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It was over.

Her career, her dreams.

Everything was over. All before it had even begun.

Glumly sitting alone on a hallway bench, deep within the corridors of ZPD's Precinct One-all dressed up in a bright orange traffic vest and ridiculous bowler hat-Judy Hopps felt like the most pathetic little bunny rabbit in all the world. Fallen from class valedictorian to token meter maid in what must have been record time. If the odd passing officer or staff mammal spared her a glance of pity, Judy wouldn't begrudge them. But she might have felt some surprise. One, because the bunny had hidden herself away in one of the quieter areas of the station, trying to avoid attention. And two….

Two, because the last week had shown her that, without a doubt, no one on the force wanted Judy around. Not Chief Bogo and not any of the other officers under his command. Save, perhaps, for Benjamin Clawhauser. Bless the fat friendly cheetah's gentle soul, his cheery morning greetings and heartfelt evening pep talks had been the only real ray of sunshine in Judy's life for the past seven days. That included her time off the clock and on the phone with her parents. She understood their...enthusiasm for her paltry assignment. She got their relief, really, she did. It was as natural as it was insufferable and infuriating.

Judy's time out in the streets had proven to be a very mixed bag. On one paw, no well-meaning but chronically unsupportive parents around to harass her-they were miles away and at least respected her career enough to not call until shift's end. On the other, no Clawhauser to drag along for a mobile pity party. No Chief Bogo to chew her out for asking again if,just maybe, he'd change his mind and hand her a real case that day. No mercy from angry motorists who'd rather scream in her face than contest their ticket in traffic court like a normal mammal.

Seven. Days.

Seven days since Chief Bogo got up in front of the bullpen podium and blew her off. Seven days since he handed out the fifteen missing mammal cases to every cop but her. Seven days since he stuck her with parking duty.

Judy remembered coming back to the station, brimming with self-confidence and ready to present the fruits of a first day's labor. A whopping three hundred parking tickets printed, total. Two thirds of them handed out before noon. It was supposed to be a show of professional competence, proving to the chief why his newest officer was an asset better spent on something greater than parking duty.

Bogo had looked over her report, his brow arched. Judy had taken it as a good sign. She'd made an impression! Then Bogo had snorted and slid the report back to her with a gruff, sarcastic congratulations. And a warning not to burn herself out early. Then he'd dismissed her for the day.

It crushed the soul. The rest of the week passed, and Judy's daily ticket count had fallen from staggeringly impressive to merely adequate. Bogo hadn't commented on it, so Judy figured he didn't care much at all. That was basically his life motto anyway. As long as the token bunny did her job, her boss was content to let her wear a badge. As if that badge meant anything at this point. Everything she had worked for all her life had turned out to be one big joke. Worse, a lie.

So the next Monday rolled around and found Judy hunched over on her lonely bench, small fuzzy paws clasped together between her legs as she stared at the floor. No one cared if she was getting started a little late that day. Least of all Judy Hopps. A week ago, the bunny would have scolded herself for being so defeatist. Well, Present Judy thought darkly, Past Judy could go shove it. Present Judy just wanted to wallow in miserable defeat for a while.

Her big bunny ears did not fail to pick up faint footfalls of an approaching mammal, but a disengaged Judy registered nothing. Not even when those footfalls ceased and a shadow draped across her big bunny feet.

"Rough day, officer?"

The voice was...not unpleasant. Smooth, casual, and male. Unfamiliar. Slightly jocular rather than outright mocking. That was unexpected. Not enough to lift Judy's droopy ears, but sufficient to rouse her attention. Dull violet eyes edged upward in sluggish surprise.

Red footpaws that darkened toward the digits, planted on the floor about maybe three feet away. Forest green slacks on legs about as long-or as short-as her own. Paws stuffed into pockets. A black belt looped around a long barrel of a torso. Open suit jacket, the same color as the slacks. White dress shirt, buttoned up and tucked in. Black tie, hanging loose around the collar. Not very professional in the least-

Russet red fur. Piercing green eyes. Pointy ears. Pointy snout full of pointy teeth-

Judy jerked back on reflex. Two long ears shot straight up in alarm and a gray paw flew to the pink canister at her belt-

And the fox laughed, easy and casual even as he took a half-step back. "Woah, easy! Wound a little tight there, bunny." He regarded her with a grin-full of glinting white fangs-and a tilt of his head. Those paws hadn't left his pockets, and some distant part of Judy decided it was a small comfort.

The rest of her blanked hard. She stared up at the fox, stunned and silent, her button nose quivering as the fox's toothy grin widened. Raw shock and triggered bunny instinct kept her rooted to the spot. Out in the open. All alone in an empty part of the station. Vulnerable.

"What's the matter, Officer Hopps? Fox got your tongue?" Not waiting for a reply, the fox flopped down onto the bench. Right beside the startled bunny. He also didn't seem terribly offended when Judy put a few more inches between them. The fox merely hunched forward and gave her a half-lidded smirk, elbows resting on his thighs and paws hanging between his legs.

"Hope you don't mind. I've been on my feet all morning."

To their credit, bunnies were usually quick on the uptake. It was an ancestral survival thing too useful to lose. Judy, unusual though she might be among her kind, was no exception to that particular rule. Rattled alarm quickly turned to professional embarrassment as she forced herself to relax. Her stiff posture drooped into something more submissive. "Oh, no, no that's fine. You just kind of startled me there, haha...hah…." Judy laughed awkwardly and really hoped her smile came off as at least a little convincing. Her bench mate merely offered a lazy blink, expression unchanged, and Judy ended up looking away with a hard wince.

Well. This was awkward. There was no way he had bought that. Judy was a bunny who confronted situations head-on, as points of habit and of principle. But what she really needed more than anything right then was a redirection. A distraction. And thank fluff, there was a perfectly pertinent matter at paw. Served up by the fox himself.

Judy chanced him a questioning glance. "...How did you know my name?"

The fox's expression softened into a coy smile. He fished out a smartphone and tapped away with padded thumbs. "I like staying on the up and up," came his conversational reply. He held up the screen for her to see. Lo and behold, a news article detailing her graduation and induction just a few weeks prior. "Zootopia's first rabbit cop. I hear it's a real victory for the little guys."

Judy felt her ears stiffen and her eyes widen. The fox actually sounded...impressed. It was some of the only praise she'd received in the last few weeks, and it felt...nice. Ridiculously good, if Judy were honest with herself. Especially coming from a complete stranger; Clawhauser was wonderfully understanding and supportive, but Judy's track record with random citizens was already abysmal. Then one fox later-positive reinforcement! The bunny couldn't stem the tide of feverish gratitude that welled up within her. She offered the fox a heartfelt-and slightly sheepish-smile.

"I keep forgetting that was news," she admitted, worrying at her lower lip.

"Everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame." The fox slipped the phone back into its pocket. "Thing is, it sounds like you actually deserved it."

Judy ducked her head for a moment, cheeks flaring. "I'm just trying to do my job. Helping people," she murmured. "It's been my dream since forever."

"Looks like you made it." The fox's small nod became a slow shake of the head. "And yet, I'm not sensing a lot of joy here," he pointed out.

Judy tried to shrug off the observation, raising a shoulder and rubbing an arm. She turned her gaze away. "Eh. Everyone has bad days. I just...need some time to think."

"Guess that's why we're both here, then," her companion mused. It drew a curious look from Judy. Then he quickly added: "But if you need to be alone right now, that's fine." The fox made to get up and leave.

Judy held up a paw to stop him. A reflexive gesture, one that ended with her flinching back just before contact. But it got the fox to pause.

"You don't actually have to go anywhere," the bunny murmured, embarrassed about that little slip-up. She went ahead and changed the subject with a guess. "I mean, maybe you're you having a bad day too?"

"Mm, not exactly." His tone was evasive, but in a playful manner. It only intrigued Judy further.

The fox, apparently, could see that just fine. He smirked. "How about this? You tell me what's got you down in the dumps, and I'll put my cards on the table," the fox prompted. Judy could hear his interest sharpen.

She did want to talk. She really did. Just wanted to take all of the frustration roiling in her gut-toward parking duty, Bogo, her parents, her beat, her fluffing badge-and just vent. But Judy had sworn an oath. A promise that, as an officer of the ZPD, she would uphold her institution's most cherished values. One of those was integrity, both personal and professional. "I really shouldn't," she muttered. It came out as a reluctant sigh. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies, Hopps," the fox replied. His voice was as smooth as silk. "If it's too personal…." Judy could almost hear his shrug. Understanding though he might sound, Judy didn't miss the leading tone.

"Oh, no, it's not that." Judy wasn't sure where the sudden need to explain came from, but it got her looking his way again. Her ears perked up and, vaguely, she noticed his doing the same. "It's just, you know..." Not always the most articulate mammal, Judy threw in a few meaningless paw gestures. "Internal ZPD stuff. Probably an HR thing, honestly. Maybe." She grimaced in apology, then shook her head a little. "We're not really supposed to discuss that stuff with civilians."

Judy wasn't sure what she had expected from the fox. Maybe another shrug? A change in subject? But then he seemed just a bit too keen on the matter for that. Perhaps a twinge of annoyance, then? A part of Judy-the one that sounded a lot like her parents-pointed out that this random friendly fox had apparently stumbled across her by serendipity alone. Had taken interest one small bunny for reasons that sounded a bit too good to be true. Had congratulated and coaxed her with a certain sly charm. It was all a little suspicious. Stranger danger. Remember Gideon Grey!

The better part of Judy stamped a mental foot and scoffed. That was absurd! This fox was not Gideon Grey. Her childhood bully had been a mean angry dullard. Bulky in body and small in mind. With an accent that screamed 'look at me, I'm a hick among hicks' and a raging temper

The fox beside her was none of those things. He was still taller than Judy, yes, but also slender. With a quick intelligence that sparkled in his eyes. Playful where Gideon would have jeered. Attentive when he could have derided Judy as a dumb bunny with stupid ambitions. And there it was, the biggest difference. This fox hadn't dismissed her dreams. In Judy's book, that got him a leg up on most other mammals she knew. She wasn't ready to label the fox as "nice" quite yet-maybe a little too friendly with strangers-but credit where credit was due.

No, not like Gideon Grey at all. This fox could very well just be a concerned citizen, trying to cheer up a little fuzzball who was clearly down in the dumps. He didn't even have to be a good samaritan about it. Maybe this was more out of pity than a desire to do good. That much could be expected. Such was life for a rabbit.

Then again, that voice suggested. Murmured. Whispered. Hissed conspiratorily. Then again, yes, he was being too friendly. Too probing. The fox's queries could be a way to get a bead on her. To find an angle he could exploit. It was a paranoid thought. Borderline irrational, and the rest of Judy felt scummy for it. Yet the longer she peered at the fox, the louder that voice grew, and the less comfortable she became. There was-she had to admit-something about his loose demeanor and easy smile that seemed all at once incredibly disarming and just a little too slick.

But maybe that was just her upbringing and primitive bunny instincts talking. Because the fox barely reacted to her excuses at all. At first. He just peered at her for a few moments, his expression unreadable. Then came a chuff of what Judy had to guess was amusement.

"Now why is that, pray tell?" the fox asked, all light teasing and false innocence. He raised a brow and smirked in a way that was ever so sly. The whole thing came off as almost...flirty.

Judy frowned a bit. Then again, good cops relied on their instincts, didn't they? She assessed him for a moment. Then took a breath and puffed out her chest a tad, sitting up straight. Her stare was resolute...and to Judy's chagrin, all it did was make the fox widen his smile. It was bordering on a grin now.

"It staves off legal trouble. Potential conflict of interest and other issues," she explained evenly, with all the neutrality she could muster. The fox didn't look surprised in the least, like he'd heard it all before and was just toying with her. It was then that the bunny began to realize this guy knew exactly what he was doing-even if she hadn't quite pinned it down herself. But now Judy was onto his game. She saw right through his smarmy act. The fox wasn't about to pull a fast one on her.

Not that he seemed to care about that one bit. The fox just made a sound of vague acknowledgement in the back of throat and kept right on smiling. Waiting for her to make another move. So Judy decided to give him a little shove back, just to get the point across.

Now, Judy Hopps was a firm believer of the mantra "anyone can be anything," coined by Mayor Lionheart during his first campaign for office. She was also well aware-especially now-that not all of society had caught on to that truth just yet. Certainly, if a bunny rabbit could be a cop then a fox could be...well, whatever the odd-fox-out might aspire to. Probably something that wasn't shifty and sneaky. An astronaut or something. The point was that Judy knew employment options could be limited for any mammal. She had been a very lucky bunny indeed, coming into the police academy under the Mammal Inclusion Initiative as she did. No mammal would have let her onto the force otherwise. Judy was sure of that now.

Her younger self had been a tad more naive. Okay, a lot more naive. Judy remembered getting into an argument with her parents over foxes a few years back. Some cousin of Gideon Grey's was the latest talk of the town on account of applying for college. Not the local community college that Judy planned to attend on her way to the academy, but a full blown university. Apparently in pursuit of a degree in higher education. Things were certainly different in Zootopia, but this was unheard of in the Tri-Burrows. A fox with a post-highschool education! Her parents couldn't believe it and at the dinner table had tisked loudly about the poor vixen's job prospects. Then-teenage Judy had just entered her (so far lifelong) progressive phase and, like many teenagers, had no filter. If a bunny could be a cop then by God, a fox could become a teacher. And vice versa. So of course the conversation had shifted to Judy's own dream as her parents voiced their concerns about it for the five-thousandth time….

The fight had been loud and short. It ended with Judy sent downstairs to her room, fuming and sans-food. She had booted up her second (or more likely third or fourth) paw laptop-a barely functional throwback to the era of dial-up-and gone on a furious (if painstakingly slow) websearch to prove her parents wrong. But the truth had been on their side that night. It turned out that there was a disheartening lack of honest jobs out there for the aspiring fox. The experience had stayed with Judy all these years, as had the short list of options.

Now was the first time that she drew on that knowledge.

Judy's eyes roved over the fox. She had sized him up before and her quick cop mind had been working out the details behind the curtain. Yes, a good officer did listen to his (or her) gut. But it was really an eye for clues and a knack for deduction that made the difference between a decent officer and a truly good cop.

Like so.

The fox's suit was of decent quality but didn't reflect any kind of high-power opulence. It was colored a darker shade of green that went well with its wearer's eyes but didn't convey the same power and competence that a black ensemble would. This wasn't a corporate mammal. Or at least, not one who was very high up the ladder. Then there was the way he had left his suit jacket open and his tie pulled loose. There was no real sense of professionalism to it, but combined with the fox's easy-going manner…

Judy's first instinct was to peg him as a reporter. Some rackish mammal looking for an easy scoop from a disgruntled, vulnerable bunny. Probably for some trashy clickbait article on the rampant discrimination that supposedly pervaded the ZPD. A sentiment which Judy had to admit she didn't completely disagree with, but she wasn't about to be a patsy to some muckraker. Or be caught badmouthing her superiors. Integrity, after all. Even if the long arm of the law had given her the short end of the stick.

But she had to discard the reporter theory almost immediately. Foxes, fairly or not, weren't the most trusted species. Not even TMZootopia would let any of the vulpines on their staff (and there were, admittedly, more than a few) conduct an interview. Hire one as a private investigator, someone who could snap pictures on the sly or dig through the trash? Yes, but never as a field reporter. It was just bad policy.

Just given that he was a fox, slick prick or not, Judy was left with only a few more options. And out of those she finally made a snap decision. Even if she were wrong, well, there were less flattering choices to go with. The calling she picked out was respectable enough, even if the animal beside her was not. Now all she had to do was wait for the fox to dig himself into a hole.

"But I'm sure you already knew about of all that legal stuff," she replied, her tone shifting to something between sweetly polite and a little too indulgent. Just to let him know that, yes, this cute little bunny was onto his little game-and that he really shouldn't have made assumptions.

"Oh?" God, that look on his fox face was getting insufferable. His head tilted and a cheek rested on a paw. He didn't seem keen about giving up on the fun just yet. The fox certainly had a good poker face, Judy would give him that. "Should I, officer?"

"Well, you are a lawyer, after all, aren't you?" Judy's smile was, in a word, cute. Almost innocent. Her own hint of knowing smug ensured it never got quite there. "I'm guessing public defender, or maybe a small local firm."

That got a reaction. The fox's other brow rose to join the first. He tilted his head a little further, then straightened it out and leaned in a bit. The back of his paw tucked itself under his chin as all that confident self-assurance melted away into something akin to bafflement.

"A lawyer, officer?"

And just like that, Judy was back to seriously questioning her life choices. A sharp pang of doubt bit into Judy's stomach. "Well, I thought you might be here to visit a suspect?" she replied, trying to mitigate the damage done. Not the worst save Judy could make, given that the interrogation rooms and holding cells weren't too far from that spot. But it sounded a little too evasive even to her own ears. "I can't give any information about that, either," she added quickly. Lamely.

The fox said nothing, simply staring at her. Silently mulling over something. Judy didn't know what. But it was making her very uneasy. Why was this guy suddenly so hard to read? She wasn't even sure how to interpret that hook in his voice. Incredulity? Wonderment? Just plain old surprise?

It was a painful few moments that dragged on for an eternity and a half. Finally, the fox clicked his tongue. Leaned back off of his knees and sat up. Then he chuckled. Judy's eyes stayed glued to him, her expression dipping toward poorly concealed dread.

"Maybe we should start over with some proper introductions?" He gestured toward her with a paw. "Officer Judy Hopps." Then brought the paw back to his suit jacket and pulled back a lapel.

Revealing the unmistakable golden badge of the Zootopia Police Department.

The fox's pleasant smile sharpened into a smug smirk, his voice now a low and sarcastic croon. "Detective Nicholas Wilde. ZPD, Precinct One. Nice to meet you."

Judy's train of thought promptly derailed in spectacular fashion. Her face fell. Both ears followed suit. She stared at the badge, dumbly, for more than a few beats too long. Big purple eyes flicked up to the fox's face, then back down. It felt like her quick bunny brain had been reduced to a puddle of molasses.

Then reality hit home and horror dawned.

"Ohmygosh, I am so sorry!" Judy yelped. Almost squealed, really. Fuzzy paws flew up to clutch at her face as she burned up with embarrassment. The skin beneath her grey pelt felt hot, all the way from ear tips to fluffy cottontail. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God!

Judy was screwed. An eye for clues and skills in deduction? She had fluffing profiled the guy! A fellow cop, one who was technically a superior to boot. After all her high-minded talk about enlightened attitudes and sensitivity among species. Judy felt like the world's dumbest bigot bunny bumpkin. Now rabbit instinct was kicking in hard and she wanted nothing more than to scamper out of the precinct and hide away in her hovel of a room for the rest of the day. Or week. Maybe forever.

Then the fox went and made everything so much worse: He laughed.

Judy wanted to die.

"Officer, officer." His drawl was smooth and pleasant. The fox-Detective Wilde, Judy miserably corrected herself-grinned at her pitiful reaction. She could hardly blame him at this point. "Hopps. Don't worry about it."

"That's not really possible right now, sir," the rabbit groaned, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

"It's the suit, isn't it?" Detective Wilde chuckled, glancing away. His voice grew almost wistful. "It's always the suit. Every time."

Just for one hopeful moment, a dazed Judy Hopps wondered if he'd really managed to miss the obvious. But no, the fox was too sharp for that. She caught the sidelong smirk he sent her way. Impossibly, despite her flagrant stupidity, this Wilde character was giving her an easy out. The gesture caught Judy off-guard. Could it really be that simple? Blaming her blatant speciesism on some clothes and then just walking away? For all his cocksure swagger and smug smirks, could the fox really be nice enough to let it all go?

Judy's shame deepend. He wasn't the bad guy here after all. Never had been.

She really considered the silent offer, good and hard. Wilde, bless his heart, waited patiently. His eyes slipped away again to glance at what was probably nothing. The bunny averted her own pair to the floor and clasped her paws together.

Judy took a deep breath.

"No, Detective Wilde," she sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. "It's not the suit. It was me being a very dumb bunny."

"Hmm?" Wilde turned his full attention back to her, visibly surprised and ears perking. The tip of his bushy tail flicked once. Judy grit her teeth and forced herself onward.

"I said it's my fault." The bunny looked up at the him with a frown, as angry at herself as she was determined to do right. "I didn't think there were any foxes on the force. And then I made some really bad assumptions, and…."

Judy trailed off as Wilde held up a paw. He was searching her again with those bright green eyes of his. She held her breath without thinking about it, and only let it out when the fox made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat.

"You don't have to worry about it, Hopps. I mean it."

Wilde didn't seem mad. His smirk was now just as mild and gentle as his voice. Judy's ears perked back up in cautious surprise. Then flicked right back down when he chuckled deeply.

"Buuuut, if you want to make it up to me…." he hinted, tilting his head just so. With eyes just ever so sly.

"Oh!" Judy jumped at the chance, almost literally. She had to fight not to jerk up off of the bench. Redemption through effort. She could do that. "Yes, anything!" Judy smiled at him, pleadingly. Then seemed to realize what she had just said. "Er, I mean, not anything," the bunny hastily amended with a strained laugh. "But if you need me to file some paperwork or finish some case files, or, uh-"

"A little less paperwork in my life, huh?" Wilde cut in, glancing skyward as he rubbed at the fur beneath his chin. "That's awfully tempting, Hopps, not going to lie." Then he stopped and smirked down at her. "But how about you just join me for a cup of coffee and we call it even?" He jerked his head toward the break room back up the hallway. "It's not the best stuff, but it saves a trip down the block."

Judy hesitated. Sucked in a breath and held up a fuzzy digit, a reply at the ready. Then lowered it as she reconsidered the offer. "I...could do that, yes. I could do that. Mm-hm." She gave a little jerk of a nod and smiled hopefully. Nervously. Disbelievingly. She bit back a hiccup of a startled laugh. A wave of relief washed over her.

Wilde just kept smirking. "Good."

Without another word, he rose to his feet, stuffed both paws into his pockets, and casually sauntered off down the hallway. Judy jumped up and hurried after, a hopeful spring in her step.

On her third day with the force, Judy had spent most her lunch break wandering around the station. Exploring, poking around, and generally getting a feel for what she had believed would be her "home away from home." Maybe trying to build a sorely needed sense of fondness for the place, if Judy were honest with herself at the time. It was dauntingly enormous, built for mammals many times Judy's size. So the bunny hadn't been surprised to find the officer's lounge ran along the same lines. Big chairs circling big tables scattered around the room. One massive corner couch that could probably handle even Officer Francine Trunkaby. A wall-spanning countertop almost too tall for the wolves. Judy never had much reason to spend any downtime there. Sitting in with a bunch of mammals who didn't want her company held little appeal. Besides, she had been too busy out trying to prove herself.

With the rest of the officers out following leads on the missing mammal cases, Judy and Detective Wilde had the break room all to themselves. The fox had been kind enough to brew a pot of decaf when Judy finally up and admitted that bunnies and caffeine were one heck of a bad combination. It got a little chuckle out of him, the kind that told Judy she had probably just confirmed a suspicion or two. She felt a twinge of embarrassment but quickly stamped it out. The fox was playing nice with her. After that debacle in the hallway, she could endure at least a little ribbing.

There were three coffee machines lined up on the counter, each catering to a different mammal size. All of them chugging away and greasing the wheels of justice 24/7. And even the smallest pot was like a pitcher in Wilde's paws, probably meant for wolves rather than foxes. Up on a stepstool they'd found stashed under the break room sink, the fox poured both of their cups with practiced care.

"What do you take in yours, Hopps?"

"I...don't actually know. This'll be my first cup," she admitted. It was a silly thing to feel dumb about, really, given the circumstances. But then here she was. Trying to make things up to Wilde in any way she could. "Try everything," in the immortal words of Gazelle. "Bunnies don't drink coffee, period."

Sure enough, Wilde saw the incongruity. "Unless you rabbits do, in fact, run on batteries, that's going to change real fast," the fox predicted, a smirk tugging at his muzzle. He set the pot back and picked out a few sugar packets. "How many you want?"

"Oh, uhm, none for me, thanks." Wilde met her awkward little shrug with a curious look. Judy chose to avoid his eyes, making a show of getting up on her toes and trying to peek over the counter. Only the darkened tips of her ears made it. "Just...just some creamer is fine. And maybe a little Sweet'n Doe?"

Amusement blossomed on Wilde's face as he worked on her order. "Is sugar another no-no for bunnies, or is this just an Officer Hopps thing?"

"Both, I guess?" Judy hedged, dropping back down. Maybe he was trying to provoke a reaction, but she didn't have to rise to the bait. "When I was a kit, my parents never let us have any sugar. Unless it was in jellies or jams. Or pies. I never grew much of a sweet tooth."

"So," Wilde summarized, not-quite-subtly biting back a laugh. "So. A cop who drinks decaf and doesn't do donuts. Truly you are a mammal of firsts, Hopps." Wilde slid her cup off to the side and dumped three sugars into his own. Judy wondered if he did that just to tease her.

"Hey, have you ever seen a bunny hopped up on candy?" Judy rejoined in a tone that wasn't quite neutral. She might have been feeling slightly defensive at that point. "Have you seen a whole burrow full of them?" A shudder followed. "I have."

"Does that mean bunnies don't do Howlloween?" Wilde tisked, swirling their drinks with a couple of plastic coffee stirrers.

"Ehhh, not Howlloween, exactly." Judy wasn't about to mention how most bunnies still thought of that night as a "predator holiday." Which was completely absurd, as she had often pointed out-even as a kit. Especially as a kit. Ever since she learned that its historical roots lay in frightened prey warding off predators. Mostly by frightening the predators right back. "It's basically the same thing. Except nobody dresses up. And the kits get fruit instead of candy."

"Darn. Bet all those kids would've pulled in one heck of a haul," Wilde muttered, flashing Judy that playful grin of his as he handed off her cup. She chose to just smile pleasantly and thank him for the coffee.

They didn't stick around the break room very long. Wilde claimed he could never stand the smell of stale coffee grounds and coaxed Judy upstairs with him to the station's uppermost level. While the actual police mammals made their domain on the first and second floors, the third story and above were almost all support staff-the chief and his office being the sole exception. Here was a much more diverse set of mammals where the smaller species predominated. Almost-bunny-sized work stations and lounge areas abounded, which should have made Judy feel just a little more at home. But all so crowded and noisy. Apparently, the top floor was home to the ZPD's entire beleaguered IT department, and the headphone chatter was incessant. Her family's home back in Bunnyburrow had been crowded and noisy, too, of course. But in a comfy and muffled sort of way. And if someone wanted a little quiet time to themselves, they could always wander off into the fields for a while. Here, raw nerves frayed away while a half dozen copy machines screeched in the background. Judy suddenly understood why Bogo's office seemed so out of the way from everything else.

Perhaps Wilde noticed the the bunny's discomfort. Perhaps he didn't. But he seemed like the observant sort, and it was hard to miss how a wincing Judy laid her ears flat. Either way, the fox wandered past it all with his easy saunter and led Judy away from the cacophony of stressed-out office mammals. She didn't care where they were headed at that point. Anything to get away from the noise.

The pair ended up out on one of the long swerving walkways overlooking the station lobby-atrium, technically. It was the same level as Bogo's office; Judy could actually see the buffalo's name on the door from across the gap. Should he think to step outside for a moment, there was no way Bogo could miss the orange-vested bunny seated right out in the open. That didn't bother her much. The chief only seemed to care that she made her daily ticket quota and otherwise kept out of his fur. Her playing a little hooky with Wilde probably wouldn't matter much. Judy's rebellious side still liked the idea of maybe pissing the guy off. It was immature of her, she knew, but the bunny was a strong believer in justice-including the deeply personal kind.

Those darker thoughts held little sway for long. From atop her perch, Judy would have waved down at Clawhauser with a smile if the front desk actually faced her way. As it was, she could only catch a glimpse of him showing off that Gazelle app again. This time to a collared perp who looked like he'd rather be in lock-up already. Judy chuckled to herself. Perched atop the back of a chair that had been set flush against the frosted glass railing, she had a great view over the edge. Her parents would have had a heart attack if they saw her. Judy, get down from there! You'll slip and fall and break your neck! She rolled her eyes and sipped at her coffee...which would have bothered them too.

At least they didn't know what company she was keeping these days, Judy mused. She hardly believed it herself.

Again the fox and bunny were all alone, lapsing into a strangely companionable silence. Judy found herself stealing glances over at Wilde. He was just opposite of her, seated on the edge of the grassy planter that ran all along the walkway wall, engrossed in something on his phone. They had made a little more small talk on their way here, but it hadn't been anything of consequence. He had inquired more about country bunny life and she had delighted him with the news that, no, they did not just grow carrots and, yes, they did in fact produce blueberries. Some of the best around, she had decided to brag. Then he had admitted that most foxes were crazy for blueberries, and that he himself was no exception. So on and so forth. Now Judy couldn't help noticing the way he had kept steering the conversation her way. Asking about her past and her dreams while offering only paltry snippets about his own life. The attention-starved rabbit been all too happy indulging him. There was no criticism from the fox, not really. Just a little playful teasing belied by what seemed to be an earnest interest. Pleasant and definitely appreciated-and perhaps just a tad endearing-but also intriguing. It tickled the police mammal in Judy. A little domestic mystery in need of solving.

The bunny thrilled at it as she gazed over the the edge of her cup. Gazed over at Wilde.

Judy thought about how to best broach the subject as fuzzy gray-and-white digits drummed against styrofoam. She didn't need to fake her sheepish smile, though this time her ears didn't droop. "I'm really sorry, you know. About everything."

The fox glanced up from his phone and waggled his own cup. "Apology's right here, Hopps. Don't go martyring yourself just yet." His smirk was pleasant and playful. Judy returned it with her own soft smile.

"It's just, how did I not know about you already?" she snorted, laying on the incredulity. Jerking her free paw about and earning herself a curious look from Wilde. "The ZPD newsletter never mentioned any fox cops. And definitely no detectives."

"You read The Beat?" Surprise flashed across Wilde's face.

"Every issue since I turned eighteen." Judy couldn't help the note of pride in her voice. Wilde wasn't the only one who stayed on top of things. She added, "My parents got me a subscription and kept renewing it for my birthdays." It had been the closest they'd ever gotten to supporting her dream, but she wasn't about to say that out loud.

The fox quickly fell back into an easy smirk. It was kind of fascinating, like watching a mask slip into place. "Well, there you go, Hopps. That'd be six years now." Judy felt herself stiffen-how the fluff had he worked that out?-and then relax when she remembered the article he'd flashed her. It must have mentioned her age or something. "I joined a full two before that," Wilde informed.

"Eight years on the force," she murmured with a twinge of awe. Truth be told, for all his smirking and teasing and air of rascality, Detective Wilde did have a certain mature edge to him. If one knew where to look. Or maybe that was just the seniority talking. Now Judy found herself wondering how old he was.

Then another thought occurred, and Judy frowned.

"But when you made detective, I'm sure they would have mentioned-"

"You mean last month?" Wilde fixed her with a sardonic grin. Then he looked away and took a sip of his drink. "Guess last issue was already off to the printers by then. Maybe check the next one, Hopps."

Judy took that moment to promptly shove another foot in her mouth.

"It took you eight years to make detective?" she blurted. And immediately clamped a paw over her mouth, pupils shrinking down to pinpricks. "Oh, fluff, I did not mean it like that, I swear!"

Wilde choked out a laugh. "Wow, Hopps. You're really on a roll today, huh?" He took a sip to hide what Judy assumed was a vicious smirk. A well-earned one at that. "Yeah, I know, it's usually around two to three. Guess that makes me kind of a loser, huh?"

"No, it's just-I didn't meant to imply…." Judy wished she was closer to the wall, if only to give her head a good bang. "Argh!"

Wilde laughed. "Hopps, I'm just giving you a hard time, alright?" He spread his paws a bit, adopting an indifferent look. "Thing is, I don't care about the spotlight. Making a big deal about perps and busts? It's not my style. Plus…." Here Wilde gave a casual shrug and swirled his drink. "Some mammals call me a little lazy. If I'm not making the prime time, blame that if you want."

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion down in the lobby proper. A curious Judy, reply forgotten, peered back over her shoulder. Wilde padded over and stuck his chin up over the railing. Clawhauser was out from behind his desk for once and in animated debate with a much smaller animal. Judy's ears swiveled forward to catch the cheetah's pleading, as exhausted as it was sympathetic. Some determined squinting revealed the smaller animal was an otter.

Beside Judy, Wilde gave a click of his tongue as he followed her line of sight. "Ah. Right on schedule."

"Now there's a sad case," he sighed. "Mrs. Otterton. Sweetest little lady you will ever meet in this life, Hopps." The fox's tone waxed eloquent as he motioned down at mammal with his coffee cup. "Devoted mother and wife. And I do mean devoted. Her husband went missing more than two weeks ago and she's been here every day, pestering the chief for updates."

"So that's the otter," Judy realized, ears straight and erect as she watched the scene unfold below. "The one from the missing mammal cases!" Judy sent Wilde a puzzled glance. "Hasn't anyone told her we'll get in contact when case moves forward? It's standard procedure."

Wilde pursed his lips but didn't meet Judy's eyes. His own pair went half-lidded as he pulled back from the railing and glanced down at his coffee instead. "Yeahhhh, that's the thing, Hopps." The word-dragging suggested hesitance, but the fox's tone held a powerful neutrality. Suddenly, Detective Nicholas Wilde was impossible to read. "There's a case, sure, but no one's actually working on it."

Judy furrowed her brow, certain she hadn't heard right. "What?"

"No one's told Mrs. Otterton," Wilde elaborated. His eyes found their way back to Judy's again but revealed nothing. "For obvious reasons, but believe me. She knows."

"No, Wilde, go back." Judy dropped down to the floor and shook her head, somewhere between stunned and annoyed. "What do you mean, 'no one's working on it?' It's an open case! That's not how things work around here."

Judy's paw gestures were emphatic and inspired. The most they got from Wilde was a shrug.

"Priorities, Hopps. That's how things have to work around here. You know that." The fox went back to sipping on his coffee and gazing down the walkway length. He didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular, including Mrs. Otterton. "Every case has its place in the stack. And the fact is, Mr. Otterton's is right at the bottom."

"And just why is that?" Judy demanded, her free paw on a hip.

Wilde just sighed. Whether out of exasperation or pity or something else entirely, Judy couldn't tell. "Because he's an otter."

The fox turned toward Judy and crouched down so they were both at eye level and favored her with an even look. "What do you think when I say the word 'otter,' Hopps?" It was clearly a rhetorical question. "Slippery water mammal? Playful? Maybe kind of lazy?" Wilde tilted his head as he gave her half a second to think and no time to reply. "Everyone figures he's just busy goofing off somewhere and forgot to tell the missus. That he'll show up whenever he gets to feeling like it." Wilde's tone grew patronizing. "Think of all those wasted mammal hours when there are fourteen other animals who might actually be in trouble."

Judy was appalled. "That's...that's horrible. And incredibly speciesist!"

"Oh, so you don't agree?" Wilde had assumed veneer of mock innocence and dripping sarcasm. Judy forced herself not to bow her head in embarrassment.

"Look, I might have made a big dumb mistake. We both know that. But that doesn't mean I can't see right from wrong." Judy slapped her vest with a paw. "You can't say 'oh, well, if you've seen one otter you've seen them all,' you know?"

"...Was that supposed to be Chief Bogo?" Wilde asked, bemused.

Judy was in no mood for jokes and fired back, "The guy handling the dossiers handles the stack, right?"

"Point," the fox conceded.

"I mean, what if Mrs. Otterton is right?" She ran a paw between her ears in fret. "Mr. Otterton could be in trouble and no one's out there looking for him. Worse, he could be hurt."

"And if she's wrong, Hopps?" Wilde regarded her with a careful look. Not critical or encouraging, just...careful. He didn't seem to be pushing her either way, but there was undeniable logic in his challenge.

Judy hesitated. But only for a moment. "Then...then at the very least, we could help put her mind at ease," she stated firmly, stamping her foot once.

The fox's eyes widened in mirth. "Hah! Try telling the chief that one. Mammal power, remember, Hopps? Everyone's already busy with the 'important' stuff." Wilde went ahead and used air quotes. Now he seemed to be almost agreeing with her. Or was that sarcasm? Judy, though annoyed either way, was on too much of a roll to give it much mind.

"Not everyone," Judy muttered. She glanced back down over the railing in time to watch a dejected Mrs. Otterton drag herself out the front door. "Unbelievable!" the bunny fumed, throwing up her paws and glaring at...not at Wilde, no. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression. That potted plant over yonder would do fine, though.

As far back as she could remember, Judy Hopps had always despised injustice. It made her gut burn with an indignant fire. A fire she had harnessed early on and repurposed into a nigh-unstoppable driving force. With it, she had powered through hundreds of nay-saying bunnies, a grueling stay in the academy and-well, okay, the fire had dimmed quite a lot after the parking tickets thing. But now if flourished anew. Burned bright with a righteous fury as hot as the sun itself.

"Chief Bogo knew about Otterton and he still stuck me with...with parking duty busywork! Just because I'm a bunny," she spat.

"Woah, Hopps!" Wilde raised his free paw in a 'settle down' gesture, eyebrows darting upward. "Easy. The chief's a real hard case, yeah, but he isn't yanking your chain." His ears fell back as Judy shot him a look of pure ice. "Seriously, I swear."

The bunny didn't drop her glare. Wilde sighed and glanced around. He didn't really need to; they were still all alone on the walkway. Then he fixed Judy with a gaze so piercing that she almost flinched.

"Alright, look. I'm technically not supposed to tell you this. So don't go blabbing that you know, alright?"

That was enough to snag Judy's attention well enough. Curiosity thawed and softened her gaze. It took her hesitant nod of agreement before Wilde continued. "Right so here's how things work here. Every new recruit hot off the metro gets ticket duty for about a month. Every single one." Wilde let that sink in for a moment. Then he leaned forward and brought his muzzle in close. Judy, to her credit, only arched her back a little. "It's an evaluation, Hopps. The chief wants to see how you handle a little responsibility before he sends you out on the real stuff. Top-of-your-class or not."

Conflict played out across Judy's face and broiled in her gut. On one paw, that made a lot of sense and she was suddenly feeling like a Grade A moron for not picking up on it herself. On the other….

"A month?" she groused. Cheese and crackers, she sounded whiney.

"Hey, it sucks, I know." Wilde's smile, for once, held more sympathy than smug. He clutched his drink with both paws and pulled back his ears. "Four weeks in a bowler hat and a clown vest? Driving around in a three-wheeled jokemobile? Mortifying. But we all went through it. Including yours truly." He was crouching down now, eye-level with Judy. Wilde's voice was soft and surprisingly soothing. "I get it, Hopps."

Judy took a step back without thinking about it. Wilde's swerve into empathy-ville had thrown her for a bit loop. The bunny ended up regarding Wilde with the tiniest frown. There was no edge to it, and honestly it was more of a pout than anything. "Why aren't you supposed to tell me?" she murmured. Judy wished it didn't come off so petty-like. The bunny knew she was fishing for a victory, even a very minor one. "That's hardly fair."

"But it does make sense" The fox insisted, his smile going lopsided. "Precinct One gets the best cadets, paws down, no questions asked. You know we need them."

Wilde wasn't wrong. Most academy graduates excelled in one or two environments and so were funneled into a suitable precinct. Cadets who showed notable competence in all biomes-like Judy Hopps-were considered well-rounded enough for Precinct One. Officers assigned there were expected to play highly generalist roles. Able to answer calls all over the city or be loaned out to the more specialized precincts when needed.

The fox continued: "But you know how it is. Sometimes the best of the best-and I'm not naming names here, relax-sometimes mammals get too cocky. It makes problems for everyone. So what do you do? Fire them?" Wilde shook his head. "No, that's a waste of taxpayer money and city hall hates that. So what you do is bring them down a peg. Right out the gate. Make sure they won't let their egos get in the way."

Judy blushed at that, suddenly having a very hard time looking Wilde in the eyes. She could still feel his teasing smirk and it made her ears burn. Judy gulped and tried to keep her voice even. "I see."

Wilde, mercifully, didn't comment as he stood back up and drained the rest of his coffee. "Don't let it get you down, Hopps. Just do your best and, hey, just wait. You'll make paperwork month in no time." He chuckled at Judy's groan and tossed the empty cup into a nearby trashbin.

"Fine," the bunny sighed. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." She finished off her own cup and tossed it as well. One point, however, she stubbornly clung to. "What about the Otterton case?"

"What about it?" It would have sounded flippant, if not for the fact that Wilde's shrug was a bit helpless this time. Judy thought he almost looked kind of sad.

So Wilde did care after all. Judy already suspected as much, but hearing it for herself was a strange comfort. Her respect for the fox went up a few notches.

"Sir, someone's got to help them," she insisted, softly, ears drooping. She looked up at him with big round bunny eyes. Pleading eyes.

She hadn't meant it like that, but that didn't seem to matter much with Wilde.

The fox lapsed back into a smirk. "Oh, Hopps, no. Enough, please, I beg of you." He grinned and tilted his head back. Laid an arm across his muzzle to cover his eyes away. It was all very theatrical. "How could anyone disappoint a cute little bunny like you?"

Judy wasn't sure what to go with here: Mild indignation at being called "cute" or dwelling on her latest round of surprise. Ultimately, Wilde gave her time for neither.

He let the arm drop but kept up a now roguish grin, head tilted just a little. "Okay, here's what I can do. The chief and I go way back cause, you know, eight years." He waved a paw, the very picture of airy self-assurance. "Point is, I do have his ear on a few things. So, no promises, mind. You know the chief. But let's see if I can't get the Otterton case rolling along, hm?" He finished with a smile that was all soft indulgence.

Judy's ears perked, her lips parting just slightly. "You'd do that?" A grin blossomed as her sunken spirits took flight. "Wow, I...that's great!" The bunny's chest swelled in elation, and the sigh that followed was one of relief. Any extra chance that Otterton would get some real attention was a win in her book.

Wilde scoffed good-naturedly and rolled his eyes. A grinning Judy would have none of it. "I'm serious, you're doing a good thing here," she praised. "Mrs. Otterton will be so thrilled, I know it."

"Only if the chief says yes, remember," Wilde warned. But he didn't look too concerned and Judy took that as a good sign. "You're looking pretty bouncy yourself, Officer Hopps."

Judy shot him a smirk. Or tried to, at least. It came out as a sunny smile. "Maybe you've impressed me, Detective Wilde." She'd meant to mirror one of Wilde's playful bouts. But the bunny couldn't keep from sounding just as earnest as she felt.

Wilde set a paw on his chest and smiled warmly. "Well, that is high praise. It's rare that I find someone around here looking out for the little guy."

"Besides you?" Judy prompted, her smile settling into something gentle and kind. This was new ground for her, thinking of a fox as...well, kind of charming, actually. Her baseline for foxes was Gideon Grey, true, and a mammal could only go up the ladder from there. But Judy happily put Wilde on a high rung. He had earned that much by now, for sure.

The fox just smirked and shrugged with supreme nonchalance, casting a glance at the wall clock mounted not too far away. "You're too kind, Hopps. Annnd it looks like I've kept you from your beat longer than I meant to." He shot her an apologetic look. "Sorry about that."

"No, don't apologize. This was great, really," Judy assured, fluffy tail wiggling behind her. "Thanks for, well, everything I guess. The coffee and...the perspective." Her tone hardened into determined professionalism. "I'll keep proving myself out there. Just like everyone else did." The bunny went ahead and raised her chin a little.

And then muttered with a slightly comic slump: "Even if it's boring as all get-out."

That got another head-tilt out of Wilde. "You think so?"

Judy scoffed. "Well, yeah? It's the safest job we have. I tried to make a game of it, but that got old pretty fast."

"Oh, sweet summer child," Wilde tisked and shook his head, paws clasped together. "You never heard about Officer Wolford and the elephant, did you?"

That got her attention. Judy blinked. "Can't say that I have."

"Alright, I'm guessing you're already familiar with this little song and dance," Wilde continued. "Hard working meter maid-mammal, I guess-and angry citizen. The manual says always be kind and courteous, but, hey, who's it written for? Robots?" It got a small snort out of Judy. She could relate, oh yes.

"So, anyway, Wolford's handing out tickets, minding his own business, when this big angry elephant in a wifebeater lumbers up and starts laying into him. Shaking his trunk and throwing his weight around; thinks he's a real alpha male type. Now, this is out in Sahara Square. It's been a long hot day and tempers flare. Wolford says the other guy took the first swing and, hey, I believe him. But either way, things escalated."

Wilde sliced across the side of his torso with the edge of a paw. "The elephant tried to gore him. Got Wolford right here and tore him wide open. Blood everywhere." Judy winced hard. Wilde nodded sagely. "Wolford was darn lucky, but the poor guy was in stitches for months. I heard he went a little stir-crazy."

Judy couldn't deny she was feeling pretty squeamish right then. She forced it aside for the moment. "But that's still pretty rare, right?" she insisted. Hoped, too.

"Sure, because have you seen the people who work here? We have lions, tigers, bears, and then there are the real heavy lifters." Wilde counted off the digits on one paw. "Not a lot of mammals want to mess with that."

The fox brought both padded palms to his chest and splayed his digits. "And then there's us. The little guys. The ones who get stepped on if we're not careful." Judy's brow-arch probably held more skepticism than he'd expected.

"Look, all I'm saying is it doesn't hurt to have a little extra help," Wilde finished.

"I've brought down a rhino before," Judy retorted, arms crossed. One thing she never liked was being underestimated, no matter who did it.

"Hopps, everyone here brought down a rhino," Wilde pointed out, eyes at half-mast. "Or a hippo, maybe even an elephant. It's a Precinct One standard req. That doesn't mean it isn't a job and a half for mammals like us. You know that more than anyone else."

Wilde gave Judy a serious look and the bunny scrunched her brow right back. A long few moments passed as neither backed down. Then Judy sighed in resignation and set both paws on her hips. "Alright, Detective Wilde. So what do you suggest?"

"A sidearm," was Wilde's reply. Complete with knowing smirk.

Yeah, okay, he was screwing with her again. "Officers on parking duty aren't issued sidearms," she reminded with an impatient huff. "Only if we're doing literally anything else. It's in the manual."

The rabbit sure as heck hadn't expected what came next.

"Right, right, I forgot all about that," Wilde mused, not bothering to hide an impish smile. There was a flash of something sharp and bright behind his eyes. Two red paws came together with a clap. "So...I guess we'll just have to get you out in the field a little early, won't we? Say...on the Otterton case?" He flashed her just the slyest, toothiest grin.

Judy blinked, fairly certain she had suddenly lost her mind. Or that maybe Wilde had lost his. Both ears perked up high and swiveled, out of sync and erratic. "W-what?" The bunny felt suddenly dazed. No, scratch that; like she'd been hit by a truck. For the second (third? Fourth or fifth?) time since they'd met just half an hour ago, Nicholas Wilde had managed to completely floor Judy Hopps. "Are...are you serious?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Oh, completely. No question." Wilde stuck his paws in his pockets and adopted a casual, lopsided stance. "Now I can't promise anything," he drawled with softened smug, eyes lingering off to the side. "Again. But I figure it's worth a-"

Judy darted forward without warning. Wilde yelped as his cool-guy persona shattered on impact. With tail poofed out and arms raised out to the sides, the bewildered fox stared down at the little bunny rabbit who had just thrown her arms around his torso. Now hugging him with all might. A wide-eyed Wilde didn't dare breathe.

Scratch what she thought before. Charming fox? More like brilliant!

Then it was over. Judy pulled back and away. Looked up at the fox and just...beamed. There were tears in the corners of those lavender eyes. "Thank you! Ohmygosh, thank you thank you thank you!" Pure gratitude poured out of her in a trembling squeal. "I don't know what to say! Is this really okay? Wh-what you said about parking duty, a-and now-!"

Somewhere along Judy's bliss-powered breakdown, Wilde found his footing again. He let out a polite laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ho, wow, you're really gung-ho about this, aren't you?" The fox peered down at her, seemingly impressed. Maybe just slightly intimidated as well.

"Yes! Oh, sweet cheese and crackers, this is amazing." Judy's giddy grin morphed into that special smile that her siblings called 'heroic.' She brought herself to attention as Wilde crossed his arms and marveled. "Sir, I promise this opportunity won't go to waste. Anything I can help with, on any case, I'll do it," she swore. "You can count on me."

"I'm sure we all can, Hopps," Wilde agreed, his smile a lot softer now. "It's the chief's call but…." Wilde leaned down a ways and winked. "Between you and me, how about you go ask Clawhauser to pull the Otterton file, hm? Tell him I asked for it."

Judy actually squeed a little, clasping her paws together under her chin and giving a joyful little hop. It was oh so bunny-like and right then she did not give a darn at all. With one last round of heartfelt thank-yous and a happy wave, Judy practically skipped off toward the stairs.

Leaving a thoughtful fox to his musings.

So.

That was Judy Hopps.

Nick Wilde watched her head off, just as happy as a fluffy little clam, and allowed himself one true smirk of genuine satisfaction. The bunny had gone and taken the bait. Hook line and sinker. It had barely even been a challenge on his part. Nick had known some schmucks over the years, but Hopps? There were words for her kind of mammal.

"Thunderously naive" were two of them. "Oblivious" was another.

Sure, to be fair, the bunny had shown a little suspicion early on. But in Nick's book that wasn't worth peanuts, because he knew exactly where the impulse was coming from. Neither street smarts nor personal savvy, oh no. The only thing Hopps had on her side was plain old bunny rabbit fear. Not very special, that.

The evidence was damning: A cannister of fox repellent. Liquid paranoia, as Nick liked to call it. Kept stowed away in a convenient snap-flapped holster. What mammal alive could miss the bright obnoxious pink that marked every lovely product of the famous Fox-Away brand? A favorite among bunnies everywhere. The good stuff.

His sharp eyes had spotted the thing a mile away and Nick had almost turned on his heel right then and there. Left the bunny to sulk, alone and unaware. It would have been so easy. Just another setback in the life of Nicholas P. Wilde. Another disappointment. He was used to those. Nick would get over it and figure out a different approach, as always. It would just take time and effort. In the end, Nick would get what he needed-to some extent, anyway.

Yet, for whatever personal hang-ups the bunny might have, with Hopps lay rare possibility. A golden convergence of events that Nick just couldn't pass up. Life had taught him that real opportunity only knocked once, and he had delayed this rendezvous long enough.

Waiting a whole week had been a real gamble on his part, no doubt about it. But Nick had a talent for reading other animals. Bunnies, especially so. Hopps was everything her file had led Nick to expect-sans fox repellent, but that one was on him (that she hailed from some podunk farming town really should have tipped him off). Hopps being Hopps-academy superstar, symbol of progress, stubborn optimist-had pretty much ensured a rough landing here at the good old ZPD. It had taken seven days to grind the bunny down. To leave her feeling crushed and vulnerable. Isolated. Easy pickings for anyone who could lend a few kind words and a spark of hope. God, she had practically jumped right into his pocket after that.

Which led to some issues that Nick had sort of expected but hadn't dwelled on too much.

Now there was a sliver of guilt needling his insides, and Nick didn't like it one bit. Oh, he understood it well enough, sure. This was no big mystery to the fox. Hopps was like any other mammal out there...except when she wasn't. A dumb bunny one moment, and then an apologetic little mess the next-all for a fox like him. Just a high-minded kid trying to do the right thing and making mistakes along the way. Nick could respect that much, and he could certainly ask for a whole lot worse.

So, the heck with it. Nick had gone ahead with the plan. Hopps had played her part for the moment and was out of the way on a nonsense task. Mrs. Otterton had been right on time and even more inspiring than Nick could have hoped for. All of the pieces were falling neatly into place. Now it was time to finally go to bat with Bogo.

Nick grinned inside.

This was going to be fun.

I've been fiddling around with this idea for way too long now and am very happy to finally get it out into the open. As is quickly becoming a pattern with my writing, this chapter is far too long. Rest assured that future additions will be shorter. Both for the sake of narrative coherency and my own mental health. This is death of sanity by a thousand edits.

I want to thank my anonymous beta readers for all their time, comments, and suggestions. All of their input has been of the greatest value.