Boilerplate Disclaimer: The various characters from the movie Zootopia are all owned by Disney the great and powerful. Any and all registered trade names property of their respective owners. Cheap shots at celebrities constitute fair usage.

Title of the story is from a song by The Dreadnoughts. Chapter title comes from a print by the Spanish artist Goya. Or rather, it represents the common English translation of the original title, El sueño de la razón produce monstruos.

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

The evening news programs begin with the 'important' news of the day – or at least the most sensational. Weather follows, and sports comes next. The end of the broadcast contains reviews of movies and concerts, animal interest stories, and the occasional odd news story. One Zootopia station carried a twenty second report of a wife calling 9-1-1 when she could not wake her husband up, even after dousing him with ice water. When an ambulance arrived at their home to transport him to the hospital they found an awake and very angry husband demanding to know why he was soaked with cold water. The story could easily have been forgotten by everyone who saw it.

"Anything else you need?" the teen weasel asked as she served the trio coffee and cannoli.

"We're fine for now," Judy assured her. "Thanks, Gina."

The teen hesitated before leaving, and Nick feared she was going to ask about Ernie. The fox had told the weasel he should decide between Gina and Iris. Ernie had said he liked them both, and he should be able to go out with either. Nick agreed with the young police officer in principle – he should feel free to date different females if he wished. But Nick felt it placed the weasel in dangerous position, he needed to face the possibility of Iris and/or Gina wanting him to decide between them. And while Nick could not be certain he suspected Ernie might have gone out with Cheryl, the skunk with a celebrity fixation. "I, uh, Ernie said he'll have to work on Solstice," Gina said. Nick heard, "Is he choosing Iris over me?"

"He probably will. New officers usually get stuck working days experienced officers want off."

Gina nodded in relief, "I'll be back later if you need refills," and left.

Nick looked at Duke, "You called us. Just needing a cannoli fix or have something to say?"

Duke glanced around nervously, to make sure no one was in range to hear anything. Fortunately Tony didn't like Duke being in the shop and always stuck him in the back. If Nick and Judy came in alone Tony had them sit by the front window to show off the detectives. "I, ah... I wants to tank ya for da... Dat Joe stuff."

"No problem."

The weasel licked his lips nervously, "I hoid somethin'... No detailing or nuthin', but somethin' big comin' down soon, real big."

"Who told you?" asked Judy

"Duke usually doesn't give out names," Nick reminded her. He looked back at the weasel, "Where'd you hear it? Solid?"

"Gots asked to join. But I sez I iz on problemation and tries to keep me nose clean. I got dese two dicks breathin' down me neck an' all."

"You called us for that?" Judy asked in disbelief. "That's nothing."

"He said he wanted to say thanks," Nick reminded her. "He doesn't like us enough to call us just for cannoli."

"Dere is a little more," continued the weasel. "The unanimous animal who spoke wit' me has not got da smarts ta be da boss. He owes me for some insistence I gave him in de past. He says dat iz why he made me da offer. Anyways, he asks if dere iz anyding I want in Zootopia when da day comes.' Anyding in de city' iz his offer."

"Anything? How... It's big, too big to believe. No clue on what was supposed to happen?"

"Not after I gives me polite 'tanks, but no tanks'. But den he starts askin' questions about fences an' what pays da most. Asks about kidnappin' an'–"

"Kidnapping?"

"Yeah, asks if da payoff iz good. I tells 'im to steer clear. Youse gots yourself a witness or a murder warrant. An' he laughs and says no one gets seen. So den I reminds him dat collecting ransom iz a pain in da ass. Too many chances of da whole ting goin' sout. I tells him it iz jus' too risky."

"Got that right," agreed Nick. "Tracking chips in with the money, helicopter surveillance, Good crime to to avoid."

"So, den he starts askin' me about fences... Not dat I knows any. But, if I did knows any, what kind a percentage should he expects for art, or jewels, or antiques, or–"

The fox let out a low whistle, "Sounds like he really did mean anything."

"Dat was what he says."

"And, of course, you told him art was worthless."

"I iz not stupid."

"Wait," protested Judy, "Art isn't worthless. A couple months ago some painting sold for, like, six million credits."

"But it is totally identifiable," Nick reminded her. "It is unique. A fence can't offer it for sale, it is too obviously stolen. So, unless you know one buyer who wants it, or are hired to steal that painting, a fence won't touch it. It screams arrest me." He turned back to Duke, "Pretty much the same for things like antiques and collectibles. A fence might give you... What? Fifteen percent of the value?"

"If dat much. Dey can melts down gold and silver, but it loses da value of da finished jewlery. Ya might gets half da value ov da metal, but jewels iz a crap shoot."

"Insurance companies keep records to enable them to identify the more valuable jewels. Like paintings, each is unique," Nick explained to Judy.

"Eggs-ackley," nodded Duke. "I tells 'im to sticks wit cash, he will not needs no fence and will gets all da profits."

Judy swallowed a bite of canolli and voiced her opinion. "Duke has to be lying."

"I iz not–"

"Duke has no reason to lie," Nick told his partner. "I believe he's telling us what he heard. We can ask the question if what he heard was true, but there is no reason to doubt Duke's honesty."

"But it makes no sense! Robbers getting ready to steal anything they want in the city? There're the police. Art museums have guards. Jewelry stores have security systems. Banks have vaults. What Duke is saying is–"

"What someone told Duke," Nick reminded her.

"What someone told Duke is simply impossible."

The weasel shrugged, "No fur off me butt if youse does not believes me. I hoid somethin' and I thoughts youse mights wants to hear it too."

"I believe you heard it," Nick concurred. "Like Judy says, though, it seems a bit hard to believe. But I appreciate you offering us the warning. You really didn't hear anything on how it is supposed to happen?"

"Not a woid."

From the corner of his eye Nick saw Gina approaching with a coffee pot to see if they needed refills. The fox adopted a rough tone, "Okay, Weaselton, you don't seem in violation of your probation – this week. Keep your pointy nose clean."

"Up yours, Wilde," sneered the weasel.

"I, uh, can come back later," Gina offered, and started to back away.

"No need," Nick told her and gestured at his cup, "half a cup will do me."

"Could you warm mine, please?" requested Judy.

"Anudder cup, if you woulds not mind," asked Duke politely, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into his empty cup.

Judy giggled slightly as the teen left. "You two sounded like you were going to fight, and then you got all nice. She doesn't know what was going on."

"None of us do," Nick reminded her. "None of us do."

The twenty second story of a wife having trouble waking her husband could have been forgotten. It wasn't completely. Two weeks later animals in a three block area would not awaken. Not all animals were asleep. Animals who were awake prior to six-thirty remained awake. Those animals with alarms set between six-thirty and seven-thirty did not awaken. Concerned husbands and wives called for ambulances. Any animals being transported to hospitals woke up after the ambulance had transported them a block or two. Animals who lived alone woke to the sound of alarm clocks a few minutes after seven-thirty, and wondered how they had slept so late.

It was a sensational story on the news for three days.

Some sort of sleeping gas was the most common theory, although animals who were awake before the trouble started did not feel sleepy and remained awake. Perhaps they were immune to the gas. Scientists found no evidence of gas. Blood samples were taken from animals who had been awake, and animals who had been asleep. They were questioned about things they had eaten or drank. No evidence emerged for anything. With no serious theories to explain the phenomenon some decided to label it mass hysteria. Those who felt no need for facts spun conspiracy theories. Something had happened. No one knew what. And what, on the surface, appeared to be the very precise timing of the phenomenon suggested something deliberate rather than accidental.

It meant nothing at the time, but when the media outlets contacted specialists in sleep disorders or other research connected with sleep for expert interviews on the subject of sleep they usually found doctors eager to go on camera or be interviewed for radio or newspapers – it meant publicity for their clinics, universities, or themselves. An exception to the was Perfect Rest Institute. The institute claimed they were too busy with research to permit interviews, and with other clinics eager for publicity the media thought nothing of one business turning them down.

More than a week later, as the sleep story died down, the news of Nick and Judy's wedding hit the media. Exactly how it made the media was not clear. The friends and family who knew they had gotten married also knew Judy and Nick didn't want it publicized. Perhaps one of their friends made a mistake, and mentioned it to someone who felt a need to spread the news. Perhaps it was some clerk in the Bureau of Public Records who became aware of the fact while filing their marriage certificate. However it happened, the news spread. As they returned to the First from dropping evidence off for analysis they were attacked by a pack of reporters.

"Mrs. Wilde! A comment–"

"This is Judy Hopps," Nick reminded them.

"She kept her name? Ms Hopps can you tell our listeners why–"

"Nick and I are on the police force, and we're on duty. We can't talk now."

"When?" "Can you give us an interview?" "Just a comment, please!" "Where did you get married?"

"Judy and I have arrested reporters in the past for interfering with officers in the performance of their duty. You can check on-line."

The threat didn't stop the pack of reporters. The fox and rabbit ignored the shouted questions and pushed open the doors to the First. Three determined reporters followed them into the building. Officer McHorn came to their rescue, inserting himself between the detectives and the reporters and demanding, "What's your business here at the First? Who do you need to see?"

The reporters looked at the vast expanse of police officer and decided to wait outside and ambush Nick and Judy when they left at the end of the day.

Judy and Nick expected the reporters to wait. "Ideas for how to get out of here unseen?" asked Judy.

"Oh, half a dozen," Nick assured her. "I'm a bit more concerned about our beloved Captain's response. He told us to keep it quiet so he could pretend he... Do you think he knew?"

"Probably."

"Right decent of him not to mention it."

"While I am delighted to hear you say something nice about the captain, he did say he wanted to pretend he didn't know because of regulations."

"True... Kind of impossible for him to pretend now, isn't it?"

"Yes, and I'm kind of worried about what he'll say."

"You and me both, fluff-butt."

The door to Alces office was closed when the couple entered the bullpen.

Alces door was open the next morning, and Clawhauser had warned them, when they entered, that they were expected.

"Close the door behind you," the moose directed. "I told the two of you that regulations say I can't have a married couple as partners. Got to separate you–"

"But–" Judy tried to protest.

"Quiet. Wilde?"

"Yes?"

"Rumor is your friends in high places are working to change the regulation. Until it happens I'm taking you off day shift. Starting Monday you'll report for night duty. Expect to stay there until the regulation changes. Got a problem?"

"Not that you'd listen to."

"You're learning. Hopps?"

"Yes," Judy answered in a sullen tone.

"You're disruptive. Reporters wanting to question you were all over the place yesterday, getting in the way of officers. Can't have that. Starting Monday I'm assigning you to night duty for the indefinite future It should keep the news buzzards away."

"Really? I... Thanks."

"Don't mention it. I mean that, really. Don't mention it."

They arrested another reporter who went under the crime scene tape to try and get an interview that morning. It kept the remainder of the reporters on the other side of the police tape for the rest of that day.

"Think we could string the tape around your place tonight?"

"Our place, Nick. Our place. I think there're probably all kinds of rules against that."

"And you like to follow the rules."

"It makes life easier."

"Except that one where your mom and dad told you to avoid foxes."

Judy sighed, "It would have made life easier," then turned to him and grinned, "but not nearly as much fun."

Mrs Riverbank told them reporters had been there during the day. Mr. Huggins had talked with them. He was the animal who had complained about a loud party in Judy's apartment a year earlier, so they felt slightly nervous about what he had said.

The evening desk sergeant was on duty when Judy and Nick arrived Monday evening, but Ben Clawhauser was chatting with her and made introductions. The night-shift captain was an old wolf, Captain Broadhead. He was in charge of both uniformed officers and the detectives on the night shift. Nick, unusually good at reading character – an important skill for a hustler – found the wolf a difficult read. Nick definitely detected a crusty exterior to the captain, but thought he sensed a hidden sense of humor. He hoped he sensed a hidden sense of humor. It would be better to assume the crusty went all the way to the bone for the time being.

"Hopps? Wilde?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Looking at your files. You're both too recent to the force to be detectives. Alces said he was sending you down to help train new detectives for the night shift. Three problems. I don't have any new detectives to train, I don't care how many big cases you've solved - I won't let green detectives train my detectives, and finally I don't take Alces' rejects – clear?"

Nick could feel Judy tense with anger, but spoke first, "Very."

"So, I'm sticking the two of you together as partners while you're here so you don't cause problems for me. Not that I give a damn, but you got any complaint with that?"

Nick wasn't sure if Judy had caught on yet. "No problems, Sir."

"Oh, Wilde?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Alces tells you're a pain in the ass."

"I try, Sir," Nick responded crisply.

The wolf grinned, "Well, keep up the good work." He gestured to two chairs. "Usually pretty quiet on the night shift, at least here in the First. Third and Fourth have more problems. If things are going slow here and hot there I may loan you out. On really slow nights I've been known to send detectives out with the uniformed officers. We try and stay flexible. Oh, doesn't happen often, but on the rare times when it all hits the fan it will mean all Hell breaks loose since we're understaffed for a real crisis."

"That happen very often?" asked Judy.

"Nope. We can usually guess that certain nights will be bad and plan ahead – matches between the zebra and lion teams can leave fans rioting. Last unscheduled chaos was a big fire a year ago... Called in a lot of officers for that one."

"I think that's the one where Judy and I were out at a restaurant when we were paged to come in."

"Probably," Broadhead nodded. "Doesn't happen often." He looked at the clock, "Let me introduce you to the regular officers and the other detectives before you start your shift. We usually just have two sets of detectives. Any questions for me?"

They'd met a few of the night shift animals before, George Bagheera – who had just married Lylah Nyte – being the officer with whom they were most familiar.

Their second night they gathered evidence at the end of a high speed chase. It was suspected narcotics were been involved, but that would not be certain until the hospital test results came through.

The murder on the third night was so simple it wasn't clear if it deserved the title of investigation. It was act of passion rather than premeditation. The officers responding to a domestic violence call arrived before the killer had any time to attempt and cover the crime, if she even had intended to hide the crime. Once again Nick and Judy were called in to gather the evidence and write up the report.

On their second week of night shift, at eight a.m. as they got ready for bed, Judy yawned, "Raccoon time."

"Pardon?"

"Need raccoons on the night shift. They've got night shifts in their blood."

"I'm pretty sure nocturnal instincts aren't in the blood."

"Hard-wired into the brain or something."

"We're all evolving. How many nocturnal raccoons do you really know?"

"Unfair question, I'm in bed while they're up all night."

"Like Hye and Tom?"

"Well... I still say they're night animals compared to us. We're more morning animals."

"Speak for yourself, Carrot-breath. I'm a noonish animal. I'm at my best if I can sleep until eleven."

"And I still say instincts count for... And then you say something about my instincts should have me running away from you. And I admit you're right, then you take me in your arms, do that thing to my ears that makes me all hot and bothered and we crawl into bed, make passionate love, and sleep blissfully until the alarm goes off, right?"

"We've only been married a few weeks and we've already fallen into a rut?"

"No. A rut implies something dull and boring. A routine or habit can be a pleasure. Unless you find making love to me boring."

"Would this be a good time for me to take you in my arms, nuzzle your ears, and tell you I find you incredibly sexy?"

"I think it would be an excellent time."

Author's Note: The story The Ghost of Smokey Joe hasn't been written yet. Chronologically it will fit right after Busman's Honeymoon and before this... Assuming Smokey Joe is ever written. I have ideas for stories that don't get written. Both Duke and his grandmother (an old-time mobster now living in a retirement home) figure into both the ideas I have for The Ghost of Smokey Joe. It is that inability to decide on direction which would work best that keeps the story from being written.