Dear Nick,

It's harder than you think it'd be, being on your own. When you left there wasn't a soul in the world for me to confide in. All the old faces I'd grown up with had packed up and moved when the businesses relocated to the commercial areas, my mom and dad have been pushing up daisies for donkey's years and the man I loved died back on a park bench decades ago. Our street used to be one of the busiest on the block. Now I can count the mammals who live here on one paw. Our little corner of Zootopia is dying, and I'm the only one left who knew it well enough to mourn.

I'm not a lonely widow by choice, you know. I've tried finding somebody else. Used all those fancy websites you see advertised on TV, tried speed-dating, frequented all the little get-togethers our community used to have before everything closed down... None of it worked out. Sure, I met men, and sure, some of them were nice - some of them were lovely, in fact - but none of them were your father. Whenever they flirted, joked or went to kiss me, all I could think about was how Robert did it better. How everything about him had just clicked with me. I gave my heart to a man who died years ago, and I'm never getting it back.

I can still remember how he left me. As if it were yesterday... as if he were still snuggled up next to me on that rusty bench where he sat down to die.

It'd been halfway through the summer holidays, and Robert had bought you this tacky, two dollar kite from that discount store two blocks down the road. It was a piece of crap. You could've made your own out of a pair of twigs, a leaf of paper and a length of twine and it would've probably flown twice as well, but you loved it all the same. How either of you expected it to fly was beyond me; It'd been the middle of summer, and there hadn't been so much as a breeze all day. Still, we took you to the park, and your father and you spent the whole day sprinting across the green with your crappy two-bit kite in tow, trying to get it airborne. Looking back on it now, I'd say that was probably one of the best moments of my life. The sun had been shining, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and everything just felt as if it had clicked - as if I were exactly where I was meant to be; sitting on some old park bench watching my beautiful son and my loving husband run around in circles like a pair of crazies.

Then, as if by magic, your kite took off. A gust of wind came from nowhere and carried it off the ground. You cheered and hopped from foot to foot like the excited little child you were, whilst me and your dad stared after the kite I swore couldn't fly as it danced its way into the air. Then Robert threw his arms up and laughed that adorable, boyish laugh of his.

And then one of his arms fell back down to his side, as if he were a puppet and someone had just cut the strings. He stared at it, still giggling, prodding at it with his finger. "Ain't that the strangest thing," he said, walking over to the bench and plopping himself next to me with a tired grunt. "The strangest thing..." he trailed off, staring at his limp arm with a curious sort of fascination, smile still lingering at his lips.

It took a little while for me to realise he wasn't staring - he was just dead. He'd died right there by my side, and he'd done it so quietly that you were still circling the park with your kite, giggling childishly as the heat left your father's body.

I can't remember much else after that. Maybe because I don't want to. It'd been a lovely day and a lovely way to die and I don't want to recall all the screaming and the tears that came next. I want to remember Robert as he was: laughing and hopping around like a fool, having the time of his life with his little boy. Try to remember him like that too, Nick. I know you were young at it was all so long ago, but you've got to keep his memory alive. Because after the ones we love leave us, that's all we'll have left of them.

Believe me, I've had experience.

Love,

Mom.

The kite tugged the string from his paws and tore away into the clear, afternoon sky, swept into the heavens by the breeze that'd gathered from nowhere. He chased after it, little legs pounding on grass still glossy with dew from the morning's rain and lungs heaving in air as cool and as fresh as mint. The summer heat was like a soft embrace, the sunlight like powdered gold. It was the sort of day that made him glad to be alive.

The kite dove into the sunset and crashed gracelessly into a bush. Behind him his father still cheered him on, laughing like a madman.

Glad to be alive...

He brimmed with energy - a raw, uncut joy pumping through his veins which demanded that he move. Run. Jump. Dance. Anything other than stand still. By the time he reached the kite, he could've easily snapped it up in his jaws and shredded it as if it were prey.

Behind him, his father stopped cheering, and his mother began to scream, and he realised that his legs weren't carrying him towards the kite,but away from his parents. Dread clawed at the pit of his stomach as their heavy footfalls came thundering up behind him, like that of a monster's. He pumped his legs harder, forced himself forwards even as the world tried its best to push him back.

He ran. He ran until the grass turned to tarmac beneath his feet and that summer's day with his parents was naught but a distant memory. Somewhere off in the distance, his mother still called for him, terrified and alone, just like him.

He wanted to run back. Run back and dive into her arms and let her tell him everything was going to be okay. But after all that time running, he had gotten old, and the innocence of his childhood was nothing but a distant memory, dead and buried in a grave he'd dug with lie and deciept. So he kept running. And running and running and running and...

Nick opened his eyes, forcing a wavering exhale through clenched teeth. His heartbeat was thunder in his ears, and despite the bedsheets piled atop of him, he cold enough to have worked up a shiver. His paws were balled into fists, desperately clasping blankets to his breast and trembling so intensely that he swore that he could feel the bones rattling against one another.

Something moved against him, and a tight, desperate whimper quivered from between his lips. For a moment he was entangled in panic, set to dart from beneath the covers and-

Judy. Just Judy. Thank God, it was just Judy.

'Get a grip. It was a dream. Just a dream. Breathe... Breathe...'

Nick breathed. Swallowed the lump in his throat. Breathed again. Why couldn't he stop his paws from shaking? Was he crying? He brought a shaking finger to his eye and hastily rubbed away the tears. Beside him Judy squeezed at his arm, snoring gently, and his trembling paws slowly eased into a standstill.

He sighed, and the cold spike of panic dislodged itself from his heart. Nothing but a dream. That was all... Nothing but a dream...

He wrapped an arm around Judy's sleeping form and coaxed her closer. Unconsciously she fumbled for a better grip, settling on an arm around his torso. She nuzzled her head into his neck before easing back into deep sleep. Nick hugged her tighter, afraid of what might happen if he were to let go. He felt as if he were a sailor amidst a broiling ocean, and Judy was the gnarled hunk of driftwood which stopped the cold, black depths of the sea from swallowing him up entirely.

In other words, he was frightened. More frightened then he had any right to be. In a house packed wall-to-wall with rabbits, he felt awfully alone.

Gradually his nerves began to settle, and the slow rhythmic sigh of Judy's breathing helped him ease his way back to calamity, but the dream was still there, stabbing at the back of his mind like a splinter that refused to come out no matter how much he picked at it. There'd be no more rest tonight, of that he could be certain. He'd been suffering through this very same dream for years now, and he knew it well enough by now to know that getting back to sleep was a hopeless endeavour.

'In that case, guess there's not much of a reason to stay in bed now, is there?'

He eased his way out of Judy's arms, careful not to wake her, before slipping noislessly out of the bedroom and making his way into the kitchen - nightmares made him hungry, and he was dying for something to gnaw on - if only to occupy himself. He stopped mid-stride when he noticed a light at the end of the hallway. Somebody must've gotten the same idea as him. He slinked up to the corner and peeked into the kitchen. There, framed in the light cast from the open door of the fridge, was Bonnie. In one paw she held a freshly made sandwich, and with the other she was rummaging through the contents of the fridge's lower draws.

"Can't sleep either?" he asked.

Bonnie jumped in surprise, cracking her forehead against the top of the fridge with a meaty *thunk*. "Nick!" she exclaimed, bolting upright in shock before doubling back over again in pain. "Ow... Didn't your parents ever tell you it was impolite to sneak up on people?"

"Must've missed that lesson," he said casually.

Bonnie turned around, still nursing the spot on her forehead. "Well, maybe you could - sweet cheese and crackers!"

"What? What's-" He looked down, following Bonnie's bulging stare. Naked. He was naked. Why was he naked? He'd been so hectic in his fervor to get out of the bedroom that he'd forgone getting dressed. Whoops, silly him. Now he was flashing his girlfriend's mother. "Oh, right. Sorry, wasn't expecting to run into anyone out here and -"

"It's fine! It's fine, really. Just... Just go put something on, would you?" she pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut as if the sight of him naked had been something akin to a blinding light.

"I uh, didn't pack a nightgown..."

"Nick!"

"Alright, alright, I'll throw a shirt on or something, gimmie a minute." he said, ducking back into the hallway with his cheeks flushed and his tail tucked firmly between his legs, contemplating just how wrong it was that he'd now given his girlfriend's mother both a sex show and a striptease. It went without saying that Judy was never hearing a word about this. She was nervous as it was, and that sort of weight on her mind would probably send her packing for the loonie bin. He crept back into the bedroom and plucked his clothes up from the floor, careful not to wake Judy.

A couple of minutes later he sheepishly dragged his feet back to the kitchen, a couple of shades redder and a whole lot less naked. Bonnie had sat herself by the table, gnawing at a carrot. She blushed at the awkward smile of apology he offered, and winced as he took another carrot from the fridge and pulled up a chair to sit opposite her. Nick doubted that she wanted to see any more of him than she already had tonight, but there as no one else to talk to and the last thing he wanted to be right now was alone.

"So... Can't sleep?" he asked, reasoning that if he just kept on talking as if nothing had happened then the whole 'I just saw your dick' thing would just sweep itself under the rug.

Thankfully Bonnie seemed to have the same idea as him. "No. I have trouble sleeping..." she paused, chewing the inside of her cheek as she groggily sought for an end to her sentence. Her ear twitched as the wind howled wolfishly outside, and Bonnie had found her answer. "... On windy nights. The noise keeps me up."

It was so obvious a lie that she may as well have just said 'I don't want to tell you', but Nick was too tired and too shaken to bother calling her out on it. The nightmare was still running circles around his head, its black claws pushing ever deeper into his mind. Had he not drank himself into a stupor once tonight already, he would've been tempted to have a look at what Bonnie and Stu kept in their liquor cabinet. As it was, he was still partly reeling from his and Bonnie's night out, and the thought of alcohol alone was enough to make him queasy.

"So... Why are you-"

"Bad dreams," said Nick with a casual disinterest, hoping that the tone would be enough to let it slide under her nose.

It didn't. Bonnie's weary face had animated itself with motherly concern the moment the words had left his mouth. She leaned forwards in her chair attentively, ears perked and eyes glistening over with a pitiful shimmer of compassion. It was the sort of look that a parent would give a child who'd come home tearful over a scraped knee. "Well, do you... want to talk about it?" she asked, voice dotted with a few quivering notes of uncertainty, as if she wasn't sure if it were a question she should be asking.

Or perhaps he was overthinking it, and she was just looking for a way to kill off the awkward silence.

Nick was about to blow her off with a relaxed wave and a nonchalant shake of his head before he realised that he did want to talk about it. He'd had these nightmares for years, and not once had he told another soul. Not Judy, not Finnick, not anyone. Talking about his nightmares would inevitably lead to him talking about his mother, and he... Well, he didn't talk about his mother. There were more than a few cans of worms waiting behind that door, and he wasn't eager to start opening any of them up. Especially not now, here, in front of Judy's family. A while back he'd resolved to fill Judy in on all the details of his childhood as soon as he was ready, and not a moment sooner. When would he be ready?

Never, probably.

"Maybe... another time." he said, and to his surprise he found that the gradual, encroaching feeling of unease that'd been crawling up his back had worked its way into his voice.

Bonnie frowned, and he could tell from the disappointed droop of her ears that her proposal hadn't just been conversation for the sake of conversation, and that she'd been itching for a little heart-to-heart talk with him. It didn't surprise him. From what he'd saw of Bonnie so far, he pegged her as a helper by nature; the sort of person who'd be there with a shoulder to cry on when things got a little too rough. He liked to think that the attitude was synonymous with parenthood.

"Are you sure?" she asked as she subconsciously slid her paw across the table to clasp at his wrist, her grip gentle yet reassuringly firm. "You know, bad dreams usually happen for a reason. If something's bothering you, then... Well, it doesn't do you any good to keep it bottled up inside."

The cold rational, thinker inside of him was tugging at the back of his collar, methodically listing all of the reasons why he should pull his wrist away from Bonnie's soothing grasp, give her a sort and sweet 'goodnight' and hightail it back to the bedroom before he started telling things that were best kept secret.

The other part of him, however - the little boy still running from a childhood that'd been snapping at his heels for as long as he could remember - yearned for a shoulder to lean on. He wanted to talk about his mother, about his father, and about all the ups and downs he'd weathered as the cold, unfeeling streets of Zootopia had hammered and twisted and defiled a lost little boy into a back alley conman with a taste for cynicism.

Both parts agreed that they should've told Judy a long, long time ago. Damn him, he should have told her the second he realised he loved her... Why hadn't he? Fear, mostly. Fear that she'd look at him and see a man different from the one she'd fell in love with. Fear that she'd resent him - perhaps even hate him, considering how highly she valued family. Fear And shame.

Crushing, relentless shame that he'd never had the guts to go back home and tell his own mother how sorry he was for leaving her.

"Bonnie? You... Do you think you'd be able to keep a secret?"

Bet you thought I was dead, didn't ya?

sorry about the massive delay, I'll try my best to make it up to you guys.