Could you please write a platonic story with Judy, Nick, and Chief Bogo?
It takes place after Zootopia 2, and all three are dealing with the guilt and trauma since the Zootenial Gala and the Lynxley Case.
Now, the three finally talk about their unresolved feelings due to the pressure becoming too much.
After all is said, the three suddenly get into a hug, much to the surprise of them.
❝ JUDY HOPPS, NICK WILDE & CHIEF BOGO — AFTERMATH ❞
The precinct is quieter than it used to be. Not empty, never empty, but different. Phones still ring somewhere down the hall, paperwork still shuffles, the city still hums beyond the walls. And yet something sits heavy in the air, something unspoken that lingers longer than it should.
Judy Hopps notices it first. Or maybe she is just the first to admit it.
She stands at her desk longer than necessary, staring at a report she has already finished. Her ears twitch at every sound, her focus slipping, her thoughts dragging her back to places she does not want to revisit. The Zootenial Gala. The Lynxley case. Every moment that went wrong, every decision that could have been different.
“Carrots.”
Nick Wilde’s voice cuts through her thoughts, low and familiar. He leans against the edge of her desk, watching her carefully. There is no smirk this time, no easy humor to soften things.
“You’ve been staring at that paper for five minutes,” he says.
Judy exhales slowly and looks up. “I know.”
“You gonna read it, or are we just hoping it fixes itself?”
Normally, she would laugh. She doesn’t. Nick’s ears flick slightly, and he looks away for a second, like he already regrets trying.
“…right,” he mutters.
The silence that follows stretches too long.
Then, from across the room, a voice cuts cleanly through it.
“My office.”
Chief Bogo does not raise his voice. He does not need to.
Judy straightens immediately. Nick pushes off the desk without a word. Neither of them argue.
Bogo’s office feels smaller than usual, or maybe it is just the way the air presses in. He stands behind his desk, arms crossed, watching them as they step inside. The door closes, and the quiet settles heavily around them.
“Sit,” he says.
They do. Judy perches on the edge of her chair, back straight. Nick leans back slightly, but not by much.
Bogo studies them for a long moment before speaking.
“You’re both off your game.”
It is blunt. Direct.
Judy’s ears dip. Nick exhales through his nose.
“We’re fine,” Judy says automatically.
“No,” Bogo replies. “You’re not.”
The room stills. Nick glances at Judy, then back at Bogo.
“With all due respect, Chief—”
“I didn’t ask for your assessment,” Bogo cuts in. “I gave you mine.”
Nick’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push it. Bogo’s gaze shifts between them.
“You think I don’t see it?” he continues. “The hesitation. The second-guessing. You’re slower. Distracted.”
Judy swallows. “We’re handling it.”
“You’re avoiding it.”
That lands harder than anything else.
Judy looks down at her hands, gripping them tighter than she realizes. Nick’s tail flicks once behind him.
Bogo exhales, slower this time.
“The Gala wasn’t your fault,” he says.
Judy’s head snaps up. “Yes it was. We should’ve seen it coming. We missed signs, we—”
“We followed procedure,” Nick cuts in, sharper than expected. “We did what we were supposed to do.”
“And it still wasn’t enough,” Judy shoots back.
Silence crashes down again.
Bogo’s voice is quieter when he speaks next.
“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.”
That stops both of them.
Because Bogo does not say things like that.
“The Lynxley case,” he continues, his tone measured now, “I made the call to pull back.”
Judy frowns. “Chief, that wasn’t—”
“It was my decision,” he says firmly. “And it cost us time. It cost us leverage.”
They all know it cost more than that.
Judy’s voice softens. “We could’ve pushed harder.”
Nick shakes his head. “And gotten shut down. Or worse.”
“At least we would’ve tried.”
“We did try.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
The words settle heavily between them.
Nick runs a paw over his face. “You think I don’t know that?” he says. “You think I haven’t been replaying that entire night over and over?”
Judy flinches. Bogo watches them both, something shifting beneath his usual stern expression.
“You’re both carrying this like it’s yours alone,” he says.
Judy looks up. “Isn’t it?”
“No.”
The answer is immediate.
“This is on all of us.”
Another pause follows, quieter but no less heavy.
“That’s how this works,” Bogo adds.
Something in Judy’s chest cracks at that. She has been holding it like a weight she has to carry alone, like letting go would mean she is not taking responsibility.
Nick leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “Doesn’t make it easier,” he mutters.
“No,” Bogo agrees. “It doesn’t.”
For a moment, none of them speak.
Then Judy’s voice comes out softer than either of them has ever heard it.
“I keep thinking… if I had just done one thing differently…”
Nick shakes his head immediately. “Carrots—”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I can’t stop.”
Nick’s ears lower. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me neither.”
That hangs there, shared and understood in a way neither of them has allowed before.
Bogo exhales slowly. “You don’t get into this line of work without carrying things,” he says. “The mistake is thinking you have to carry them alone.”
Judy looks at him. Then at Nick.
Something shifts.
Small, but enough.
She stands.
It is not planned. She just moves.
Nick looks up, confused. “Uh, Carrots—?”
She doesn’t answer. She steps forward and wraps her arms around him.
Nick freezes completely.
“…okay,” he says after a second. “This is new.”
Judy lets out a shaky breath. “Just… give me a second.”
Nick hesitates, then slowly relaxes, one arm coming up to return it.
“…yeah,” he mutters. “Alright.”
After a moment, Judy glances up at Bogo.
He stares back at her.
Then at them.
“…no,” he says.
Judy doesn’t move. “Please?”
Bogo exhales sharply, like this is the most unreasonable request he has ever been given. He hesitates, then steps forward.
“This does not leave this room,” he says.
“Of course not,” Nick replies.
Bogo leans down slightly, joining the hug with clear reluctance.
It is awkward. Uneven. Unexpected.
But it is real.
For a moment, none of them speak. They just stand there, three officers carrying the same weight, sharing it for the first time instead of holding it alone.
And for the first time since the Gala, it feels lighter.
Not gone. Not fixed.
But shared.
And that is enough.
