"There ain't no way I'm letting you borrow a car," Finnick said.

The little fox's arms were crossed across his narrow chest, and he looked up into Nick's face with a flatly defiant expression on his own. Finnick had let them into his shop willingly enough, but it seemed to Judy as though there were limits to what he was willing to do for Nick. Nick had breezily tried making small talk, not even mentioning the ordeal that he had been through or the charges looming over his head, and then had casually requested to borrow a car almost as though it were an afterthought. Although she couldn't claim to know him well at all, she got no sense that Finnick was joking, and when Nick began talking again the shorter fox instantly cut him off. "You have any idea how much a Buchatti is worth?" he demanded, "You know how much I could have sold that for?"

"Well—" Nick began, but he didn't get another word out before Finnick continued.

"Of course you don't, 'cause you didn't pay for it. And now that you lost it, you want me to give you a car?"

"Borrow," Nick interjected, "Let me borrow a car."

"Please," Judy added, and Finnick looked at her as though he was noticing for the first time that she was present, "We need your help."

The scowl across Finnick's muzzle didn't go away, but it lessened a degree even as his focus on Judy seemed to increase in intensity. "I—" Nick began, but Finnick cut him off, raising one paw.

"I wanna hear the prohi explain it," he said.

"I'm not a prohi anymore," Judy admitted, "I got fired."

When Finnick's expression changed a degree towards what might have been disinterest, she quickly added, "But that doesn't matter. Someone framed Nick for three murders and we need to prove he's innocent or he's going back to jail."

Judy's voice cracked a little on the word; saying it aloud somehow felt as though it was giving the idea power, that if she said it was a possibility it might happen. Nick himself shifted a little, but he didn't say anything as Finnick considered her words. Eventually, though, he sighed, and Judy thought she could see Nick relax slightly. "And you didn't think to lead with that?" he asked, and he rubbed at his head as he turned to face Nick again, "You trying to make me say no?"

"And make you worry?" Nick said, and he spread his arms expansively, a smile spread across his muzzle.

Finnick's laugh was sudden and booming, as though it had come out of a much larger mammal. "Bit late for that, Wilde," he said, "Now what's in it for me?"

The way that Finnick said the words was somewhat different from how he usually sounded, and it took Judy a moment to realize that he was teasing Nick. Nick, however, took on a wounded expression of such incredible purity that Judy almost felt a twinge of sympathy for him, if it wasn't for the clear delight in his voice. "Oh, I see how it is," he said, "Your old pal comes asking for a favor and you want something in return."

"Sharp as always," Finnick said; it was disconcerting to Judy to see the little fox's face set into something other than his usual sour expression.

"So what you got?" he asked, and rather than immediately answering with words Nick first gestured at Judy, brushing a paw against her shoulder.

"Did you know you're looking at the first bunny to get a spot in the police academy?" Nick asked, and Judy couldn't help but shoot him a worried look.

Although she hadn't seen anything to indicate that Finnick was anything other than what he appeared to be, she still had no idea how the two foxes knew each other. It was entirely possible that it was through a less-than-savory connection, but her concerns eased when Nick continued. "It could be useful, having a friend on the force the next time someone feels like hassling you."

Judy remembered how Finnick had complained, when they first met, about police officers turning his shop upside-down to look for the very same stolen Camellac that had eventually been fished out of the river. "You really going to be the first bunny cop?" Finnick asked.

"We're the ones who caught Lionheart," Judy said, "Chief Bogo promised me a recommendation."

She tried to say it as matter-of-factly as she could so that he wouldn't think that she was boasting, and the little fox snorted. "Knew it couldn't have been Bellwether," he said, shaking his head, "Way I hear it, she spends more time keeping her agents in line than going after bootleggers."

"Where'd you hear that?" Judy asked.

She couldn't help her curiosity; she didn't know how Finnick would know anything about the inner workings of the Bureau of Prohibition and was more than a little curious as to what else he might know. "Just about any cop'll complain about her," Finnick said with a small shrug, "The way they talk, she runs the Bureau like a kingdom and acts like the police outta be reporting to her. Gets real upset when Bogo don't play along."

"You see what you have to look forward to?" Nick asked dryly, and Judy couldn't help but laugh.

It might have been a bit mild, if anything, to say that Bellwether ran the Bureau of Prohibition as though she were a queen rather than a director. In retrospect, Judy knew that she wouldn't miss the Bureau, but it was somehow good to hear that other mammals thought as little of Bellwether as she herself did. "Be real good to have a cop not trying to shake me down," Finnick said.

"Does that mean you have a car we can borrow?" Nick asked.

"Oh, I got something," Finnick said, "Just gotta get the keys out of my office."

"Thank you," Nick said, and to Judy his sincerity appeared totally genuine, without any playful exaggeration.

Finnick nodded, but he didn't immediately start walking towards his office. "C'mon with me, long ears. I wanna word with you. Alone," Finnick said, and without even waiting for a response he grabbed Judy by the wrist and pulled.

His grip was surprisingly strong, but Judy didn't resist as he led her to his tiny office. Just before Finnick closed the door, she saw Nick, who hadn't moved from his spot, give her a kind of half shrug, which she took to mean that he didn't know what she could expect. The office itself was barely more than a closet, the only illumination a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling that cast swinging shadows across the crowded contents as the cord it hung from was put into motion by the force of the door closing. A small workbench, covered with greasy metal parts and equally greasy service manuals, took up most of the space in the little room. The powerful smell of motor oil and cigarette smoke hung in the air, and the walls had a dingy tinge to them where they weren't covered with yellowing diagrams of engines. There were only two seats in the office, both of them low stools, but one of them was covered with a filthy assortment of sockets and rags. Finnick made no effort to clear off the second stool or to offer Judy a seat; he climbed up the one relatively clean stool and stood on it, which made him slightly taller than her. "I seen the way you look at him. The way he looks at you," he said without preamble, taking advantage of his position to look down at Judy, "It's a new crush, ain't it?"

Judy wasn't sure what it was that Finnick had seen; maybe he simply knew Nick well enough to pick up on some of the same cues that she had only recently started to notice when his mask of aloofness wasn't perfect. She couldn't deny it, though, and she didn't. "Yes," she said.

Telling someone else about her feelings made them feel more real in a way just about completely opposite from how admitting the possibility that Nick might end up in prison did. Finnick grunted in response and leaned towards Judy, seeming to take the opportunity to take a closer look at her. "You know, there used to be a line of vixens getting themselves all dolled up and throwing themselves at Nick. Some damn fine chasses on 'em too. All willing to laugh at his jokes and bat their eyes at him."

Finnick clasped his paws together and batted his eyes at Judy in an almost grotesque parody of flirting, considering that his mouth was set into something of a sneer. "You know how many he went for?"

It wasn't something that Judy had ever discussed with Nick. She had no idea what kind of past he had when it came to dating. It was true that she hadn't seen any pictures of him with a vixen other than his own mother hung up in his house, but there were an awful lot of gaps on the wall of his bedroom. There were plenty of years for a partner to fit in, too, no matter that Nick had never mentioned it. "Go on, guess," Finnick urged as Judy's silence dragged on too long.

"I— I don't know," Judy admitted.

Finnick held up the fingers of his right paw in a circle. "None. Not in all the time I've known him. They wanted to be an egg. Drape themselves 'cross his arm and get into all the best clubs, drink the best booze, ride in the best cars. Not a one of them wanted him."

He was silent a moment before continuing. "I ain't gonna make threats. But you better treat him right, you understand?"

It sounded as close to a threat as anything Judy had ever heard, but she nodded vigorously. "Absolutely I will," she said, hoping that the little fox would believe in her sincerity.

"Good," Finnick all but growled, but he climbed off his stool and rummaged through the untidy pile on the desk and came up with a key, "And you're going to make sure he brings this car back, too."

"Finnick has a twisted sense of humor," Nick said as he gingerly got out of the car that the fennec had let them borrow.

Judy couldn't help but agree with Nick, at least a little; she had no idea what kind of car it was since if it had a nameplate it had fallen off long ago, but it made the beat-up old Furd that her parents owned look like it had been freshly rolled off the assembly line. The car was tiny, so much so that if it had been any narrower Judy would have had to have sat on Nick's lap to drive it, and yet it was oddly tall. Of course, her most recent point of reference was Nick's Buchatti, but even her parents' Furd had a steering wheel. The rusty heap that Finnick had lent them had a tarnished brass tiller and didn't even have proper electric headlights, just a mismatched pair of kerosene lamps that Judy didn't have much faith in if it came to night-time driving.

The thin tires and harsh suspension had made it a punishing drive back from Finnick's garage to Nick's home, and the car had so little power that it felt almost dangerous to drive it as traffic effortlessly passed them. Still, it had gotten them back to Nick's house and no matter how rusty the bodywork was, the faded green paint peeling and bubbling away, the little engine had purred smoothly. "So what did he want to talk to you about, anyway?" Nick asked.

Judy thought that Nick had probably been too stunned to ask when they had still been at Finnick's place, as his jaw had literally dropped when Judy and Finnick had emerged from the office and the car he was letting them borrow had been pointed out. "Just warning me about your cake-eating past," Judy said lightly.

Nick chuckled. "He's a bit jealous, I think, that the vixens all wanted me. But who wouldn't want this?" he said, and he gestured at himself.

Judy leaned against him briefly as they walked from the small garage tucked away behind Nick's house to the door. "I'm glad you didn't choose any of those vixens," she said as they walked in.

Nick nodded sagely. "It's no contest between them and you," he said, and although his words were simple Judy could feel a flush of warmth in her chest.

"Are you ready to go through the file again?" Judy asked, changing the subject as she pulled the folder out of her bag.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Nick replied, and they spent the next few hours at his dining room table, each carefully reading through everything that Bogo had left them.

There was an incredible amount of information packed into the various reports, and Judy started making a list of everything that seemed important to either her or Nick. Although she wasn't sure she always agreed with him—he seemed to put far more importance than she did on the fact that his Buchatti had, in fact, been impounded as a piece of evidence—it was helpful to have someone to provide a different perspective. She had already decided that they had to visit the Zootopia office of the New Yak Evening Gazette as well as the coroner's office, but her list started to grow. She hoped that Dr. Tolmie might even be able to provide some insight into how the results of the ballistics test of her revolver had been faked; although it was probably far outside his area of expertise she trusted the wombat significantly more than she did whoever had actually run the test. Neither she nor Nick, though, was quite sure as to how to probe further into the police station and investigate the officers who might have been involved in framing Nick, but Judy added the names from each report to her list.

It was difficult to get too happy about it while the specter of three murder charges still loomed over Nick, but Judy was pleased to read that the charges against Zoya Medvedeva had been dropped. Apparently, once Mr. Quill had learned of Lionheart's arrest he had been desperate to tell the police everything he knew in an attempt to reduce the charges he faced. The transcript looked exactly like the ones that Judy herself had put together what felt like years ago for the Bureau of Prohibition, and even through the dry script-like format Judy thought she could all but feel Quill's desperation. Everything he said confirmed what she had suspected. Lionheart, Quill claimed, had extorted him into first storing his illegal alcohol under the Thief of the Night and then into setting up events to allow Medvedeva to be framed for Carajou's murder. Judy was somewhat skeptical of Quill's claims to be a victim of circumstance, and Nick had obviously shared that skepticism; not even a page into reading the transcript Nick had snorted and said, "I'm sure it's just a coincidence that the Thief of the Night happened to have a hidden crawlspace connected to the bar."

That had led them into an unfortunately circular discussion about how deeply involved Quill had actually been, as they simply didn't have enough information to do more than make reasonable guesses. Although they both agreed that Quill was stretching the truth at least a little, Nick had taken a somewhat dimmer view of the hedgehog. He believed that Quill had likely approached Lionheart about an arrangement to store alcohol and only then been pulled into the setup for murder once Lionheart had something concrete to hold over his head, although he did admit that it was based mostly on his own knowledge of Quill's greed.

The more important question, Judy had suggested, was why Lionheart was framing Medvedeva in the first place. She thought that her earlier theory, that Lionheart was carefully weakening the other gangs through a combination of murders and frame jobs that hid his own involvement, was likely correct. "She never quite denied working for the Black Paw, did she?" Nick had agreed thoughtfully, "Maybe she'd be willing to talk now that she's free."

"Maybe," Judy sighed, and leaned back to stretch, "But I don't have a badge anymore."

Nick laughed. "Do you really think Zoya talked to you because you had a badge?" he asked, "She talked because you were willing to listen."

Judy rubbed at her eyes. It was starting to get late and she was starting to get tired. They had only taken a single break since getting back to Nick's house, and that had been to go to a bodega in walking distance for groceries, followed by a quick meal. It had almost felt as though things were the way that they had been before Nick's arrest, when the breaks from the investigation had been a welcome respite—and also when there had still been a distance between her and Nick. She had felt it a few times, both as they walked to the store and as they did their shopping, that Nick was deliberately keeping himself apart from her and not just physically. He had still joked around, still delighted in showing off the incredible variety of Zootopia, but he hadn't quite looked at her the same way he did when they were alone.

Once they were safely back inside his house, though, it was as though a switch had been flipped. Not only had he had insisted on her help in preparing a truly bizarre salad that she would have sworn he came up with by choosing ingredients at random, but he also didn't let the distance between them drift to more than a few inches. In the end, Judy had to admit that mixing apples, grapes, walnuts, and celery with mayonnaise was surprisingly delicious, and also that Nick could actually prepare something beyond the hash that he had previously cooked up. Their empty plates were drying near the sink and Judy wasn't sure how long it had been since they had eaten, but it was already dark outside and she stifled a yawn. "We can keep going in the morning," Nick suggested, obviously having seen her yawn, "I'm getting pretty tired, too. I didn't sleep too well last night."

Although he had said the words lightly enough, Judy guessed that it was something of an understatement. She had no idea how it must have felt for Nick to be trapped alone in his cell, and she couldn't stop herself from putting a paw on his. "You can have the bathroom first," he said, although he gave her a crooked smile, "I'll get all of this put away."

Judy was sitting in Nick's bedroom on his bed, feeling more than a little ridiculous. Although Nick had generously bought several new outfits for her when they had visited the department store, it hadn't occurred to her at the time to pick up a nightgown. She was borrowing one of his dress shirts again, and it made her feel like a kit playing dress up because of how enormous it was on her even with the sleeves rolled up. Still, she had come to a decision as she had brushed her teeth and she wasn't about to let something like her clothes make her resolve waver, even as she waited at least ten minutes for Nick to finish his own preparations for the night. She was looking at the pictures on the wall, wondering what Purris was really like, when she heard Nick walking down the hallway. He stopped in the doorway, resplendent in silk pajamas, and Judy thought she saw a flicker of mild surprise cross his face as she saw that his bedroom wasn't empty. "I can take the sofa if you want the bed," Nick said, and he was already turning to leave when Judy replied.

"No," she said, "I don't want you to sleep on the sofa."

The silence that stretched out between them seemed as though it lasted an eternity. Nick stood in the doorway, almost completely still except for the gentle movement of his tail, and Judy couldn't read the expression on his face. "I thought you wouldn't want to be alone," she added, and after another pause Nick wordlessly walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to her.

The springs creaked a mild protest against his added weight and the mattress gave ever so slightly, bringing them so close together that Judy's thigh was almost touching Nick's. "I've been alone for years," Nick said quietly.

He was looking ahead rather than at her, but he wasn't pulling away the way he had when they had been grocery shopping. Judy couldn't help but remember what Finnick had said about how vixens had all but thrown themselves at Nick. If the little fox had been telling the truth, Nick had managed to be alone in a crowd even before his exile to Podunk, and Judy wondered how long it had been since he had had any kind of meaningful connection to another mammal. "You don't have to be," Judy said, and she placed her paw atop his.

Every time that she touched him, Judy felt a kind of surprise at how warm he was, how he could be so solid and strong and yet feel so soft. "Whatever you're ready for... Whenever you're ready... I'm ready too," Judy said, "We... We don't have to be careful when it's just us."

The words all but fell out of her mouth, the lines she had tried rehearsing as she waited for him tumbling away forgotten as she could feel Nick looking at her. A slow flush ran its way up from the base of her ears to their tips as he leaned in. "Are you sure?" he asked, and his words came out in hot little breaths that she felt against her ears.

There were a hundred unspoken questions Judy could almost hear. What about your family? What would they think? What about becoming a police officer? What about kits? What about—

Judy could smell the minty freshness of the toothpaste Nick had used, a curious counterpoint against his own natural scent. His muzzle was inches from her own, and his eyes filled hers. His expression was open, his ears delicately tilted out a little, and the hope that Judy saw was so raw it almost hurt. She realized the point that Finnick had been getting at; it wasn't just him expressing his concern for Nick, no matter how gruffly he had done it. She had started off treating Nick the same way that so many other mammals had, interested only in what he could get her and not in him, but she might have been the first in years to move beyond that.

Judy closed the distance between them, choosing to answer his question without words. Nick's lips tasted minty, but with her head angled against his and pressed into the downy cream-colored fur of his muzzle her nose was filled with the smell of him. His paw came up from under hers and moved to the small of her back as he leaned into the kiss, and then his other paw was at her cheek. The roughness of the pads of his paw against the side of her face stood out in contrast to the softness of his lips against her own, and Judy could feel the same electric tingle she had felt when they had kissed for the first time gathering in her belly.

Nick was breathing heavily when they finally broke apart, but his words and intentions couldn't have been clearer. "I'm going to turn off the lights."

Author's Notes:

I was, I admit, somewhat tempted to leave the author's notes off the end of the last chapter to make the cut from Nick's confident prediction to what actually happened in this chapter stand out a bit more, but there are at least some limits to what I'll do for the sake of a weak joke.

The title of this chapter, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" comes from a song written by Roy Turk and Lou Handman in 1926. It seemed appropriate to me for the events of this chapter, both for the title and the lyrics. The song has been covered a number of times, perhaps most famously by Elvis Presley, and is in my opinion a beautiful song.

The word "crush" to mean a romantic interest in someone was a relatively modern bit of slang in the 1920s, but it is period appropriate. The word "chasses" is being used as the plural of "chassis" which was 1920s slang for a woman's body and seemed a particularly appropriate bit of slang for a mechanic to be using. Also in 1920s slang, an "egg" was a person who lived the high life, and it's probable that this bit of slang is why in The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald used East Egg and West Egg as the names for the two fictional parts of Long Island that old money and new money residents respectively live in.

The car that Finnick does eventually let Nick and Judy borrow is based on a 1903 Rambler, a car that you sit on more than you sit in. Showing the pace of automotive development, by 1927 it was badly outdated. With only 6 horsepower it was somewhat woefully underpowered even by the standards of the 1920s. Its diminutive dimensions and lack of an enclosed body would make it stand out against more modern automobiles, which were quickly becoming larger and more refined as the 1920s went on. The particular car that Nick and Judy get is even smaller than a real Rambler, though. Real Ramblers were manufactured by the Thomas B. Jeffery Company, which in 1902 was the second-largest car manufacturer in the US after Oldsmobile, having made about a sixth of all cars on the road. In 1916, the Thomas B. Jeffery Company was purchased and became the Nash Motor Company. Unless you have an interest in old cars, it is very likely that you've never heard of the Thomas B. Jeffery Company or the Nash Motor Company, and if you're familiar with Oldsmobile it's probably just as the minor car company that went out of business in 2004. The landscape of the automobile industry has gone through several dramatic shifts, and I know I'll be interested in seeing what things look like decades from now. In thirty years Tesla might end up as a well-established brand or they might be resigned to the books as little more than a footnote on the history of electric cars. With any luck, though, it'll be possible to drive a Tesla on Mars.

Real Ramblers (or at least early ones) were more or less as described; they had a tiller instead of a steering wheel, for example, and kerosene lamps rather than electric lights. Going from driving a Bugatti to a Rambler would definitely be a big change, though. Like many early cars, Ramblers simply didn't last, and the car being in cosmetically rough shape after about 24 years would have been completely typical.

As mentioned in chapter 3, a "cake-eater" was a lady's man in the slang of the 1920s.

Based on the ingredients, Nick and Judy made a Waldorf salad. The Waldorf salad was invented at the Waldorf hotel (hence the name) around 1896, and by no later than 1928 had taken its modern form of containing apples, celery, grapes, and walnuts, mixed with mayonnaise and served over lettuce. The salad also gives its name to "Waldorf Salad," my second-favorite episode of Fawlty Towers after "The Germans." Prepared mayonnaise being available to buy in stores was something of a recent development in 1927, as commercially prepared mayo in jars was first available in 1907. I figured that it was reasonable for Judy not to know what a Waldorf salad is, considering her upbringing. I enjoyed the challenge, throughout this story, of finding appropriate food for the characters to eat, and a Waldorf salad also seemed period appropriate to me.

As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!