Enough! We can't afford to get sloppy, not now! Security's gonna be tight and we're going to have to get some killing done, so I want each of you well rested and in-character, we start early tomorrow, when the night and day shifts cycle out. Boss'll be calling us at nine in the morning, and we'd better have that shit ready to dump by then!"

"You say that like you didn't just juice me with fifty thousand volts!" Finn snapped.

"And you say that like you don't have an erection." Elim said, walking over and planting himself on his chair.

Finn looked down and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Learned new something today…"

"Degenerate," Grigori spat, heading off to the kitchen.

"Don't judge me," Finn grumbled, adroitly adjusting his pants.

Nick strummed his fingers on the steering wheel nervously as he waited for Judy to come down. He was all kitted out in his nicest, most subdued out-on-the-town wear and was tastefully evocative of his favorite cologne, 1 Million by Alpaca Rabanne; he looked good and he knew it. And yet, he was a bundle of nerves. What would she see? Would she see her son finally making something of himself, finally being the mammal he could be, or would she see some slick shyster trying his best to look successful? Would he walk in that apartment, arms spread wide, and be greeted with that oh-so-familiar loving resignation he'd almost come to welcome in the passing years, with all the lowered expectations it implied? Would all his trials and hard work fall flat as one of the few people he actually loved simply shrugged it off as another scheme?

'She'd still be happy to see you, at least,' Slick Nick muttered in his head. 'That unbearable, patronizing kind of happy.'

He shook that voice from his head; it was the self-serving, cynical voice that had kept him safe for most of his life. It kept people from getting close, kept their lies from clouding his judgment, made it so he could see what others wanted and therefore made them easier to con. But things were different now; his new life was more honest, more open. Or, at least, a very specific part of it was.

"Guess who's coming to dinner, Ma," he said aloud.

Movement caught his eye; he glanced over to see Judy dart around to the passenger side of the car. She opened the door and seated herself, turning to Nick with a happy, excited smile. His mouth hung open, she looked amazing; she wore a nice, well-fitted three-piece casual suit with a matte-black pencil-style knee-length skirt and a similarly colored notch-lapelled one-button blazer. Always the seamstress's son, even a casual glance noticed the immaculate chevron dart-stitched details on both pieces. The simple elegance of the stitching complemented her trim and curvy figure, and the way the rich matte black enhanced the subtle dappling of her gray fur suggested a careful, patient eye and an immaculate sense of style. Simply put: there was no way that Judy picked out and bought something this tasteful. Judy, who had once bought him a tie so awful he'd assumed she'd been joking, a piano-key neck-tie if memory served, only to find her hurt that he'd never worn the tacky thing to work. He shuddered; only a person from a family large enough to open a hand-me-down department store could have such a blind spot in their fashion sense.

'Says the guy who exclusively wears Hawaiian shirts and floral prints in primary colors,' he reminded himself. 'With a tie.'

'I know what I look good in,' he retorted. 'Everything. Besides, no one ever bought pawsicles from someone in a three-piece.'

'You're staring.'

'What?'

"Earth to Nick!" Judy said, waving her paw in his face. "You like what you see?"

Nick blinked out of his trance, pleased to find that his casual debonair smile had already slipped onto his face without any conscious effort. "Just quietly thanking Francine for her contribution to your wardrobe."

"Right?" Judy said, examining herself. "It's so cute! I sent a selfie to my family while wearing it and they all went nuts!"

"Well, I'm sure Mom will have some pointers on how to accessorize," Nick said, shifting his plain, sensible car into gear and pulling away. "We're off, partner!"

As they got closer to his old neighborhood, Nick began to recognize more and more of his surroundings; even to someone with an uncanny memory for places and locations, the associated images of his childhood were unsettlingly clear. Memories flooded in, some were good, others were bad, but all carried that sense of loss that accompanied nostalgia. He noticed how tense his shoulders were getting and tried his best to hide his anxiety, opting instead to focus on other things. A quick sniff brought in a welcome distraction; Judy's perfume. Ever the detective, she'd lightly spritzed the air well over her head and had walked quickly through the dissipating cloud, as not to overpower her keen-nosed company with…L'air Du Temps? He'd been joking about that earlier, had she gone and bought some? He began to notice what lay beneath the perfume, the mild, enthralling scent of Prey. It was low, subtle, as though trying to escape notice, but to a sharp nose such a scent was just as fascinating as blood on the wind, and just as likely to provoke an investigation.

He allowed himself an aside glance, catching his partner full in his peripheral vision; besides her tasteful outfit and borderline distracting fragrance, he noticed that she was wearing product in her fur and had taken to combing a flow into the short fuzzy fur of her face. She'd really done herself up for tonight, and it was paying off in a big way. The revelation came to him in a quiet, almost casual manner, as though he'd just remembered some he knew all along: she was beautiful.

His eyes snapped back to the road in front of him, a crease of worry formed in his brow. 'Oh. Oh…oh shit.'

Judy noticed a certain tension in her partner, it had been building steadily ever since they'd gotten closer to what she assumed was Nick's old neighborhood. It was understandable; from what she'd heard, his memories of the old homestead were likely more on the sour end than the sweet. This was the place, the culture, which had pushed him into hustling after all. And while it didn't seem to her that his relationship with his mother was a bad one, it was clearly a major source of tension for him. He had been terrified to see her since becoming a cop, some asinine fear that his first-ever honest job would be seen as yet another scam. The things people tell themselves to avoid awkward situations!

She also pretended to not notice the increasingly frequent glances he was sending her way, each one followed by a long, slow sniff. 'He thinks he's being subtle. How cute.'

Judy herself was excited, giddy, even. The prospect of meeting the only person in the world that knew more about Nick than her was thrilling. She might even dig up some choice dirt to throw in his face from time to time, embarrassing childhood stories, adorable baby pictures and the like. Nick could walk into a room and smile, chat, and leave with the names, numbers, and longing glances of everyone with an extra X-chromosome, but ask any of the mammals he'd spoken to and you'd find yourself chasing a ghost. He knew how to talk to people, how to connect to them, and he could pluck acquaintances clean out of the air, but he had few, if any, real friends.

How many people knew of Nick Wilde? Just about everyone he ever talked to could recall the charming fox with the winning smile.

How many people knew Nick Wilde? No one.

Well, one now. This knowledge filled Judy with pride, almost a sense of power, that she'd gotten through his walls and now she was going to meet the other lady in his life. Judy paused, admitting that she could have worded that better. The way she carried on, it was almost like she thought they were together. As in, together-together. Which was ridiculous! So ridiculous that she found herself glancing over at him when he wasn't doing the same to her, noticing how well his clothes fit and how the black shirt and red tie he was wearing complemented his fur and eyes, and how snugly his pants hugged his lean, muscular legs and…upper leg area; specifically, the inner part.

"We're here!" Nick announced, pointing out the window to the small-but-homey line of apartment buildings. "Game-face on, Carrots!"

"Whuh?"

Nick was already out and circling around to her side. He opened the door and made a show of bowing and offering his hand, the look on his face screamed 'if I may assist, m'lady?'

Judy smiled donned a posh, snooty expression, setting a dainty hand in his as she stepped out. They could only keep the façade going for so long before they both began to laugh. They crossed the street and Nick pressed the doorbell on the intercom, number one-oh-eight, and sighed. Judy reached out and grabbed his hand, smiling at him when he looked down at her.

"She'll be glad to see you," she reassured. "Relax. Everything's going to be fine."

Nick opened his mouth to respond but found himself speechless, opting to only nod and smile.

"Buzzing you in," was the terse reply. "Come on up."

Nick cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders and neck. They entered.

The hallways were achingly familiar; nothing had changed since he'd last walked through those doors, or even since he was a boy. The wallpaper, the stained carpet, the low dry-mold smell of the vents, all mingled with whatever the neighbors were cooking. He smelled borscht, which meant that Mrs. Bugayev was somehow still alive; he wondered if she still had that bowl full of those hideous foreign candies that she liked to give him as a kid.

He was lost in though when he felt Judy nudge him: they were there. Room 108.

"Knock," he whispered. "Please."

"Nick," Judy said, with finality.

"Fine." He reached up and rapped on the door, his arm stiffly dropped back to his side. Why was he so nervous?

There were sounds of shuffling around inside, the clatter of pots and pans, footsteps. Various locks and latches were undone for an alarmingly long time; his mom never was one to skimp on security.

The door opened and his mother's somewhat severe, well-done-up face peered out at them. Nick noted how healthy and youthful she looked, despite being well on her way to sixty. She also had a glare that could strip the paint off the walls. Nick willed his ears to stay up and for the first time since he could remember had to force a smile on his face.

"H-hi, Mom."

"Nicholas," was her reply. "Come on in, then."

Nick slumped and walked in, Judy followed after, somewhat uncomfortable. The apartment was cramped but well appointed, money had never been bountiful, but his mother wouldn't have given that impression under threat of death. The smell of overlapping food filled the air, and he felt his heartstrings tug as he remembered all the times the smell of his mother's cooking had comforted him during the bad times.

Off in the corner of the living room was the Singer 4423, various projects strewn around its sturdy, well-used frame.

"So, uh, Mom!" he called out. "What's new with you?"

"Not much," she replied from the kitchen. "I've been pulling odd jobs from that fancy place uptown, Clique-Chic-Boutique, they have me repairing a few of the hatchet jobs their own thread-pullers have done. I also put together a nice little ensemble for Harriet Steppenwulf. You remember her, right?"

He remembered, a great burly timberwolf with a distinctly absent sense of humor. "Isn't she the one who swung me around by my tail?"

"You did sell her little brother 'magic beans'," she said, chiding.

"They were jumping beans, he just assumed they were magic!" Nick said, crossing his arms. "I had to be in a cast for two months! People called me 'Butt-Stick' until eighth grade!"

"Butt…Stick," Judy muttered, smirking as she scribbled in her notepad.

Nick shot her a nasty look; he pointed at her note pad and mouthed 'seriously?'

Judy shrugged defensively and Nick's mom called out. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Carr-uh-Judy Hopps. She's my partner. Uh! N-not like that, she's my partner at work! She's a cop… and so am I! I'm a cop, too…yeah."

Mrs. Wilde strolled out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a dishtowel. "Are you, now? Well, it's news to me! For you see, I've been living on Mars for the past year and a half, in a cave, with my fingers in my ears and my eyes shut."

Judy laughed. "Yeah, she's your mom, alright."

"You knew?" Nick said, somewhat disbelievingly.

"Nick," she said, fixing him with a look that sent his heart plummeting into his guts. "You two have been making the news fairly regularly for months. Do you think I'm some kind of hermit? Of course I knew you were a cop, you're my son! I was just waiting for you to call me up and tell me yourself! Waiting a good long while, it seems."

Nick flinched and turned away from her, his ears dropping flat. "I just–I couldn't…I didn't know how you'd react. I've been a fuck-up for so long, I didn't know how'd you take the news, I didn't know if you'd be proud or just think I was up to something again. I–"

Mrs. Wilde strode across the room and looped her arms around her son, hugging him tight. He spun around in her arms and she pushed her face into his chest. "You hush. You're here now and that's all that matters."

She pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling. She pulled on his hand. "Come on, I want to show you something."

She beckoned Judy to follow and led them down the hallway. They stopped at the guestroom, formerly Nick's abode. Mrs. Wilde reached out and opened the door, stepping inside as she spoke. "I've followed every one of your cases, Nick. It's all the ladies at the sewing circle talk about! They all thought you were so charming when you were a boy."

Nick and Judy stepped inside to see a massive corkboard festooned with newspaper clippings, pictures, there were even a few printed-out blog-posts singing their praises. She'd kept track, she'd believed without ever having asked. Nick's ears drooped as he stared at the floor, 'she'd never doubted me. Not even for a second…God, I'm a goddamned idiot!'

"They ask me if I hear from you much, and I tell them that if I did, you wouldn't be out there catching killers or foiling plots!" Mrs. Wilde continued. "I mean, look at all you've done! You and Judy, you've done so much. I just assumed you were too busy to drop by…"

Nick felt tears threaten and stooped forward and hugged her, resting his chin atop her head. "Well, I'm here now, huh? A-and I'll be by more now, okay?"

"Nick?" she said, looking up, her expression concerned. "Are you okay?"

Nick flicked a tear from his eye and calmed himself down. "Yeah! Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. I'm just…I'm just really glad for, uh, some reason! Your son went and made something of himself, huh?"

She smiled and squeezed him tight. "Just like I always knew you would. With all the talent you had."

'–the very best at being baaaad guuuys~' raced through his mind, sending a shiver up his spine. "So, is there anything we can do to help with dinner?"

"Keeping it down would be plenty!" Mrs. Wilde laughed, turning to the rabbit. "Judy, I hope you like kale–Judy! What's wrong, dear?"

Judy sniffled and wiped tears from her cheeks, a happy, quivering smile on her face. "N-nothing! I'm just h-happy for you, is all!"

"Bunnies," Nick said, his composure fully regained. "So emotional."

The meal was more than palatable, delicious even. A tasty bug-loaf with gravy for Nick and Mrs. Wilde and a rich, hearty kale salad with baby carrots, radishes, strawberries and tart balsamic vinaigrette on top for Judy. But the star of the evening was expected to be the dessert, a wonderful blueberry carrot cake with rich creamy icing.

Nick scrubbed the dishes in the sink while Judy and his mother retreated to the living room for cake and a glass of wine. His ears twitched and angled back as he listened to them laugh and converse. 'Hey, Slick, I'll bet you fifty bucks she's showing Carrots my baby photos and telling embarrassing stories.'

'You're on,' he replied sarcastically.

He plopped the last plate on the drying rack and strolled into the room. Sure enough, there was his mother with the photo album cracked open on her lap, pictures of Little Nicky on proud display; most of them involved him in some state of undress.

'Pay up, my tod,' he sighed to himself, mentally slapping cash into his palm. "Having fun, ladies?"

"Oh, oodles!" Judy said with almost palpable smugness.

"Just telling Detective Hopps some choice information about her partner," Mrs. Wilde said innocently. "To promote teamwork."

"Ha-ha," Nick said, flatly. "Hey, pour me a glass of that, will you?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the designated driver?" Judy said, a full glass of wine in her hand.

Nick poured himself a glass and took a sip, a nice light red, his mother's favorite. "Unlike you, I'm not a lightweight, Carrots!"

Mrs. Wilde laughed and swatted Nick on the arm. "Nick! That's hardly a proper thing to call a bunny!"

"It's okay, Mrs. Wilde," Judy said. "He only ever calls me 'Judy' when he's being serious."

"So, never?" she said, pithily.

Judy giggled and took a hearty pull from her wineglass; she reached over and collected her plate, handing it to Nick. "Care to get me another slice of cake, Nick? It really is delicious, Mrs. Wilde."

"Thank you, dear!" Mrs. Wilde said, with a smile. "I made it all myself, you know, so you eat up!"

"That doesn't make it healthier!" Nick said, handing Judy another piece. "Careful, Fluff, you're getting a bit of a dewlap."

Judy set a concerned hand on her neck as Mrs. Wilde reached up and gave her son a yank on the ear. Judy blinked, the nascent sparks of an idea shimmered as her brilliant mind set into motion.

"I only use butter and fresh ground flour!" Mrs. Wilde continued. "No preservatives, no trans-fats! It's as healthy as dessert gets!"

"Butter and sugar," Nick scoffed, eating a slice regardless. "That's still a lot of saturated fat!"

'Saturated fat…' Judy thought to herself, her eyes lighting up as she inched closer to a revelation.

"Judy, don't listen to him! You look just fine!" Mrs. Wilde said, looking over at the entranced rabbit. "Judy?"

"Uh-oh," Nick said, flatly. "She's doing that thing, again. Every time she makes that face, life gets a hell of a lot more complicated!"

Judy blinked and turned Nick and his mother, and smiled innocently. "Oh, it's just something to do with work. We'll look into it after we're done here. Hold on, I just need to jot something down, okay?"

Nick looked confused for a moment before shrugging and nodding. "Uh, yeah? That's fine."

'Saturated fat? Fat = ? Consult notes.' Judy made a note to herself and snapped back to them. "Done! Now, Mrs. Wilde, I believe you were telling me about how much Nick hated pants as a child?"

"Oh my, yes!" Mrs. Wilde exclaimed, shooting her son a teasing glance. "From about two to three years old, I just couldn't keep a stitch on him! I was ready to sew him into his clothes when he discovered button-up shirts."

"I didn't like how other clothes rode up is all…" Nick said, bashfully.

It was an hour later and Mrs. Wilde was walking through the foyer with her son and his partner. Nick held the door open for them, and Mrs. Wilde handed him carefully wrapped leftovers, craning up to kiss him on the cheek. "It was so good to see you two! I hope we can make this a regular thing?"

"What do you think, Judy?" Nick said, wafting the leftover cake under her nose. "Will I have to drag you back here?"

"Oh, you may have to drag me away!" Judy said, giving Mrs. Wilde a friendly nudge. "Everything was amazing, Mrs. Wilde. Thank you for the wonderful night!"

"Well, I'll go bring the car around," Nick said, fishing around in his pockets for the keys. "Mom, it was great seeing you tonight. How does next Friday sound?"

"Only if you can make it, lovey," Mrs. Wilde said, hugging her son. "You keep safe, now."

Nick hugged her back and made off for the car. Judy watched him go, once again noticing how well his pants fit.

"I wanted to thank you, Judy," Mrs. Wilde said, a knowing smile on her face. "For being there for him."

Judy turned to her. "I'm thankful to be there. He's not the type to let people in, I'm glad he made the exception."

Mrs. Wilde chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. "My son's never been one to let people in. You know, all this time I thought he was…well, anyway, I never would have guessed that he just had a type!"

Judy's ears flushed with color and she stepped back, laughing nervously. "Whoa! Hey! No, we're just partners! F-friends! That's what I meant by, uh, –"

Mrs. Wilde raised a hand to silence her. "Ah! Say no more! You two take your time, there's no rush! Just thought I'd let you know, yours weren't the only pair of eyes a-wanderin' tonight."

"Aaaand here we are, coming up on Casa de Carrots," Nick announced as they pulled up outside Grand Pangolin Apartments. "Thank you for choosing Wilde Ride Taxi Service. That'll be thirty dollars even, ma'am."

Judy winked at him. "Oh, I'm sure there's some other way I can pay you back. Do you accept payment in beer?"

Nick smirked and nodded. "Twelve bottles ought to do it. But not now, I really ought to get home."

Judy laughed and opened the door, taking an armful of leftovers with her. "Well, walk me to the door at least."

They entered the small foyer and waited as Judy fished her keys out of her pocket. Nick examined the long line of doorbells next to the intercom above the mailbox, all of which looked absolutely ancient, Judy noticed from the way that Nick was eying them that he doubted that any of them actually worked. She looped the keyring around her pinkie and dangled them, producing a short, musical tinkling.

"Well, thanks for the wonderful night, Nick," Judy said, stepping forwards and pulling him into a tight hug. "Your mom is a interesting lady!"

"Thanks for coming, Carrots," Nick said, returning the embrace.

"Oh, you were twisting my rubber arm, Sly!" Judy laughed. "A home cooked meal and a bunch of embarrassing stories about you? Try and keep me away!"

"Judy," Nick said, his voice low and steady as he locked his eyes with hers. "I mean it. Thank you. I really means a lot to me that you're…there for me, when I need you to be. I'm glad you're my friend."

"Friend…" Judy repeated, rubbing her arm. "You know, your mom thought we were dating."

Nick laughed and rolled his eyes. "She should join the club, I hear they're giving out jackets now."

"They say 'WildeHopps–4–lyfe' on the back!" Judy giggled, looking up at her partner. "And Clawhauser is the treasurer."

"WildeHopps," Nick mused, his eyes locking with hers, his voice growing low and distant. "Sounds like…a stupid shipping name you'd hear on the Internet."

"Yeah…" Judy said, her own voice muted and strangely husky. "Real stupid."

Judy's heart hammered away in her chest; his eyes were so bright and green, perfectly contrasted against his orange fur, she could feel them pulling at her in some totally new, transfixing way. A thought raced through her head in that quiet, purring voice that was becoming increasingly familiar. 'Hey Judy, let me try something, okay?'

She reached up and grabbed his tie with both her hands, dimly noticing that it was silk. She made a show of adjusting it, straightening it, before making a small contented affirming noise. "There."

"What was th–?"

With a tug, Judy pulled Nick down by his tie and kissed him. When their lips met they felt a surge pass between them, an instant connection of warmth and sensation. Judy reached up and looped her arms behind his neck, holding him to her, Nick responded by taking her waist in his hands and pulling her close. He deepened the kiss, his long, agile tongue pushing into her mouth, making her moan. Judy's own tongue traced the strange, alien shape of his teeth, shivering with excitement when she found his long, sharp canines. Tired of bending over, Nick effortlessly plucked her off the ground and set her down on a nearby mailbox, Judy giggled and squealed as he pressed his weight against her, pinning her against the wall as her hands swept over his back, feeling his muscular body in her arms as she explored his body far more intimately than ever before. God, he was so solid and lithe, as he tensed beneath her hands he felt more like warm, living stone than flesh.

"Oh my God," Judy panted into his mouth. "Nick…"

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered hoarsely, breaking the kiss.

Judy gasped as he moved down and gently nipped the skin on her neck, sucking and biting just hard enough to make her squeak, her fingers digging into his back as his long tongue darted out and wrapped under her jaw. Judy planted countless tiny kisses up and down his cheek, whispering breathy encouragements into his ear. His hands drifted down, caressing her hips before cupping her firm rump, giving it a strong, wanting squeeze.

Judy reached up and grabbed a handful of the decadent orange fur on the back of his neck and pulled him away from her, gazing deeply into his emerald eyes. "Want to take this upstairs?"

Nick opened his mouth to affirm when a staticky, frustrated voice blasted from the intercom. "Hey! Whoever's pressing all the doorbells better cut that shit out or I'm coming down there!"

Another voice chimed in, clearly the intercom had a faulty discriminator, and Judy recognized it as Mrs. Armadillo, the landlady. "If you kids are snogging on the mailbox again, I'm going to call the cops!"

"We are the cops!" Judy snapped, outraged at the interruption.

"Hey, waitaminnit," the first voice said, with growing horror Judy recognized it as her neighbor, Pronk. "Is that Judy? Holy shit, are you getting some?"

"Uh! Whuh-" Judy stammered.

"Hey! I take it back, you guys do whatever!" Pronk said, laughing. "Hey, guy, whoever you are, you show her a good time, yeah? Judy's been really wound up recently and needs a little bounce in her step, ya'mean?"

"Oh my, yes!" Mrs. Armadillo agreed. "I say to Agnes, I say 'that Judy Hopps girl needs to get laid!' Agnes agrees, says 'Yeah, bunny-girls go a bit funny if they don't get the D on the reg.' See, Agnes is an arctic hare, so she knows about such things. Oh, but listen to me ramble on, you two have a wonderful night, okay?"

Pronk sounded up. "Yeah! And Jude, you don't have to worry about me and Bucky. We'll be quiet as church mice!"

"Quiet as church mice in a library!" Bucky added.

"Idiot! If the church mice are in a library then they aren't church mice anymore! They'd be library mice!" Pronk snapped.

"Don't call me an idiot, idiot!" Bucky retorted.

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

The intercom went dead.

Judy let her ears flop over her face, her expression was utterly mortified but a glint of hope shone in her eyes. "So…do you still want to…?"

"Moment's gone," Nick said quickly, releasing her rear and stepping back, trying and failing to play it cool.

"Yeah, kind of a mood killer," Judy said, sadly, before forcing a bark-like laugh and snapping her fingers. "Hey! W-we should, uh, contact the mood's next of kin!"

Nick chuckled, it sounded just as wan and forced as hers. "Yeah! Heh! Put out an APB on the, uh, the killers…I'm gonna…" he trailed off, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yeah…" Judy said, clearing her throat as she hopped down from the mailbox. She straightened out her blazer and pulled down her skirt, which had gotten hiked nearly all the way up her legs at some point. "Uh, see you tomorrow, partner!"

Judy faceplamed internally at that last word. 'Shut up, Judy! For the love of God, shut up!'

Nick laughed and nodded, walking to his car. "Yeah! See you then!"

Judy kicked the door to her room open, scowling off into the middle distance as she stomped over to the fridge and carelessly stuffed the leftovers inside. That accomplished, she shambled over to her bed and collapsed on it. She glared the ceiling for a moment before she grabbed her pillow, pressed it over her face, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

After nearly two solid minutes of screaming, Judy hurled the pillow across the room. "Fuck my life."

'You know what you need?' the formerly-purring voice said, now despondent and petulant sounding. 'Cake. All the cake.'

"Aren't I getting a dewlap?" Judy muttered aloud. "Don't want to get fat, do I?"

A spark.

A flash.

An explosion.

"Fat," Judy muttered, her eyes sparkling. "Oh…oh, my god…"