#garydesnake

❝ APRIL FOOLS — PRANK WAR ❞

The first prank is subtle, which is exactly how Nick Wilde knows it’s Judy.

He steps into the precinct with his usual slow stride, coffee in paw, tie slightly crooked, already half-awake and fully expecting a normal day. Everything looks fine at first glance. Officers move through the bullpen, phones ring, papers shuffle. Nothing seems out of place.

That’s the problem.

Nick narrows his eyes slightly as he approaches his desk, gaze flicking over every detail. Too normal always means something is wrong when Judy is involved. He sets his coffee down carefully, testing the air like he expects it to betray him, then reaches for his chair.

The second he sits, the seat drops an extra inch with a quiet thunk.

Nick freezes.

“…Carrots.”

Across the room, Judy Hopps is very obviously not looking at him. She is focused on her paperwork with exaggerated intensity.

“Something wrong?” she calls sweetly.

Nick leans back again, testing the chair. It wobbles just slightly more than it should.

“You adjusted my chair,” he says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Nick huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as a grin pulls at his expression. “Oh, it’s on.”

Judy’s ears perk as she smiles to herself.

—

By nine in the morning, the precinct is unofficially divided.

There is no announcement, no agreement spoken out loud, but everyone can feel it. Lines are drawn, alliances formed without a word.

On one side, Judy and Nick, already moving in sync, their energy sharp and playful. On the other, Chief Bogo and Gary De’Snake, a pairing that feels less chaotic and far more dangerous.

It is not balanced.

It is not fair.

It is absolutely going to get worse.

—

The second prank is anything but subtle.

Bogo steps into his office, shuts the door behind him, and stops dead in his tracks. His desk is covered in carrots. Not scattered randomly, not tossed carelessly, but arranged with unnerving precision. They are stacked, lined up, and organized into neat rows across every inch of space. There is even one placed directly in the center of his chair.

Bogo stares at it for a long, silent moment.

Then, without raising his voice, “Hopps.”

The door opens almost immediately. Judy stands there, hands behind her back, trying very hard to look innocent. Nick leans casually against the wall behind her, very clearly not even attempting to hide his amusement.

“Yes, Chief?” Judy asks.

Bogo gestures to the room. “Explain.”

Judy glances inside and gasps dramatically. “Oh no. That’s terrible.”

Nick snorts.

Bogo’s gaze shifts to him. “And you.”

“Hey,” Nick says, raising his paws. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“You are both on very thin ice.”

Nick grins. “Good thing we’re not aquatic mammals.”

Judy elbows him lightly, but she is barely holding back her laughter. Bogo does not look amused, but there is the faintest shift in his expression that suggests this is far from over.

—

Gary’s retaliation is quieter, more deliberate.

He does not announce his pranks. He lets them happen.

Judy is the first to fall for it. She returns to her desk after a short break and reaches for her pen without thinking. The moment she presses it to paper, it lets out a soft, unmistakable squeak.

She freezes.

Nick looks up immediately. “…was that your pen?”

Judy presses it again.

Squeak.

Nick bursts out laughing, doubling over slightly as Judy stares down at the pen like it personally betrayed her.

Slowly, she turns her head.

Across the room, Gary is watching, completely still, completely composed.

“Did you—”

“Ssssurprise,” he says smoothly.

Judy narrows her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“Oh, it’s on.”

—

By midday, the entire precinct has been dragged into it.

Evidence box labels have been switched. Bogo’s stapler refuses to close. Someone replaces Nick’s files with blank pages. At one point, Nick opens his drawer to find a rubber snake inside. He stares at it for exactly one second before picking it up and handing it to Gary across the room.

“Please,” Nick says. “I know a professional when I see one.”

Gary looks almost offended. “That was not mine.”

Nick pauses.

“…okay, that’s worse.”

—

The escalation is inevitable.

It happens sometime in the afternoon when Nick and Judy move together, quiet and coordinated in a way that makes them far more dangerous than either of them alone.

“You’re sure about this?” Judy whispers as they slip into Bogo’s office.

“Carrots,” Nick murmurs back, already working, “this is art.”

They move quickly, efficiently, leaving everything looking exactly as it was when they entered.

That is the point.

—

Bogo returns ten minutes later.

He sits.

Reaches for a file.

And the entire desk collapses inward with a loud, dramatic crash.

The bullpen goes silent.

Then Nick chokes on laughter.

Judy covers her mouth, eyes wide as she tries not to laugh just as hard.

Gary blinks, clearly impressed.

Bogo stands slowly from the wreckage, adjusting his uniform with terrifying calm.

“…Hopps. Wilde.”

Nick wipes at his eyes. “Worth it.”

Judy nods immediately. “Absolutely.”

Bogo exhales, long and controlled, then turns his head toward Gary.

“We are ending this.”

Gary tilts his head slightly. “Are we?”

Bogo pauses.

“…no,” he admits.

Something shifts between them. A silent agreement. A decision made without needing to be spoken.

Gary’s expression sharpens, something pleased flickering through it.

“Then we escalate.”

—

The final prank is precise.

Coordinated.

Unavoidable.

Nick walks into the bullpen at 4:59, stretching lazily, completely unaware. Judy follows just behind him, still mid-conversation.

The second they step forward—

CLICK.

Water crashes down on them from above, cold and immediate, drenching both of them completely as hidden buckets tip all at once.

The entire precinct erupts into laughter.

Nick stands there, soaked, fur flattened, blinking slowly.

Judy sputters, shaking out her ears as water drips everywhere.

Across the room, Bogo stands with his arms crossed, perfectly composed. Gary rests nearby, clearly satisfied.

“…you rigged the doorway,” Nick says flatly.

“Correct,” Bogo replies.

Judy wipes water from her face, then starts laughing.

Nick looks at her. “You’re laughing?”

“We deserved that!”

Nick pauses, then exhales a laugh of his own. “…we absolutely did.”

The tension breaks just like that, the energy shifting from competition to something lighter, something shared.

Bogo exhales, the edge leaving his posture. Gary hums softly, relaxed now.

“…same time next year?” Judy asks.

Nick grins immediately. “Oh, definitely.”

Bogo shakes his head.

But he doesn’t say no.

❝ CHIEF BOGO & GARY DE’SNAKE — UNLIKELY COMPANY ❞

The first time Chief Bogo and Gary De’Snake are left alone in the same room after the Gala, neither of them speaks.

It is not a comfortable silence. It is the kind that lingers too long, thick with everything that happened that night, everything that went wrong, and everything that neither of them has said out loud. Bogo stands near the window with his arms crossed, posture rigid and unmoving, his gaze fixed somewhere outside as if the city will give him something easier to focus on. Gary lingers closer to the door, loosely coiled, his body language deceptively relaxed, though there is a clear readiness in the way he holds himself, like he could slip out at any moment if given the slightest reason.

For a while, the only sound is the faint hum of the precinct beyond the door.

“…this is inefficient,” Gary mutters eventually, his voice quieter than usual, lacking the sharpness he often carries.

Bogo doesn’t turn. “Then leave.”

Gary lets out a soft breath, something between a sigh and a dry laugh. “I would, if I thought that would fix anything.”

That, more than anything else, makes Bogo glance over. Not fully, just enough to acknowledge him.

“It won’t,” Bogo says.

“Exactly.”

The silence returns, but it shifts slightly. It is still tense, still careful, but not as suffocating as before. Gary adjusts his position, the faint sound of scales against the floor filling the space where words don’t quite fit.

“For what it’s worth,” Gary says after a moment, “that night wasn’t exactly my preferred outcome either.”

Bogo’s jaw tightens. “You played your part.”

“And so did you,” Gary replies, not defensive, not aggressive, just stating it plainly.

That could have escalated. It should have.

Instead, Bogo exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Yes,” he says. “I did.”

The admission sits between them, quiet but significant. It is not an apology, not forgiveness, but it is something neither of them expected to give so easily.

Gary studies him for a moment, head tilting slightly. “You’re not what I expected,” he says.

Bogo snorts softly. “You don’t know me well enough to have expectations.”

“Oh, I had them,” Gary replies. “They were just… incorrect.”

Bogo finally turns fully now, looking at him properly. “And what were they?”

Gary considers the question, his gaze steady. “Rigid. Uncompromising. Entirely predictable.”

Bogo raises a brow. “And now?”

Gary’s expression shifts, thoughtful. “Still rigid,” he admits. “But less predictable than I would have liked.”

Bogo huffs once, a quiet sound. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t,” Gary says lightly. “It makes you harder to read.”

“Good.”

That earns something close to a laugh from Gary, brief and unexpected.

The tension eases, just a little more.

—

The second time they find themselves alone, it is less accidental.

Gary is already there when Bogo enters, draped loosely over the back of a chair like he belongs. Bogo pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight before stepping inside with a measured breath.

“…you’re in my office,” he says.

Gary doesn’t move. “I noticed.”

“This is not a social space.”

“And yet here we are.”

Bogo sets a file down on his desk with more force than necessary. “State your business.”

Gary watches him for a moment before answering. “Curiosity.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is for me.”

Bogo narrows his eyes slightly. “About what?”

“You,” Gary says simply.

Bogo stares at him.

“…no.”

Gary’s lips curve faintly. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“I am not participating in whatever this is.”

“A conversation?”

“No.”

Gary hums, shifting slightly so he sits more upright, less sprawled. “You’re very difficult to talk to.”

“That’s intentional.”

“I figured.”

The quiet that follows is different this time. Less strained, less sharp, as if the edges have worn down slightly.

Gary’s gaze flicks to the file on the desk. “You’ve been taking on more work.”

Bogo doesn’t respond immediately.

“That’s not your concern,” he says eventually.

“No,” Gary agrees. “But it is noticeable.”

Bogo exhales slowly, looking away for a moment. “Idle time is… unproductive.”

Gary watches him carefully. “…or uncomfortable,” he suggests.

Bogo’s gaze snaps back to him, sharper now, but Gary doesn’t retreat.

“Silence tends to leave room for reflection,” Gary continues. “Most mammals don’t enjoy what they find there.”

Bogo’s expression tightens.

“…you speak like you’re exempt.”

“I’m not,” Gary says. “I just don’t avoid it.”

That lands.

Bogo leans back slightly, arms crossing again, though the tension in them is different now. Less defensive. More… thoughtful.

“…and what exactly have you found?” he asks.

Gary’s expression flickers, just briefly.

“Regret,” he says.

Honest. Simple.

Unexpected.

Bogo studies him more closely now, something shifting in his gaze.

“…good,” he says after a moment.

Gary lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh. “Harsh.”

“Accurate.”

And somehow, that doesn’t feel like an insult.

—

By the third time, the awkwardness has thinned into something else.

Gary knocks.

Bogo notices.

“Enter,” he says.

Gary slips inside, quieter than before, less performative, more deliberate in the way he moves. He carries something small, which he sets on the desk without comment.

“I brought something,” he says.

Bogo eyes it carefully. “What is it?”

“Food.”

“That does not answer the question.”

Gary exhales softly. “It’s a peace offering.”

Bogo stares at it for a long moment.

“…we are not at war.”

“No,” Gary agrees. “But we weren’t exactly allies either.”

Bogo considers that, then reaches for the container and opens it. He pauses, then glances up.

“…this is surprisingly decent,” he admits.

Gary’s expression shifts, something quietly pleased. “High praise.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The quiet that follows is… different.

Not tense. Not heavy.

Just shared.

Bogo sets the container down, then looks at Gary again, studying him in a way that is no longer purely guarded.

“You can sit,” he says.

Gary raises a brow. “That’s new.”

“Don’t comment on it.”

Gary doesn’t. He simply settles in, coiling loosely nearby.

They don’t talk much after that.

They don’t need to.

Because the space between them has changed. Not erased, not forgotten, but understood in a way that makes it easier to exist in.

And for two people who have built themselves on control, on distance, on never letting anyone get too close—

that is more than enough.

It is not trust.

Not yet.

But it is the beginning of something steady.

Something earned.

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