“You good, Hopps?”

Judy starts and realizes too late she’d been pulling at her ears. Turning her head, she finds Mchorn staring at her like she’d spontaneously sprouted Midnicampum holicithius out of said ears and intended to sell them without a permit. “Oh, ah. Yeah. Sure am!” She straightens and forces a bright smile. “Just really, really excited to make the world a better place.”

“Really?” comes Wolford’s voice from somewhere behind her. “Because you look like you just got caught with your paw in the carrot jar.”

A round of snickering, then someone else—Dalgato?—says, “It’s probably just a hangover. We all saw those Snapcat stories. Didn’t know you had it in ya, Hopps! Getting wasted on a worknight!”

“Yeah, what the trunk, Judy, where was my invite?!” Francine shouts.  

The laughter continues. She’s almost grateful for it. Not that she would ever tell them that. It gives her something else to focus on besides the impending mortification of seeing Nick Wilde again.

Especially after what happened last night.

Nope, absolutely not. Going there is the last thing she’s supposed to be doing

Avert, avert, avert.

She almost grabs her ears again but catches herself, settling for wringing her paws instead. In the front of the bullpen, the clock ticks ahead, taunting her with every single micromovement of its largest hand.

One tick closer to Nick showing up.

Another tick closer to Nick showing up.

Another tick closer to Nick showing up.

Another—

Judy buries her face in her paws. Her head does hurt, so the pressure and darkness are doing wonders for that. Yeah, hangover, that’s all this is. Just commit to the bit and no one will suspect a thing. Simple as peas and carrots.

Her chair trembles, just a bit, like someone bumped it, only now there’s a brush of movement and a warmth filling the empty space beside her. She freezes at the contact and slowly, slowly, draws a paw away from one of her eyes while her heart thunders so loud it dampens all sound in the bullpen.

“Mornin’, Partner,” Nick says easily.

Judy feels like she’s about to short circuit.

Outwardly, he looks completely normal. Same sly smile, same uniform with its rolled-up sleeves, same sunglasses perched atop his head, same over-sugared coffee in paw. Nothing out of the ordinary. The Nick Wilde M.O.

But sitting here, finally seeing him again face to face, makes a rush of memories come flooding in, and suddenly it’s eight hours earlier and her ears are buzzing with the beat of club music and there’s a cold drink that tastes like strawberries weeping condensation in her paw and Nick is there too and he’s smiling in that charming way of his, kind of like he is right now, and—oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Is it too late to call in sick? Chief Bogo would understand, right?

The thing is, Judy knows Nick. Like, knows him knows him. Probably better than he knows himself. So wondering what’s going through his head right now isn’t the problem. The problem is that she knows exactly what’s happening in that dumb fox brain of his.

He’s enjoying this. One thousand percent.

She clears her throat, ignoring the way her ears are burning hotter than the pavement in Sahara Square, and squeaks out a half-hearted, “Morning!”

Nick’s smile does that thing where it turns up higher at a corner. It’s not quite a smirk, but something softer. Still self-satisfied and screams “I’m a dumb fox, please punch me,” but she lets it slide this time because it’s early and her head hurts and she barely got any sleep last night. Maybe three hours after she made it to her apartment and another two before she finally slept and . . . wait. Did she even sleep?

Judy groans and rubs at her eyes. “No more drinking on work nights. I think I got into a fight with a meowjito and lost.”

“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that, Carrots.” He nudges her with his elbow. “You fought valiantly for that hangover. I would know, being that I was there and all.”

Like everything else so far, his touch is nothing out of the ordinary. A casual gesture between friends. They’d always been on the touchy-feely side, anyway. What isn’t normal is the brush of his tail at her backside that makes her smother a very undignified shriek from how far out of the cornfield it comes.  

She glances at him sharply. He stares toward the front of the room, his expression giving nothing away.

Damn Fox. 

The worst part is that it could have been accidental. They’re two mammals standing close together on a single chair, so it’s impossible not to brush against each other at some point. It happens. She’d never noticed before because existing around Nick Wilde is usually as easy as breathing.

She can’t prove it, but she just knows he’d done it on purpose.

“What’s the matter, Carrots?” Nick asks too innocently.

“Nothing, nothing,” she says, staring straight ahead. The clock is her friend now. It gives her something else to focus on besides chaos covered in orange fur. “Just wondering how you’re still alive. You were drinking too.”

“Easy.” He shrugs. “I’ve trained for this.”

“Trained for this?”

“I’ve spent the majority of my life in a state of barely functioning so when the time came I’d be ready.”

She groans again, rubbing her temples. “Well, you’ll have to teach me your ways then.”

Nick snorts. When he doesn’t immediately respond, she shoots him a look and he smirks at her. “There’s just so many things I could say to that, Fluff. Sooo many things.”

McHorn coughs into his arm. Behind them, several officers snicker.

Judy wants to melt into the floor.

Fortunately, Bogo arrives just in time to end her suffering and to, less importantly, delegate assignments. Grateful for the distraction, she straightens and clasps her paws on the table, ears at attention, trying to appear as attentive as possible. She definitely doesn’t watch Nick from the corner of her eye the entire time, nor does her heart race with every glance she catches him sneaking her way.

It’s just another day. Another perfectly normal day at work with her not-quite-platonic work partner. That’s all.

Before she knows it, there’s a clamor of chairs squeaking and large mammals heading for the door. She blinks, because what? She’d somehow missed the chief’s entire briefing!?

A coffee slides toward her on the table.

“Here,” Nick says, amused. “You need it more than I do.”

He hops from their chair and swaggers toward the door, tail swishing behind him.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Didn’t ya hear? Chief Beef assigned us a beat in Savannah Central.”

Sweet cheese and crackers, this is going to be a long day.

~~~~

The patrol car isn’t any easier.

On one paw, they’re alone so she’s freed of the gossiping entity that is the ZPD.

On the other paw, however, they’re alone so there’s no gossipy officers there to diffuse the tension.  

They both stare at the dashboard for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. Judy fiddles with the corkscrew cord of the patrol car’s mobile radio.

“Well this isn’t awkward at all,” Nick jokes.

“Nick . . .” she starts.

 “Nope,” he replies, grinning.

“No?”

“Yes, no.”

“No what?”

“You know.”

“Know what?” she asks incredulously.

He turns, removes his sunglasses, and looks her up and down. There’s no disguising it. No way for her to reason away that her best friend had, very brazenly, just checked her out. Immediately, her ears burn, and her stomach twists itself into knots. She doesn’t know what to do or say, just sits there frozen like the world’s dumbest bunny to have ever dumb bunnied.

Because, in that moment, they’re not in the patrol car of the ZPD, they’re back at that seedy club in Tundratown the Big family owns, and Nick’s breath is hot on her throat while her arms wind around his neck. The music thrums and hides her gasp when teeth graze her collar bones.

Present day Nick’s expression says he knows exactly what she’s remembering. His grin is all teeth. “Care to share with the class, Carrots?”

The space between them is charged with something she’s too afraid to name. It leaves her squirming in her seat, wondering how in the world Nick is able to make something as simple as direct eye contact seem so . . . intense.

“Ahhh, no. Nope, nothing to share here,” she says. And for some absurd reason, she pats herself down and then shows him her empty paws. “See? Fresh out of shareables.”

Nick blinks like he needs to process and then falls back into his seat laughing. “Oh, Sweetheart, you’re actually killing me. I could have you up to your fuzzy wuzzy ears in innuendos right now.”

“Oh my god, Nick,” Judy cries with her paws over her face again. “We do need to talk. You know that right?”

He nods. “Absolutely, we do. But not right now.”

“Why?”

He leans forward. Not much, just enough to get his point across, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because I’m having too much fun. You’ll get your conflict resolution, Carrots. Promise. Fox’s honor.”

And then he does the most heinous thing of all. He boops her. Right on the nose.

Judy recoils and covers the lower half of her face with her paws. Her ears are molten floppy traitors pinned to the back of her head.  

Nick laughs again as he opens his door. “C’mon. Let’s go make the world a slightly less terrible place.”

After recovering what few scraps of her dignity remain, she scrambles out of the driver’s seat and catches up to him. “I think you mean, let’s make the world a better place, Slick.”

“Marginally more acceptable. My only and final offer.”

“Wow, that was almost optimistic.” She joins him on the sidewalk and smirks up at him as they start their beat. “Do you woo all the ladies with that enthusiasm?”

He makes a face like he’s sucking his teeth. “Nope, just you.”

“Yikes.”

“Trust me, Carrots, it pained me as much to say it as it did for you to hear it.”

She pats his arm. “I appreciate the effort. It must’ve been so hard for you.”

“It was. It absolutely was.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. The things I go through to keep my bunny happy.”

There it is—the ammunition she’s been waiting for. She grins. “Your bunny, hmm?”

Nick’s too-cool-for-school expression falters, the first chink in his armor, and he quickens his pace so he’s walking ahead of her and points toward a crowd of mammals milling before an array of colorful storefronts. “Oh, would you look at that! A shifty individual!”

“The only shifty individual I see is the one in front of me,” she retorts.

“Carrots,” Nick hisses over his shoulder with feigned outrage. He pats the gleaming badge on his chest. “I’ll have you know I have a real badge, and your bias is impeding my very important investigation.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile as she catches up to him again. “Oh really?”

“Mmhmm, yep. Totally.” He nods. “We should probably find him or her before they get away. Hopps and Wilde?”

“Wilde and Hopps,” she replies, allowing him the segue.

If there’s one thing she’s learned about Nick Wilde over the last two years is how much he hates being railroaded, whether it’s their casework, or a conversation about something as cataclysmic as his feelings. She knows it’s time to ease up. Back off and let him make the next move. Which he will—she knows that—in due time, when the moment is right.

It’s one of the harder lessons she’s had to learn. Not only is Nick emotionally standoffish, he’s also a predator. He wants to catch her off guard. To feel like he’s the one with the upper hand. So, despite how much the tension between them is making her want to chew her own paws off, she resists the temptation to grab him by the tie, yank him down the nearest shaded alley, and demand for him to name what this thing between them is.

Then she remembers the last time she’d yanked his tie. Less than twelve hours ago, in fact.

And boom, there she is again, back in the damned club. His paws on her hips, her back pressed against the wall, lines shattered and inhibitions thrown to the wind as they—no, bad Judy. Not supposed to be going there, remember?

The heat of Sahara Square is sweltering enough that Judy pulls at her collar and groans. The heat, coupled with the intense sunlight, has made the dull ache behind her eyes reach its crescendo. Really, of all places, Bogo had to send them here? She scrubs at her eyes again.

Nick notices, because of course he does. He rustles through a pouch on his duty belt before depositing a small water bottle and bunny-sized dosage of pain reliever into her paws. “Here, Fluff.”

She stops short and gapes up at him. His expression is unreadable, masked by his sunglasses. “You brought me water and pain meds?”

“Figured you might need them.” He shrugs and looks away.

Judy is speechless. A fluttery sensation does summersaults in her belly as she stares at him. Then she nods too quickly. “Thank you! You were right of course, oh dear partner of mine!” She swallows the pill and downs the water faster than one of her siblings smuggling stolen soda pop from the warren kitchen. “Oh would you look at that? Emp-tyyy. I’m going to go find a trash can.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

After, they return to walking their beat shoulder to shoulder, business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just two best friends who work together and definitely didn’t spend the previous evening doing anything that could be construed as non-platonic. Nope, not at all. That would be silly. That would be so unlike them. That would be—

Oh, carrot sticks. She’s going to explode before this day is over with.

Like, actually self-destruct.

Meanwhile, Nick is cool as a cucumber, exuding raw confidence in that effortless way of his, leaving her to second guess every time their shoulders brush, or his tail swishes against her legs, or one of his gazes, perhaps, lingers longer than it should. It couldn’t all be in her head, right?

It doesn’t help that her fox just so happens to look really good in blue. His deep navy uniform complements the russet of his fur in ways that she almost wants to write him a citation. For what, she’s not certain. Disrupting the peace, maybe? Namely her own inner peace.

What’s worse is she’s not even the only one to notice. While most mammals just seem surprised to see a fox with a badge, there are other looks—more heated ones—directed at him from male and female mammals alike. Heads swivel in their direction, a path in the mammal sea cleaved open for them to walk, hushed murmurs left to linger in their wake. And yeah, sure, it could have something to do with them being the celebrity faces of City Hall’s Mammal Inclusion Initiative, but Judy doesn’t see it that way. She sees Nick. Her Nick. Her overly charming best friend and partner who just so happens to be a little easy on the eyes.

Not that she thinks he’s hot or anything.

“Carrots,” Nick drawls, voice light and teasing. “You keep tugging on that ear like that and you just might rip it off.”

Judy releases the ear she’d been unwittingly wringing and gives a strangled laugh. “Oops.”

“Hypothetically though,” he says as they come to an intersection and pause, waiting for the light to turn green, “if you do so happen to find yourself sans an ear, does that make you more unicorn or narwhal coded?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Judy retorts, crossing her arms and hoping her ears aren’t as red as they feel. “If you suddenly lost your tail would that mean we’d have to start calling you Bob?”  

He grins, not missing a beat. “I don’t know, ‘The Adventures of Bob and the Narwhal’ has a nice ring to it.” He glances over his shoulder at the other mammals waiting at the crosswalk, waving a paw. “Quick, someone take note! We have the start of the next bestselling children’s book here!”

Judy grabs his arm. “Or don’t!” And tugs him across the street as soon as the light turns.

The remainder of their shift goes by slower than molasses. Crime activity in this part of the city is already low, which is only compounded by their presence, because wouldn’t you know it, mammals are less inclined to break the law with law enforcement around. She’s not shocked—you are.

It’s when shadows lengthen and the heat continues its merciless pursuit to see her melted into a puddle that Nick gently nudges her shoulder. “Hey, I’m parched. Let’s get a smoothie.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds great,” she says, tugging at her vest. “It’s pretty hot out here, isn’t it?”

His gaze does that thing where it lingers too long. She can see her own flustered expression reflecting in his dark sunglasses.  “It sure is,” he finally says.

He leads her to one of the medium-sized mammal smoothie carts the next street over, and she lets him steer her toward the counter with his paws on her shoulders. They peruse the menu for a moment while a surly-looking armadillo stares at them with barely repressed boredom, nails rapping on the stainless-steel counter.

“My treat,” Nick says after a moment, “so get whatever you want.”

“Oh, ah, thanks.” 

She swallows, struggling to read the menu, too distracted by how close Nick is standing behind her. When did he get so close? The fur of his neck is brushing against the top of her head. The heat of him—his scent—it’s making his closeness overwhelming to the point that she’s unable to make sense of anything that isn’t him. She may as well be reading a sign about quantum physics. What even are words?

Instead, her mind wanders to the last time they were this close, when their bodies were pressed together in a cramped corner, music reverberating through her bones. Her ears flatten against her head.

Nick leans in for the killing blow. His breath is hot at her ear. “If I may, madame, suggest the wild strawberry.”

That does it.

Judy squeaks, jumping forward, and whirls to glare at him. The grin he’s giving her is absolutely cheshire, canines flashing in the light of the setting sun, and Judy—sweet cream over biscuits—she’s a mess. Her heart is a frantic thing hammering against her ribs. And the memories, the ones she’d spent the last seven hours trying not to think about—well now she’s thinking about them.

Strawberry meowjitos. Club music. Flashing lights. A brief stint of jealousy. And Nick. So much Nick. His teeth at her neck. Her paws twisted in his tie. His claws on her hips. Sweet words. Ragged breaths. Drunken declarations.

The line between them had blurred ages ago, but last night?—It’d been nowhere to be found.

Deeply embarrassed by how flustered she is in public and already plotting the ways in which she intends to strangle her partner, Judy turns back to the poor smoothie vender who’d been unfortunate enough to witness her implosion.

The armadillo—her nametag says Brandy—just stares at her with the same flat, could-give-two-shits manner she’d had at their initial approach. She blinks at Judy, slow and indifferent, and lets out the longest sigh Judy has ever heard. “Know what you want yet, rabbit?”

Nick chuckles behind her like he’s certain he’s won whatever game this is for him. Well, it takes two to teeter totter. If he wants to fight dirty, then gosh darn it, so will she. Judy lifts her chin, squares her shoulders, allowing a newfound calmness to rush through her veins and imbue her spine with steel. She devises a plan then, hasty and a little reckless, fire ready to fight fire.

“Actually,” she says, her voice as sweet as honey, “strawberry sounds perfect. My partner has great taste.”

The silence behind her is deafening. She grins.

“Wonderful,” the armadillo drones, rolling her eyes. “And you, fox?”

Nick clears his throat. “Uh, that works for me too, actually.”

The armadillo’s perma-frown remains unhindered. “Lovely.” She gestures to the card reader on the counter. “You can pay here.”

Nick does, and the silence that stretches between them as they await their order is tense enough that Judy almost cracks. She doesn’t though. Just stands there smiling and inspecting her claws while her partner simmers beside her in what he no doubt assumes to be his imminent doom. The predator now the prey, being hunted at last.

The thought makes her giddier than it probably should. 

The smoothies arrive, and Judy nabs both of them, turning to flash her partner with the widest grin she can muster. She holds one out to him. “Shall we find somewhere to sit, Officer Wilde?”

Nick visibly gulps, then buries whatever it is he’s feeling behind a mask of charm. “What a wonderful idea, Officer Hopps.” There’s a sitting area nearby and he gestures to a picnic table closest to the foot traffic. “After you.”

She pretends to consider it for a moment, then frowns. “Hmm. Maybe not there. The sun, you see, is just so very bright.” She points over his shoulder to the table furthest from the sidewalk. The one nestled within an alcove of city-maintained sickle bush and pressed against the side of a building.

“Or,” he counters, “we meet in the middle and sit there.” He points somewhere behind her head.

Judy doesn’t look. Doesn’t even pretend to consider it this time. “Nah.”

Without another word, she saunters toward the secluded table, so Nick has no choice but to follow. Which he does, of course, though he lags behind, and as she nimbly hops into her seat and smiles at him, he settles into his with a reverence that makes his tail stick straight out and the fur of it stand on end.

She has him nervous. Good.

He’s trying to hide it. And, hilariously, if she didn’t know him as well as she does, she would probably never know how nervous he really is. Nick Wilde is a master of deflection and feigned charm. He crosses one leg over the other, his expression schooled into that smooth slyness that used to make her want to throttle him. He takes a sip of his smoothie and adjusts his sunglasses. “Feeling better, Carrots? You were looking a little red back there.”

“Almost,” she says, and makes a dramatic show of shielding her eyes from what little sunlight streams into their mostly shaded spot. “But it’s still too bright and my head is pounding because someone—not saying who—thought it would be a good idea to go drinking on a worknight. Now if only I had some nice dark sunglasses to fend off this agony.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something,” Nick says.

“Nick.”

He winces. “Yeah?”

“Gimme.”

Nick groans and hands his glasses over without further complaint, blinking against the abruptness of Savannah Central’s golden hour. Having not seen his bright green eyes since this morning in the patrol car, Judy smothers the urge to look away as a flush threatens to creep up her neck. She takes the glasses and positions them, not over her eyes, but atop her head instead.

He frowns, utterly unimpressed. “Nice, Carrots. Real mature.”

“It’s called a—”

“A hustle, Sweetheart,” he finishes for her in a lilted voice meant to mock hers, claws waggling in exaggerated air quotes. “I know, I know. So I’ve heard a thousand times since you booted my stroller.”

“Wow. Sounds like I really struck a nerve there.”

“If we’re keeping a tally of all the nerves you’ve struck then let’s just say I’m numb at this point. Practically paralyzed.”

She bares her teeth in a gritted smile that she hopes looks as fake as it feels. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He chuckles. “Not even a little.”

She shrugs, sipping her smoothie. “You’re right.”

“Oooh, now she talks dirty to me,” he says, his grin sharp and wicked. It’s worsened by his eyes, now freed from their shaded prison, because the look he’s giving her is the furthest thing from platonic she’s ever seen. She debates giving him the sunglasses back right then and there. Perhaps they’d been there for her benefit after all, and not for him to hide behind like she originally assumed.

Her position as the apex predator of the situation is slipping. Time to change tactics and go on the offensive. “I think I’m going to go shopping after work.”

His smooth charm cracks at the abrupt turn in conversation and he blinks. “Oh?”

“Yup.”

“Yay consumerism?”

“Don’t you want to know what I’m going to get? Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“This feels like a trap.”

“Probably because it is.”

He erupts with a bark of stunned laughter. “Alright, vicious bunny, I’ll play. What are you gonna get?”

Then he leans in and leers at her. She almost hesitates—almost—but manages to reel in the prey side of her ready to take flight. Not happening, Slick. No way, no how. She’s winning this one. No twitching noses or ear wringing here, no sirree.

In fact, she leans in too. Close enough that she's consumed by the sent of him through his musk mask and spots the little flecks of gold amid the green in his eyes. She grins, imagining herself with fangs and claws sharper than a fox’s, and says, “I’m buying pillows.”

His brows rise. “Pillows.”

“Yup.”

“If that’s a euphemism for something I don’t get it.”

“It’s not.”

“. . . Alright.”

She leans back, pleased with herself, and crosses her arms. “You see, Officer Wilde, I don’t like the ones I have. They’re too . . .” She taps her chin. “Boring. I want something new. Something . . . fluffy.”

Her words have the desired effect because he straightens, ears flattening against his head. “Interesting choice of décor, Carrots.”

“I know right?”

“So,” he hedges, fidgeting with the straw of his smoothie, “circling back to hypotheticals . . .  how fluffy are we talkin’?”

Judy leans in again, the words she’s about to say wielded like a loaded dart gun, this entire conversation culminating into her own killing blow, the trap primed and ready to spring. “So fluffy.”

Nick just stares at her for a long moment, wide-eyed. 

She’s certain he’s remembering the last time he said those words, just last night, when his own carefully maintained inhibitions had been superseded by the numerous strawberry meowjito’s they’d shared—when his claws had gripped her ass as they made out like love struck teenagers in a club owned by Mr. Big—when he’d so very lovingly uttered those very words against her lips as his paws toyed with the soft fur of her tail. “So fluffy,” he’d moaned.  

Dazed, Nick’s gaze flicks down to her mouth, then back to her eyes again, before he leans back and laughs, long and hard.

“Oh, Carrots,” he manages between fits. “You got me. You win this one.”

Judy allows her own façade to fade and laughs along with him. “Glad you’re seeing things my way, Slick.”

He claps, slow and loud, and pretends to bow. “Proud of you I am, young grasshopper, for you have outfoxed the fox.”

She laughs again, ears burning at both the praise and the very serious direction their conversation is about to lead. “Nick,” she says finally. The humor in her voice is now edged with apprehension. Her heart is hammering hard enough that she’s certain is a BPM shy of cardiac arrest. “We need to talk. About last night.”

Nick looks away for a moment and tugs at his collar before he clears his throat and goes into full charm mode. He steals the sunglasses back and pushes them up the bridge of his muzzle, shields raised and defense mechanism disguised as a smirk engaged. “Alright, Sweetheart. Let’s talk.”

“Nick . . . I . . . we . . .” The words stay lodged in her throat. She looks at him helplessly.

The smirk doesn’t waver. “Careful, Fluff, if your ears get any redder no one will be able to tell us apart.”

“Nick,” Judy snaps, exasperated. “Be serious—please. Coconut.”

And just like that, the mask he’d been wielding vanishes and his expression softens. He sets the glasses down and scoots over to her side of the table, paws on her shoulders. “Judy,” he says. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“What happened last night . . . we need to talk about it. No more teasing.”

“Okay,” he says carefully. “What about it?”

“We kissed,” she says.

His mouth twitches. “That’s cute, but you and I both know it was a lot more than that. Didn’t know you had it in ya, making out like that in public. Gotta say though,” he winks, “it was hot as hell.”

She tries and fails not to react to his words. With how close he is now, his presence is overwhelming. She tugs at an ear, wringing it between her paws. “What does this mean . . . for us?”

“What do you want it to mean?”

“That’s not fair. Answering my question with another question.”

Nick is frowning now, looking away from her to pick up his sunglasses and polish them with his shirt. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to. We were both drunk.”

For a long, tense moment, Judy says nothing. Just stares down at the table.

The thing is, Judy isn’t the dumb bunny her anxiety is making her out to be. She knows there’s been something between her and Nick brewing for some time now. The attraction, the looks, the flirting—it was a matter of time before they reached a point they wouldn’t be able to come back from. She just has to be brave enough to barrel forward.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks.

“You mean besides you?” Nick says, waggling his brows.

Judy shrieks, heat blossoming beneath her fur, and punches him in the shoulder. 

He laughs, rubbing the spot she’d hit him. “Worth it.” And then his expression shifts, growing more serious. “I’m doing what I always do when you’re not around, Fluff.”

“And that is?”

“Waiting to see you again.”

Oh.

That wasn’t a joke. She can tell just by how earnest he’s being, how his gaze flicks away from hers and down to the table. This isn’t Slick Nick talking to her—no, this is Nicholas P. Wilde, sans sarcasm, sans mask. Just him in all his emotionally insecure glory, open and raw and ferociously vulnerable—all for her.

She realizes then she’s never met a braver mammal.

She tries and fails to speak, several times, the words getting lost somewhere between her brain and her heart, sucked into that liminal in-between where her own insecurities fester. She wants to tell him how much she loves him, how much last night had felt like a dream she hadn’t wanted to end, how she wants to do it again and again and again until they’re old and grey—well when he’s grey, and she’s, perhaps, a tad lighter in tone—and awe hell, she’s not saying anything at all right now, is she?

“Nick,” she says, voice laden with intense emotion.

Nick stares back at her, caught between fear and yearning. “. . .Yeah?”

Then she smiles. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow.”

“Dr. Fuzzby.” He nodded once, still not looking at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I don’t recall it being time for your quarterly report.” As if to emphasize this, he glanced at the calander hanging from the wall beside his desk before finally meeting her eye with an arched brow. 

She adjusted her glasses and settled the folder across her lap. “Yes, that’s correct. I’m here to discuss a case, actually. From our Partners in Crisis program.”

“Oh?” His tone was flat. Disinterested.

“Yes, standard protocol.” She opened the folder to her case files, revealing the pictures of the two mammals in question.

Chief Bogo groaned. “Of course. Of course this would be about Officers Hopps and Wilde. Why am I not surprised?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Go on, tell me, what chaos did they incite this time?”

“Well, actually, Chief, I’m here to tell you I’m requesting a closure of their case.”

“You want to. . . close their case?”

 Quinta nodded. “Yes, sir. Against all odds, they have surpassed every milestone I’ve set for them and are officially eligible to graduate the program. With your approval, of course, as their commanding chief.”

“Did you not initially recommend a two-year program?” The Chief looked unconvinced. “It’s been what, six months?”

“I did, yes. But . . . honestly, sir, they’ve had their issues resolved since the Linxley incident. I’m sure you’ve seen the changes in their performance.”

The Chief grunted his agreement.

Quinta’s eyes roamed the framed newspapers littering his wall, many of them recent. HOPPS AND WILDE AT IT AGAIN, STAR-CROSSED COPS CATCH CATNIP DEALER, DYNAMIC DUO SAVE THE DAY, ZPD’S FINEST, ANYONE CAN BE ANYTHING, WILDE & HOPPS DISMANTLING THE UNDERBELLY, and many more. There were other officers too, of course, but Hopps and Wilde were the blatant majority.

“It’s quite extraordinary, the progress they’ve made in such a short amount of time. While I would usually advise continued therapy as a precaution, I don’t find it necessary this time around.” Her smile widened. “It really challenges our understanding of interspecies partnerships. Especially in regard to the predation paradox.”

Chief Bogo’s outward expression was apathetic, but his body language betrayed him. Ears tilted, a slight lean in her direction, torso angled toward her—all indicators that he was, in fact, interested in what she had to say. An ear twitched, and he set his pen down on his desk. “Predation paradox, Dr. Fuzzby?”

She nodded. “As you know, partnerships are advised based on biological compatibility. While interspecies assignments are common enough, both parties are usually within a similar trophic level, preferably the same genus.” At the glazed look and mounting irritation brewing within the chief’s expression, Quinta’s smile became apologetic. “What I mean to say is, we typically avoid recommending a predator-prey dynamic whenever possible. Especially when the parties in question originate from opposing trophic levels. It’s, what we call in Mammal Resources, a Conflict of Biology. The Predation Paradox refers to the dynamic between predator and prey within their ancestral ecosystem.”

The Chief stiffened, ears flattening against his head. He scowled as his attention returned to the stack of documents on his desk. Quinta knew right away she’d upset him. Eventually, Bogo muttered, “You are here to ask me to split up Officers Hopps and Wilde, is that it?”

She blinked and softened her voice. “Oh no, quite the opposite. Like I told you earlier, sir, I’m here to advocate for their graduation from Partners in Crisis. The status of their partnership is your prerogative. I am merely here to observe and advise. Officers Hopps and Wilde are . . .  a unique case.”

Chief Bogo snorted and rolled his eyes, though, trained as she was, Quinta didn’t miss the slight upturn to his mouth, nor the warmth that flooded his features. It was subtle, but it was there, nonetheless. “That they are, Dr. Fuzzby.”

Despite what most of the ZPD believed, Quinta was not part of Mammal Resources. She was an independent contractor brought in through the Mammal Inclusion Initiative, and though she often worked closely with MR as a certified Therapy Animal for police officers in dysfunction junction, her main area of study was in the field of Behavioral Sciences.

She’d been researching the trophic polarization of predator and prey for some time when the chance to oversee the ZPD’s Partners in Crisis program was offered to her. Being a quokka, the mammals at City Hall felt that her naturally friendly face, coupled with her years studying animal behavior, would be beneficial in alleviating any resulting tensions that might arise from new hiring guidelines.

“As you know,” Quinta said, “Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde were the first predator and prey assigned to work together as fulltime partners. There’ve been . . . other attempts since, of course”—she winced, thinking of Joel and Karen—“but none of them have had the same success.”

“Yes, well,” Chief Bogo feigned indifference, flipping through papers she knew he was no longer reading, “they are good officers. Good instincts. And after a few growing pains and weeks spent being a major pain in my tail, they have turned out to be a good team. On their way to being one of my best, even. So if you believe they are ready, then I will take your word for it. Do you have something for me to sign?”

“I sure do!” She handed him the necessary form that he promptly signed with a quick flick of his pen and returned to her. “You know, it’s really quite fascinating if you think about it.”

“What is?” he asked flatly.

“Breaking down behavior patterns along with evolutionary sapience—it highlights the parallels between instinct and conscience. Foxes, for example, were once a natural predator of rabbits, so seeing Officers Hopps and Wilde work so well together, using their differences as an advantage . . . well, you must be so very proud of them.”

“We are not in the stone ages, Dr. Fuzzby,” Chief Bogo droned. “I would argue that factoring in an officer’s biology would be a rather archaic sanction.”

She dipped her chin once. “I understand that, sir, I do. And you’re correct, as a society we have evolved beyond our instincts, but you know as well as I do the tribulations that can arise between polarized partners in high stress environments. You mentioned when we last spoke about potential promotions for them in the near future, so their dynamic is something myself, Mammal Resources, and even City Hall are keen to pay attention to. For better or worse, Officers Hopps and Wilde are the faces of the Mammal Inclusion Initiative, so how they are presented to the public matters.”

 “Charmed,” Chief Bogo said in a clipped tone, but she caught the faraway look that crept into his expression as he paused to stare at the collage of framed newspaper clippings. “But I do understand where you’re coming from. I won’t lie, I had reservations at first about pairing them up, but Hopps was,” he chuckled, “tenacious. She would not stop pestering me the whole time Wilde was in the academy. I eventually gave in for my own sanity. And I was almost right, early on, just before the mess with the Lynxley family. The fox and bunny were a mess. Constantly at each other’s throats and foolhardy. I could see they were bringing out the worst in each other.”

Quinta nodded. Her assessment at the time had been similar. “And yet they figured it out.”

“That they did. They proved me wrong. Again.” He shook his head. “I believe a wise mammal once said, ‘the more we understand each other, the more exceptional each of us will be.’ If Hopps and Wilde can do it . . . then maybe . . . maybe there is hope for the rest of us after all.”

Chief Bogo was an enigma, Quinta realized. His tough exterior and peevish affectations, which were common attributes of his species, belied the gentle and thoughtful mammal he was on the inside. Contrary to what many of his peers believed, he truly cared about his officers. It was admirable, to say the least. 

Shuffling her papers into a semblance of order, Quinta closed her folder and bid the chief her parting pleasantries, to which he responded with his own, albeit half-grunted as he’d already returned to flipping through his own stack of documents. She hopped from her chair and left his office, passing through the main atrium of the ZPD and slipped through the throng of gargantuan officers milling about. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite therapy animal,” a familiar voice drawled.

Quinta blinked and turned to find Nick Wilde leaning against a water cooler at the room’s perimeter, a paper cup in paw. Judy Hopps was filling her own cup with her back to Quinta, though her ears swiveled toward Quinta’s direction at her partner’s announcement.

“Judy. Nick,” Quinta greeted easily, tucking her folder under her arm. “What a coincidence running into you two.”

Nick arched a brow. “Uh, we work here.”

“Ignore him,” Judy said, elbowing Nick’s side as she appeared beside him sipping her water. To her partner, she said, “She’s probably surprised to see us here because we’re usually out on the beat or chasing down perps, not stuck in the office, Slick.”

He angled his body to accommodate her, his tail curling at her back, the tip of it flicking in a telltale sign of affection. He straightened and stood taller, though his expression was half-lidded and neutral. “Yes, well, this is where the true crimes are fought. And by true crimes I mean the aggressive injustice that is written reports.”

Judy rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

His placid expression morphed into one of contrived dismay. “Ouch. You wound me, Carrots.” He met Quinta’s eye. “Doc, please tell me you have some free time today. I think I need to work through my trauma regarding a certain violent bunny.”

“What was it that Chief Bogo once said?” Judy asked in a sickly-sweet voice. “Something about wanting a traumatic adulthood?”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Nick shot back, smirking.

Judy huffed but she was clearly fighting a smile. “Okay, that’s it. Dr. Fuzzby, it was wonderful seeing you and we look forward to our next Partners in Crisis meeting, but my partner and I have reports that need writing and some upcoming cases that need profiling.” She tugged at Nick’s tie. “C’mon, Lazy Fox. Coffee break’s over.”

Nick raised a claw, allowing himself to be pulled in Judy’s direction. “Question. Can this be construed as a coffee break if no coffee was to be had?”

“It is if you want to get out of here at a reasonable hour. The way I see it, we have three hours before the movie you want to see starts, and we’ll be lucky leave here by then if you keep stalling.”

“Your cruelty truly has no limit. Tell me, Carrots, do you wake up every day with a predisposition toward violence?”

“Only when I wake up thinking about you.”

“Oh, so you admit you wake up thinking about me, then?”

“Shut up,” Judy hissed, just as the pair disappeared around a corner. 

Quinta stared after them for several moments, then shook her head, chuckling a little at their obvious flirting. What she would give to spend a day with them out on the beat or in their patrol car, observing their synergy. They were a force to be reckoned with, those two. A successful partnership between polarized mammals was novel enough, but their irrefutable attraction to each other? It was a behaviorist’s dream. There was so much she could learn from them if given the opportunity.

A bunny and a fox. Two mammals that, even in their evolved society, should not gel as well with each other as they do. In addition to monitoring their progress in her Partners in Crisis program, she’d also been a close follower of their careers, deeply fascinated by the creative ways in which they solved their cases.

Judy Hopps, for example, was an overly optimistic idealist who had barreled into her career and, therefore, the media spotlight like a freight train, shattering every stereotype attributed to small prey animals. Quick-witted, fast on her feet, and with the superb hearing and panoramic vision that came with being a member of the Leporidae family, she’d quickly proven herself on the force, which had instantly begged the question as to why small mammals hadn’t been considered before the Mammal Inclusion Initiative. Hopps was small, certainly, but she wasn’t meek, nor was she feeble, and Quinta had nothing but the utmost respect for her, being a small prey animal herself.

And then, of course, there was Judy’s partner.

Nick Wilde was cynical, street-smart, and being a fox, was adaptable and cunning in ways that most mammals weren’t. In fact, it was a common joke amongst Quinta’s peers that foxes were merely “canid hardware operating with feline software,” because of just how strong their unique senses were. Like most Canidae, foxes had excellent hearing and strong olfactory receptors, but what made them truly exceptional was their acute night vision and unparalleled magnetoreception, a trait unseen elsewhere in the animal kingdom and one that had made them rather successful predators during the early ages of Sapience.

The thing is, Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde shouldn’t work. And at first, they hadn’t. Opposites in almost every way, theirs was the type of partnership that Quinta and her peers, both in Mammal Resources and back at the Zootopia Institute of Zoology, had strongly advised against until Chief Bogo made the executive decision to forgo their council and appoint Judy and Nick as partners anyway. As a surprise to no one, the pair didn’t make it a week before their tails ended up planted in the chairs of Quinta’s office at the ZPD. A mess of suppressed discomfort, denial, disconnection, and emotional insecurity, it was only a matter of time before the faltering partnership between them detonated.

It had come close. She’d seen the news. The Zootennial Gala, Honeymoon lodge, the arrest, and the subsequent jailbreak. The Linxley drama, plastered everywhere, and those harrowing CCTV clips of Nick and Judy almost losing their lives and then risking them once again to save each other. By the time Quinta was able to meet with them after the reptile fiasco was absolved, they’d returned as changed mammals. Still juxtaposed, but with a new receptiveness for each other’s differences, a quiet understanding that transcended both sociology and biology. Their earlier friction was now the glue binding them together. When Judy spoke, she now paused to gauge Nick’s reaction; when she moved, he mirrored her, a hypervigilance Quinta was unused to seeing in a fox except for when it came to . . .

Well, that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it?

So consumed as she was by her own thoughts, Quinta didn’t notice the approach of the rotund cheetah officer, Benjamin Clawhauser, until he appeared beside the water cooler, opening the valve of the dispenser with poorly feigned nonchalance as he filled a cup. “So . . .” he said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “You saw that too, huh?”

Quinta straightened and adjusted the folder under her arm. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she lied.

Judy rolls her eyes and fiddles with the pineapple wedge perched atop the rim of her own piña koala. She’s about halfway through hers, and Nick can tell she’s already feeling the buzz of it with the way the insides of her ears are beginning to turn pink.

“You good there, Fluff? Is your drink not carroty enough or something?” He looks her up and down with a smirk. “Or are you just that much of a light weight?”

“Oh, har har,” she quips, taking another sip. She runs a paw over one of her ears. A rather innocent gesture if she was any other mammal, but Nick knows Judy—she’s not usually one to fidget unless something is bothering her. His suspicions are quickly confirmed when she says, “I’m just thinking about something.”

Uh oh.

Nick sets down his glass. “About?”

“Oh, nothing much. Our next case,” she says with a sigh, ears going all droopy. “There’s still so much work to do. Two hundred highly dangerous criminals on the loose, and all that.”

“Ah, ah.” He waggles a claw. “One hundred and ninety-nine dangerous criminals, thank you very much. Don’t tell me you already forgot about how we pulled the wool over Bellwether’s eyes last night.” He taps the screen of his phone so it lights up with the date and time overlaid a picture of them in their disguises. “And, might I add, we’re off the clock. Officially on leave for three whole days, courtesy of Chief Buffalo Butt.”

“Justice doesn’t have a clock,” Judy says with so much passion that Nick does a double take to make sure she’s not serious. There’s a beat of silence while he just stares at her until she cracks and bursts out laughing. “Relax, Slick. I’m kidding.”

“Funny,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair and affixing his bunny with a furrowed brow accompanied by one of the fond smiles reserved for her and her alone. He repositions his glasses to the top of his head. “And here I was thinking Rick Wilde and his trusty companion were about to embark on yet another misguided adventure.”

Judy sputters, paw flying over her heart. “Rick Wilde, I am appalled that you would say that. Trudy Cabbagepatch would never. She is a professional.”

It takes all of Nick’s willpower to keep his eyes on Judy’s face and not flick down to where her paw rests on her chest. Clearing his throat, he flags down their waitress, a koala named Sandy Marsipal, and points to his empty glass. “Hey, Darlin’, mind if I get another?”

Sandy smiles. “Of course! Coming right up!”

He gestures to Carrots. “And whatever the lady wants, of course.”

Judy waves her paws when Sandy turns to her. “Oh no, I’m good! Still have plenty left! See?” She raises her drink, the pineapple wedge wobbling like it’s about two bunny flails away from plummeting to an early grave in the sand beneath their paws.

Nick tsks after the waitress disappears inside the restaurant. “Carrots, Carrots, Carrots. You’re about to have a lot of catching up to do if you don’t finish that soon. Oh, and put that poor fruit out of its misery, would ya?” He shakes his head. “I mean look at it. It’s practically crying for help.”

She looks sheepish as she plucks the pineapple free of its teetering position and finally takes a bite of it. Albeit, a small one. She sets the rest down on her napkin, her expression thoughtful. “So . . . I was thinking,” she hedges, glancing up at him with a mischievous glint shimmering in her violet eyes.

“So we’ve established,” he deadpans but leans forward anyway. “Go on.”

“Trudy Cabbagepatch and Rick Wilde,” she says in her most professional tone. She folds her paws on the table like she’s about to launch into a discussion about taxes and bottom lines and other bits of mundane business jargon.

He tilts his head, unsure of what she’s getting at. Perhaps the drink is affecting her more than he originally thought. There’s a flushed look to her, and now that he’s up close, it’s obvious she’s fighting the urge to smile in lieu of maintaining her little charade. He grins anyway. Whatever’s cooking in that bunny brain of hers is about to be good.

“They make a great team, don’t they?” she says.

 “Naturally.”

“Well, I was just thinking, you know, if we’re going to use them as a cover now and again that we should probably know a bit more about them. It would help appear more convincing if we’re able to corroborate our stories.”

“Fluff, I’m sorry, but I’m not following you here.”  

She puffs like she’s annoyed and taps the screen of his phone until, once again, the image of them in their disguises blooms to life behind the bright blocky text of the date and time. “See?”

Nick chuckles at the screensaver. Judy had taken his phone and snapped that pic of them while they waited in the airport for Bellwether to show yesterday. It was, for all intents and purposes, as couple coded as it got. Both of them with their big cheesy smiles. Nick’s arm wrapped around Judy’s shoulders, pulling her tight to his side while her blunt claws dug into the exposed ruff above his shirt and her other paw supported his phone. They played the part well. Well enough that he remembers how real it had felt, how nice it’d been wrapped around each other like nothing else in the world mattered. He hadn’t had the heart to change his screensaver after apprehending Bellwether. And fortunately, Judy hadn’t seemed to mind.

Or, at least, had yet to comment on it. 

He grins as his phone fades to black and the image of them disappears with it. “So, let me get this straight, Carrots . . . you want to, what, flesh out our aliases?”

Judy’s ears bob with an exuberant nod. “Yes! It’s called method acting.” She winks. “You know what they say, the devil is in the details. I mean, it’s thanks to my acting skills that we caught Bellwether the first time, remember?”

Oh, does he. Their little trap they’d set for Bellwether in the natural history museum is a frequenter of Nick’s less wholesome daydreams. Not that he’d ever tell Carrots that. Nick steeples his claws, leaning closer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do we know about Rick and Trudy already, hm?”

“Well,” Judy sing songs, sipping her drink, “we know they’re a happy couple on their anniversary. Are they married?”

He snorts. “How should I know?”

“Well, you’re the disguise specialist!”

“Oh, am I now? News to me.” He purses his lips, feigning deep contemplation. “Hmm. I think . . . not married, but this trip to Outback Island is their . . . two—no, three—year anniversary.”

Judy giggles and smiles wide enough to show off her buck teeth. “Awe! So, they’re in love?”

“Disgustingly in love, Carrots.”

“I love that for them!” She’s positively giddy now. Feet kicking, claw twirling the straw of her drink, looking very much the part of a mammal in love. As much as he likes to tease her otherwise, he has to hand it to her; she is a very good actor.

“In fact, Rick was planning to propose to Trudy, hence the trip.”

Judy mock gasps, covering her mouth with her paws. “Spoilers!”

“Oh, but the plot thickens,” Nick says, enjoying her enthusiasm. Maybe it’s the piña koalas. Maybe it’s the sun and the waves and the carefree whimsy that comes with being on vacation, but he feels The Mask slipping as he gazes down at her, not even attempting to hide it when he looks her up and down, the motion of it slow and deliberate. The intense sunlight is doing things to her fur, making it shine like he’s never seen before, and he’s, perhaps, enjoying it a little too much.

Well that, and the gingham two piece she’s wearing might have something to do with it too.

Easy Wilde, Nick tells himself as his eyes return to Judy’s. Just because they’re playing one of their games right now doesn’t mean he can abandon every one of his sensibilities. There are lines in the sand for a reason. And just because he and Carrots often trapeze into that weird place where they flirt that line, doesn’t mean he can just take it upon himself to blaze past it. He intends to leave that decision for Carrots to make.

Sweet, beautiful, oblivious Carrots.

Nick feels his smirk widen as he says, “Not only is Rick going to propose to Trudy, but he’s going to ask her to elope with him, too. Here at Outback Island.”

Judy’s eyes widen. “What! Here?”

“MmHmm. Because you see, my sweet bunny bumpkin, Trudy is a broccoli farmer from Podunk, and her parents Mr. and Mrs. Cabbagepatch don’t approve of her new foxy beau. It was quite the scandal. The whole town got involved, pitchforks and everything.”

“No,” Judy says.

“Yes,” Nick replies in the same tone. “So, Rick, knowing Trudy’s parents would never approve, quits his job as a . . .a . . .” He pauses, unsure of the kind of job a fox would have in the sticks outside of farming.  

Carrots jumps to his aide. “Maybe he . . . owns the general store . . .?”

“That’s it!” Nick says, snapping his claws. “Rick, the devilishly handsome and suave fellow he is, sells off the store and whisks innocent Trudy away to the big city of Zootopia, where predators and prey can date in harmony and sing Kumbaya, only to find out, whoopsie, big city life doesn’t agree with Trudy, so he books the first flight to Outback Island and comes up with a master plan to elope and spend the rest of his days sipping piña koalas and lounging before the waves with the love of his life.”

They’re so close now they’re practically nose to nose. Elbows braced on the table, muzzles resting in their paws, eyes dancing. Nick takes this opportunity to lean closer, and just as Judy’s eyelids start to flutter, as the distance between them shrinks to a furswidth, he makes the split-second decision to risk it all—

By taking a long, loud sip of her drink.

“Nick!” Judy shrieks, laughing as she swats him away. “That’s mine.”

He flips his sunglasses back over his eyes with a quick flick of a claw. “It’s called a hustle, Sweetheart.” Then he lowers the glasses just enough to leer over them and gestures to her drink with his snout. “But you should probably finish that. You never know when a shifty fox might come around and steal from a cute little bunny such as yourself.”

The flush of her ears has burned to a deep scarlet. She cradles her paws around her drink, ready to defend what’s left of it with a ferocity that could rival any predator. “Don’t call me cute. And you wouldn’t dare.”

He lowers his voice. “You wanna find out?”

Her nose twitches. She opens her mouth, and Nick leans in, ears pricked.

But alas, he’s robbed of her answer when Sandy the waitress teleports into their little bubble with a loud exclamation of, “Here you go, sweetie, one piña koala! Anything else I can get started for you? Perhaps an appetizer?”

Nick leans back in his chair. “I think we’re good. Carrots?”

Judy blinks. “Oh, ah, yeah. We’re good! Great, actually!”

“Alrighty then,” Sandy says. “I’ll be back to check on you two in a little bit. Take your time!” She turns, but then hesitates, whirling at the last second to grin down at them instead. “Can I just say that you two are so cute together! Like, I know things are so progressive these days and mammals can do whatever makes them happy, but you just don’t see a fox and bunny together every day.” She shakes her head. “You know, it really burns me up that there are still backward attitudes toward interspecies couples. I think what you two are doing is great.”

Nick and Judy exchange a wide-eyed glance before Nick smothers his surprise with a wave of feigned charm and gives their waitress one of his classic conman grins. “Thanks, Doll, love to see it. It’s rare for the Mrs. and I to come across someone so non-patronizing.”

Sandy sighs dreamily. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest. You know what? Anything you two want is on the house.” She gazes at them with another long look of unabashed adoration before she finally disappears for realsies this time.

There’s an ensuing beat of silence in which Nick and Judy just stare at each other. Whether it’s the shock of their waitress, or the aftermath of some very obvious and mutual flirting, Nick doesn’t know. All he knows for certain is that there’s now a new flavor of awkward permeating their already more-than-platonic-but-not-quite-a-thing dynamic and he’s not sure how to proceed. Go full send? Or reel it back in and play it off as yet another joke?

He opts for something in the middle. Waggling his brows at his bunny, he slides the shiny new piña koala close enough to take a sip of it. “You hear that, Carrots? We’re inspiring.”

Judy bursts out laughing so loud that several mammals at the surrounding tables turn to glare at her. She pays them no mind. “And she doesn’t even know we’re famous cops!”

Nick chuckles. “Careful, Fluff. Don’t give her too many ideas or we’ll end up with our own tags on Aardvarchive of Our Own with a ridiculous amalgamation of our names.”

She snorts. “Like what? Rudy?”

“Nah. Too normal.” He mulls it over, sipping thoughtfully. “Wildepatch?”

Judy wrinkles her nose. “Too weird.” Her foot thumps against a table leg as she stares out toward the lapping waves, smiling to herself. Nick uses her distraction to let his own gaze soften, marveling once again at the way the gilded light of the setting sun sets her silver fur ablaze.

Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, she meets his eyes again, and he’s floored to find her expression has turned coquettish. He doesn’t have time to reinstate The Mask before she jolts forward and steals a sip of his drink, holding his gaze the entire time. He just freezes, his brain on the fritz, unable to formulate a single coherent thought beyond the things this bold little bunny is doing to him.

If he was waffling before it’s absolutely undeniable now.

His harmless little crush, the very one he’d felt thawing ice from his heart the day he’d allowed The Mask to first slip on the Sky Tram during the whole Nighthowlers debacle, had inexorably intensified. Had crept right in like an insidious parasite, dismantled even the most fortified of his walls, jettisoned right through his cynicism, and now . . .?

Well now he’s got it down bad. 

Oblivious to the maelstrom roiling within him, Carrots plops her chin onto her paws, clearly pleased with herself. The sly bunny even bats her eyelashes. “How about Wildecabbage?”

Blinking away his disbelief, Nick barks out a laugh. A real one, straight from the belly. “You know what, Ms. Cabbagepatch, I like the way you think, Cabbagewilde it is.”

“Wildecabbage,” she corrects.

He nods. “Right. That’s what I said. Rudy Wildepatchcabbage.”

“Nick!”

“Babe, that’s not my name and you know it.”

“Nnn—Rick!”

“Yes, my love?”

Carrots laughs again. It’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. She shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”

“You know you love me,” he drawls as he swipes the straw from her now-empty glass and adds it to his own, angling it toward her twitching nose. “Now drink up, Trudy. I bet if we play our cards right, we just might score a free dinner out of our unsuspecting and sympathetic sucker of a waitress.”

Judy rolls her eyes but leans forward and fiddles with the straw, suddenly shy as she stares up at him through her lashes. “Isn’t this supposed to be a milkshake? It’s always a milkshake in the movies.”

Nick doesn’t miss a beat. “If baby wants a milkshake, baby gets a milkshake.” And then, to Judy’s stunned horror and the dismay of the other patrons attempting to enjoy their meals, he waves and shouts, “Ohhh, Sandyyyy!”

“Nick!” Judy hisses. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her. The entire restaurant is looking at them now, and Nick ignores them too, brightening, instead, when Sandy reappears from inside the restaurant. He waves his arms again, gesturing to an adorably embarrassed Judy.

“Can we get a milkshake over here?! Two straws?!” He fends off an attacking bunny when Carrots leaps across the table, attempting to bombard him with a barrage of halfhearted punches but too weakened with her own laughter to land any damage. “In fact, why don’t we add a heaping plate of spaghetti to that, one single strand”—a wink—“you know the kind, right? Maybe some candlelight?”

Later, when Nick and Judy walk along the seaside path toward their hotel after a delicious and fully comped meal courtesy of Kanga-Brews, it’s Judy who breaks the companiable silence.

“Nick?” There’s a tentative waver to her voice as she wrings her paws, ears flat against her head.

“Yes, Sweetheart?”

“Trudy Cabbagepatch doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”

He snorts, paws in his pockets, gait easy and unbothered. “Sure thing.”

“I’m serious, Nick. She’s proud to love Rick Wilde, no matter what anyone thinks. They’re a team. Y’know, like you and me?”

He side-eyes her as they walk. “Alright, spit it out, Carrots. Don’t get me wrong, it’s adorable seeing you this coy, but is there a point in there somewhere?” He knocks on the top of her head for emphasis.

“Shut up.” Judy laughs as she swats his paw away and then gently elbows his side. His tail flicks, brushing against her in response. “I’m just saying, Trudy doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. And,” she drifts closer, the fur of her shoulder skimming his, grey mingling with amber, “not all rural families are that bigoted. I mean, the country definitely isn’t as progressive as Zootopia, but they’re getting there. Opinions are changing. I . . . I just wanted you to know that.”

Nick swallows and keeps his expression neutral, giving nothing away. “You’re drunk, Carrots.”

“No, I’m inspired.”

“Ah, so this is more of your method acting, then?”

“Perhaps,” she says. “Or maybe I’m just trying my paw at some good old-fashioned paltering. The most convincing disguises are the ones that use a little bit of truth.” She bumps into him again, this time with her hip. “Everyone knows that.”

Nick tries and fails not to read too much into what she’s saying. His stupid traitorous heart skips a beat, and it becomes a war of wills to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders and demanding, point blank, what she’s trying to say. The lines in the sand have blurred and there’s a part of him desperate to know which side they’re on.

But then, there’s another part of his psyche—the decidedly less noble one—that’s enjoying this little game they’re playing. There’s a thrill to the uncertainty, to the undefined parts of whatever the hell they are to each other now, and he’s not sure he’s quite ready to let that go. It triggers something in him, deep and ancient, the remnants of a prey drive long diluted by a millennium of evolution. A predator enjoying the chase. Enjoying the hunt.

Well, that’s enough of that line of thinking.

Nick clears his throat and flings his arm over his bunny’s shoulders, tugging her close to his side. She stumbles but regains her footing, falling into step beside him. They finish the walk to their hotel in an easy silence, and when they part ways to their respective rooms, Nick lets The Mask slip, just enough so his smile softens into the one that belongs to her. “Goodnight, Sly Bunny.”

And Judy, still flushed from her piña koalas, grins at him in that shy, beautiful way he’s so hopelessly in love with, rising on her toes to steal the sunglasses right off the top of his head. She spins them around her claws as she sashays toward her room. Over her shoulder she says, “Goodnight, Charming Fox.”

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He watches until she disappears into her room.

Yup. He‘s totally whipped.

Unequivocally, irrevocably, donzo.

Because he, solitary Nicholas Piberius Wilde, the same fox who’d vowed to never let anyone get to him, had been gotten to.

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