He ate the donuts and they made him happy – the weight he gained made him depressed – so he ate some donuts and they made him happy – and the weight he gained made him depressed.

Sitting at his desk in the Precinct One lobby, he stared somberly at the box donuts sitting before him and reflected on the pattern they represented.

Ben wasn't an idiot; he understood perfectly well what a vicious cycle was. Unfortunately, knowing that you're caught in a self-destructive pattern doesn't make it any easier to escape – especially when you know just how far you've fallen.

Like nearly all the officers at Precinct One, Ben had graduated from academy at the top of his class; back then he could run the 100m dash in six seconds flat. Over the next four years, he continually proved himself to be as capable as he was outgoing. It came as no surprise that many mammals had him pegged as a rising star. He had just reached his five-year mark when it all came crashing down.

Savannah Central had recently been having a problem an elephant pickpocket; strange as it seemed, mammals just didn't suspect someone as large as an elephant could steal their wallet. Ben's regular patrol route ran right through Savannah Central's most crowded areas. It wasn't long before Louis, his partner at the time, spotted one of the thieves in action. They ordered the elephant to freeze and – to nobody's surprise – he took off running.

Elephants were big, but they weren't very fast – not as fast as he was, at any rate. It only took Ben a few second to leave his partner in the dust, closing the distance and leaping onto the fleeing pachyderm's back.

Ben was on the thief for barely a second before he felt a trunk wrap around his middle. With a stomach-lurching pull, he was yanked off the thief's back and contemptuously thrown to the ground. Stunned, the cheetah was still trying to get the world to stop spinning when the elephant trumpeted angrily and brought a massive foot down on Ben's leg. He still can't remember the moment it landed.

It was pretty disorienting to wake up in a hospital room and the painkillers certainly didn't help matters. His mind was in a fog when the doctor came and spoke to him and although he'd nodded at all the right moments, he barely registered what was being said. A detached part of his mind reflected on how rare it must be for a physician use the word pulverized in a professional capacity.

The short version was that the damage to his leg was beyond catastrophic - nothing of his shattered femur, tibia or fibula could be salvaged. If he'd lived anywhere but Zootopia he would have undoubtedly lost the leg.

The ZPD took care of everything, sparing no expense in his treatment. The ruined bones were surgically removed and replaced with next-generation prosthetics – carbon fiber composite layered over a titanium core. They were lightweight, virtually unbreakable, and Ben hated them from the moment he woke from surgery.

No matter how many times the doctors told him he was imagining things, he just knew that the new composite bones felt colder. He could acutely feel where the artificial femur moved against his original pelvic bone. It didn't hurt – it just felt wrong.

It took more than a year of physical therapy for him to simply regain the use of his 'new' leg. It would have taken twice as long to get back to where he'd been, but Ben had been more focused on getting back into uniform than getting back onto the running track. Luckily, the ZPD was able to accommodate him with an administrative position back at Precinct One. He knew he should have been grateful, but after living his entire life at high speed being stuck behind the dispatch desk was an utter nightmare.

Unable to move around, he found his mind spinning in circles. Like any cheetah, Ben had a metabolism like a nuclear reactor - mammals were amazed at how much food he could consume without consequence. An entire box of donuts was nothing when you did 90 minutes of uninterrupted wind-sprints every morning. Without that constant activity, however, all that metabolism did was leave him perpetually hungry. Face with nearly constant boredom, he started snacking just for the sake of having something to do.

Everyone felt terrible for him - so much so that nobody said anything when he'd begun putting on weight.

A fat cheetah was a contradiction in terms; the entire species had everything going in their favor when it came to staying thin. As a result, their bodies never evolved to accommodate the possibility of being so overweight. The more time went by, the more he found himself getting tired easily. After a while his mental focus and attention to detail began to suffer, making it easier and easier for him to get distracted.

On some level, he knew what was happening. But every time he tried to grasp onto it, his mind began telling him how hungry he was or reminded him that there was a new Gazelle video to watch. Grade-A denial, followed up by denial of that denial.

On that note, there was a new app he'd been meaning to check out. Now where did he put his phone...

"Good morning, Clawhouser." Chief Bogo's gruff voice interrupted his musings. "We have a guest touring the precinct today, and I thought you'd want to meet her."

Pulling himself away from his search, Ben looked up and instantly felt his throat tighten in panic. Standing beside Chief Bogo, who was positively beaming, was Gazelle! The angel with horns! His idol!

Oh...EM...GOODNESS!

"Ms. Gazelle, this is Sergeant Benjamin Clawhouser. He's the officer in charge of shift coordination." Ben numbly felt Bogo's hoof patting him on the shoulder. "He's also the finest dispatcher in the city."

She smiled warmly. "Hello, Benjamin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

As Ben's mouth worked silently in an attempt to find his own voice, the singer smiled patiently. Finally, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I...I'm sorry."

Confusion danced over her delicate features. "For what?"

"I'm...I know I'm not..." He stammered, eyes downcast. For the first time in years, he felt as though he was drowning in shame. Before either Gazelle or the Chief could respond, he turned and ran away with what little speed he could still muster.

Stupid! He chastised himself as he ducked into the nearest empty office. Stupid, flabby, useless cat!

He couldn't say just how long he'd been there before the Chief came in, closing the office door behind him. He lowered himself to the floor beside the despondent cheetah, and the two of them sat in silence for a while, save for Ben's quiet sobbing.

"What happened just then, Sergeant?" Bogo finally asked.

"I don't... I just couldn't..." Ben stammered as he tried to formulate a response. "She's...and I'm..."

"Ah." Bogo nodded. "She came to visit the ZPD, and you didn't feel like you were a good representation.

"I'm not." Sniffling, the cat looked away shamefully. "Y-you called me the finest dispatcher in the city."

"Because you are." Bogo stated matter-of-factly.

"Look at me, sir. I'm not the finest of anything." Ben shook his head. "I can't imagine what she thinks of the ZPD now. Or what she thinks of me."

"In point of fact, Sergeant, she was quite concerned for you." Bogo informed him. "If you're interested, I'm sure she'd like to see that you're alright."

Ben shook his head vigorously.

Several more minutes passed without conversation, and eventually Bogo stood and brushed the dust from his pants. "Ben, you were injured – brutally – in the line of duty. You would have been entirely within your rights to retire with full pension and no mammal would have thought less of you for it - but you didn't. Instead you put the uniform back on and returned to duty. I hope you don't think I've forgotten that."

"I don't." Ben assured him.

"Good." The buffalo nodded. "I understand how hard it can be to fall. Spend enough time on the ground, the thought of getting up might be as intimidating as the fear of falling again. You might even be afraid to try. But let me tell you this..."

Ben looked up to meet the Chief's gaze.

"I will do whatever it takes to support the officers under my command, and I expect those officers to do the same for one another. As long as I'm in charge of Precinct One, there will always be a place for you here - but it's up to you to decide what that place will be."

Ben considered that for a moment as Bogo turned to leave. "Chief?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"Think nothing of it." Bogo replied. As he pulled the door shut, the buffalo glanced back over his shoulder. "I expect you to be back at your desk in fifteen minutes, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir."

ooooo
A few days later...

It had been some time since he'd been awake this early, never mind being up and about. He noticed a few other officers walking through the Precinct One lobby and nodded to each of them, receiving several encouraging smiles in return. Passing by the front desk, he determinedly swept the fresh box of donuts off its surface and into the trash bin.

A little apprehensively, he paused at the doors to the precinct fitness center. Reminding himself why he was there, he pushed his way through the physical and metaphorical barriers.

Though he made sure to stretch thoroughly, doing his best to ignore the protests of long disused muscles, he was careful not to use the activity as a stalling tactic. He, of all mammals, knew a thing or two about avoidance.

Taking a deep breath, Benjamin Clawhouser stepped onto the treadmill and began to walk his first lap.