Note: As always, I make no claim of ownership to the characters or settings.
Nick's crusade against the illegal drug trade in Zootopia made his partner's devotion to the law seem like a passing interest. It wasn't until after he beat some low-level punk dealing nip in a schoolyard within an inch of his life that the bunny finally learned why Nick never spoke about his father.
The two officers sat on a park bench, watching as the badly-beaten drug dealer was taken away in an ambulance. Nick flexed his paw, peering at his own bloodied knuckles as Judy ended her brief phone call. "Bogo wants you to report to his office as soon as we get back."
The fox nodded silently.
"Nick..." She frowned when the fox tried to avoid eye contact. "What was that?"
"I dunno." He muttered. "One less dealer?"
"Come on, Nick." She placed a gentle paw on his shoulder. "Talk to me."
He hesitated, letting out a weary sigh.
"He was a good father." He said softly. "And an honest fox."
Judy's ears shot up with surprise, but she made no comment and patiently waited for him to continue.
"He ran a tailor shop over on 43rd Ave - a pretty successful one, too – and every day seemed to live his life in contrast to every negative fox stereotype..."
~o~o~o~
Everyone in our neighborhood knew Dad, and they all respected him. No small achievement, especially for a fox. Mammals from all over Zootopia would come to his shop to have work done.
I remember when one customer – a moose, I think – said that he was surprised to see a fox using those nimble paws for something better than petty theft. Dad just smiled and reminded him that he hadn't seen the bill yet. The moose laughed, and ended up becoming one of Dad's regulars. Dad was just like that; you couldn't help but like him. But sometimes the universe can be cruel, even to a mammal like that, for no good reason at all.
Rheumatoid arthritis doesn't sound like a life-ending disease, unless your livelihood depends on having steady paws. It was manageable for a time, but eventually his condition started to show in his work. A loose button here, a crooked stitch there. Before long, mammals started to take their business elsewhere.
On the street they'd give him pitying smiles and pats on the shoulder, offer their sympathies and best wishes. They'd ask if there was anything they could do and he'd thank them politely, not commenting on their newly tailored clothing.
As the pain got worse, he needed more and more medication to steady his paws and keep working. We had health insurance, but foxes don't have the best immune system to start with and the premiums for our species are pretty nasty. It wasn't long before he and Mom just couldn't afford it anymore.
Some bastard at Zootopia General Hospital flagged him as a drug-seeker, and after that he couldn't find a doctor willing to write him a prescription. I guess even Dad couldn't outrun the "shifty fox" reputation forever.
I can't really imagine what kind of headspace he was in - maybe I just don't want to – but I guess when faced with going out of business and failing his family, he took the only path left to him.
I was just a kit. I didn't understand what was going on. I just know that Mom and Dad were sad, that they argued more and more. I might have asked why Dad stopped going to work in the shop.
Then, one day, I came home from school and found Mom was standing in the kitchen, staring silently out the window. I had to shout to get her attention.
She wrapped her arms around me and just started to cry. She told me that dad had left us, but he'd given her a message for me, that he said I needed to be brave. She told me that Dad had to go on a trip and she didn't know how long he'd be away.
I believed that for so much longer than I should have.
After that, life went on and eventually we learned to smile again. Things were actually pretty good - right up until the Junior Ranger Scouts, at least. I came home in tears that night, and told Mom what had happened. She hugged me and comforted me, said all the right words. But it felt like something inside me had broken.
Over the next few years, I started acting out and getting in trouble. One day I got into a particular nasty scrap with some kits at school. It was stupid kit stuff – teasing and name-calling– but just like that the claws were out. I'd like to say I gave as good as I got, but I honestly don't remember.
She came and picked me up, apologizing to the principal for my behavior and nodding quietly at suspension. As we drove she talked about how we had to be brave, not to show the mammals saying cruel things that their words hurt us.
I was so angry at the world, in that way only a young mammal can be. I felt persecuted and indignant and suddenly I was yelling at her. I called her a coward that never stood up for herself or her species. An Uncle Tod, always smiling at the mammals that spat on us. I told her that Dad must've left because he'd been ashamed of her. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on her face when I said that.
Mom never yelled, no matter how much trouble I got into. There were a few stern talking-tos, but she never yelled at me. This one time, I wish she had. I wish she'd smacked me upside the head and told me to smarten up. Instead she pulled the car over and did the most terrible thing she could.
She finally told me the truth.
Dad hadn't gone on some trip. After the doctors cut him off, Dad decided to get his pain relief from another source. The kind of source you find in an alley in this part of town. At first, the dealer supplied the same kind of pills he'd been prescribed, but you know how expensive pharmacy-grade painkillers are on the street. Eventually he compromised with something a little more affordable. Then something else.
His behavior started getting erratic. He got short-tempered, his work became shoddy at best. He was losing customers, and started over-charging the ones that stayed to make up the difference. Over time, less and less of that money made it home.
After a while, the shop had closed; even mammals he'd called his friends didn't go there anymore. He'd stay home all day and vanished off to who knew where at night. Sometimes he'd be gone for days and Mom would tell me he had gone on business trips; I'd always believe her, even when she was crying.
One day she'd come home to an unusually quiet house and found him on the bathroom floor. She called an ambulance, but it'd been much too late. He'd died like a junkie, in a puddle of vomit with a needle in his arm.
In an instant, she'd torn away all the lies and it was like I suddenly remembered Dad. All the vague, shiny memories I'd clutched to my heart fell apart and I could see how he'd looked near the end - gaunt face, matted fur, and desperate...shifty...eyes.
It felt like the world was falling apart. I couldn't handle it, so I just jumped out of the car in a panic. Even though I could hear her calling my name, I never looked back. Maybe she was trying to apologize, but I just didn't look back.
The next couple of years weren't easy, but I was lucky that I ended up meeting Finnick. The little jerk probably saved my life.
I was about seventeen when I found out my Mom died. She got Lyme disease, couldn't shake it. I didn't go to her funeral – I wasn't the only one – but I try to take a measure of comfort that at least she got one. I've spent years searching the city's cemeteries, but I still don't know where either of my parents are buried.
My family was torn apart because my father was desperate to keep us together. In that desperation, he turned to some lying mammal offering the worst possible solution. A mammal who took Dad's money even as he watched an innocent fox destroy himself, and who probably barely noticed the difference when he died. The drugs killed my Dad and managed to destroy three lives in the process.
~o~o~o~
Several minutes of silence had passed since Nick finished his story. Judy desperately wanted to offer some kind of comfort to her dearest friend, but had no idea what to say.
"There are predators, and then there are predators." Nick suddenly added, crumpling his empty coffee cup in one paw. "Lions and tigers, wolves and foxes – we're called predators because thousands of years ago we killed to survive."
Nick stood, tossing the cup into a nearby trashcan.
"Dealers prey on the weak and desperate, Carrots." He turned to face her, eyes blazing. "Not because they need to, but because they can."
Judy fell into step beside him as they made their way back to their cruiser. "I'm so sorry, Nick. I mean..."
"It's okay, Carrots. I know." He sighed. "I think that, misguided or not, he went down that road out of love. That he was trying to be the mammal that his family needed, and walked into a world he didn't understand until it was too late to get out."
"Maybe that's naïve, but it's what I choose to believe. And it's how I choose to remember Dad." He gave her a faint, sad smile. "As a good father. And an honest fox."