AN: As a quick aside from Run, I have this short story. I wrote it six months ago and then shelved it: it's different from my usual style and its ending is a doozy. But, I've decided to give it a shot and publish it.

My thanks to winerp for beta-reading it long ago and to EEsDoNotItNow for helping me resurrect it.

And the full beauty of the cover image cannot be expressed in FFN's box. Please look up "Cynical Conplex" (also goes by Kalabast) on DA for the full picture. It's breathtaking.

If you are confused by the end of it, I would recommend reading it twice. It does sound different the second time around.

Best, Euphonemes

A fox sits by a window

A fox sits by a window; he does it every day. He stares through the glass at the animals on the street outside. Large or small, they all earn his contempt.

This booth is where I find him each morning. He's waiting for me to order the steamed carrots and cup of tasteless coffee. He never eats as I scarf down breakfast. His eyes just watch as I twist the roots in half and savor every bite. It's strange to think about it: Isn't he hungry?

His reason is always the same. "I'm cutting back on carrots, Carrots." He elicits a joy from it, I can tell. It's in the way he crinkles his snout while winking. I would say it looks lovely, but he much prefers alluring.

This particular day, he does look alluring. The badge I pinned to his chest glints in the dawn. It sparkles like his teeth when he grins after cracking another joke at my expense. I see those teeth a lot.

The waitress walks up. She's a kind-looking hippo. I like how her wiry tail swishes as she moves. I wish my tail weren't so perky sometimes.

"Y'good over here, hun?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you!"

"Mhm." She wanders away, tail swishing between her legs.

"How come she didn't ask you if you needed anything, Nick?"

He gives me a sly wink. The emerald disappears from his eye for just a heartbeat. "Must not be a fan of foxes."

"How rude," I offer. I don't think it helps him. He huffs and leans back in the booth. I clean the plate of carrots — they're especially tasty today.

"So, we've got a big case today, Nick!" I can barely keep my paws on the table. He notices and shifts my coffee a little to the left. I still manage to spill two-thirds of it.

"Is that right?" He's so cavalier about it, but I bet he's shaking inside. We are going to land the biggest case in ZPD history — well, the biggest after the Night Howler case, of course. It's practically a done deal, and all it needs is the chief's signature on the paperwork.

In fact, we need to get to the station as soon as we can. I chug the sad remainder of coffee. It may be tasteless, but it burns the whole way down. That wakes me up all the same.

I splutter. "Ack!"

Nick lets loose a laugh tinged with a hint of worry. "You alright there?"

"Yes, I'm fine!" I return with a few coughs.

"Good…uh-oh, we have an audience."

I recover enough to see their fearful eyes linger on our table. It's not because I was choking, I know that. Really, we've grown accustomed to it. A fox and a bunny — and rather famous ones at that — sitting at a table together weirds out many diners. The diner's owners won't throw us out: we spend too much money and time here.

"Maybe it's time to hightail it, right, Nick?"

His body is a whisper as he glides out of the booth. Such light feet must be a product of years on the street. "After you, partner."

I very nearly giggle; on a weaker day, I would have. I wave off his paw and step out of the booth. The floor is chilly today, more so than usual. Although it might be the icy stares from the diners that chill my feet this morning. It's no great matter. I walk, and soon the city sunlight warms every part of me.

He has such a coarse shout. It's rough and grumbles with the duty of command and the fires of bridled passion. He loves his job — he'd have to in order to keep being the chief.

"Hopps! Get in here!"

I pop my head up from the desk. There are more stares haunting the aisles of our precinct. I suppose Chief Bogo screaming my name will do that.

I gather up some papers and my trusty carrot pen. I wonder how many times I've refilled its ink. I lost count long ago, but it's a puzzler, for sure. I scribble on scrap paper to check, and a black line appears.

"Just me?" I float the question to Nick. I'm not really sure what he's doing. Leaning against the desk and picking at a claw does not look like work to me. I think I should tell him as much, but I can feel the wind rush toward Bogo's office as he readies another yell.

"Afraid so, Carrots. Good luck in there." He's quite good at being unhelpful. I give him my typical huff before I head down to meet my fate.

It feels like a gauntlet. I'm dodging the eyes of every other officer. Perhaps they know what case Nick and I are about to inherit. I think it might be jealousy that furrows their brows and puts a sheen in their eyes. I've no time to ask them, though.

"Hopps: So glad you could make it. Sit down."

His office is terrifying. The fear does not come from the décor, as things are atrociously sparse in here. I'm not even sure it's the chief himself that sends my heartbeat into my ears. He's scary — I won't deny that. But, I believe it's everything together: It's him, in this room, and me, in this far-too-large chair, alone.

"Yessir?"

"As I'm sure you're aware, we've received the racketeering case against Mr. Big's empire."

I can hear my heart forget to beat once or twice. Mr. Big and I, we get along. Nick, not so much, so he stays in the car whenever we venture to that estate. I like Mr. Big, as we always have something to chat about. I guess that's the nature of this job, though: friendly chatter one day, handcuffs and squad cars the next. I do spare a moment to fret over Fru-Fru. She knows what her daddy does, but it'll hurt no less when I take him away.

"We've gathered enough to execute the arrest warrant. But he's nowhere to be found."

I've seen the mountains of files on Mr. Big's criminal enterprise. Nick and I even contributed a few pieces to the heap. It's a team effort, and we all stand by our work. But this is the part every cop dreams of — the takedown.

"And when it comes to finding lost mammals, you're the one to head the search. Are you ready for this, Hopps?"

"Yessir!"

Not to be conceited, but I don't miss much. The chief's ear flicks with odd timing. This happens whenever he thinks too hard. Or when he thinks something devious or unseemly is at play. I'm not surprised — this case is rife with unseemliness.

"Okay, I'm trusting you on it. Find Mr. Big and fast. Do not fail ZPD."

"Of course, sir!" My dribble of coffee finally takes effect. I can't keep my paw still. I have to sit on it to prevent looking like a total fool in front of Bogo.

"Good. Then get to it." And just like that, he produces his phone and twiddles away. His eyes leave me, but they leave behind a heavy burden on my shoulders. It's the end of a big case, and it's especially tough to go at it alone. As I walk back, I mull it over. I don't see any harm in asking, anyway.

"Chief?" I call from the door. He doesn't look up, so I just go for it. "Can I have Nick back me up on this one?"

His eyes are glued to the phone. It strikes me as sad. There are so many good companions right outside his door, and he busies himself with a screen. It's my favorite part of going back to Bunnyburrow: Dad is super serious about locking away our phones. We have the best dinner conversations ever.

I'm overcome with a sudden urge to tell them about Nick. I'm pretty sure they know about him and our arrangement. Still, to tell my dad, who bought me fox repellent as his au revoir…it might take a little massaging to get it right.

"Huh?" The chief speaks. I find myself bouncing on my heels. "Yes, that's…fine, lemme just…" and his words fall into the screen.

It's best not to question it; I have enough of a yes to count.

The pavement shimmers at noon. It's fun to squint at it and see some strange images take form on the road. A car driving upside-down, or an otter shadowboxing with himself…we don't have a lot of mirages back on the farm.

Nick never participates. It's a little bothersome, truth be told. I make an effort to goad him, but he just looks away and clicks his tongue at me as we walk.

I lean a bit and run a paw across the smooth surface, just to be sure the mirages aren't real. They aren't, and my move makes Nick laugh.

"No, Carrots, you can't burrow through the asphalt. I know it's in your nature, but you'll just have to let it go."

I give him a chuckle as my elbow goes for his gut. He moves quickly with another trick picked up from the streets, I'd imagine. I end up bashing into a passing ferret. Squeals and curses fade away as we hustle down the street.

"Good aim, Carrots."

"Shut it, Nick!" I don't mean to yell. It attracts a few wandering eyes. A few more mammals adjust course on the sidewalk and give us a wide berth. As a civilian, I'd be skittish around two ZPD officers myself, so I understand.

"Well, this was your idea to head out on the town. So where do we find dear old Mr. Big?"

I wish I weren't so lost. Bogo did not give me much to go on. I hum as I walk — the key of D is my favorite. I would always hum on the farm. Time passes faster and I think more clearly. Nick makes fun of me for it, but I don't mind.

I look up, and a newspaper blows past. Its pages flutter in the wind, the leaves of yesterday's events scattering. With a swoop of my paw, I bring Page Thirteen in for a closer look.

"Hopps to be awarded medallion for Night Howler Case." It leaves an odd ring in my ears. It's been awhile since the case ended. I suppose that just as the wheels of justice turn slowly, so does recognition. It's not that important to me; what sets my blood boiling is what's missing from the headline.

Nick strolls along, not paying attention. "This just isn't fair, Nick! You were part of that case, so you deserve a medal, too."

"Never been one for hardware, Carrots."

"That's not right. Other people should know about how wonderful you are."

"You're too kind, partner. But remember: I exist solely to bother you."

He smiles, but I'm already lost in memory. I think of the Night Howler case and how helpful Mr. Big was then. Now I would return his favor with a jail cell. My stomach churns as I remember stumbling into the warehouse and then taking the uncomfortable ride in the limo, and then….

The pavement sings in the key of D. My ear flits to the sound, and then I watch the polished tires roll by. There's a long gap between them — limos are long cars. The sticker is peeling, but I see enough to set my heart racing.

"I have an idea!" I'm confident in this one. Nick blinks in surprise, as do a few more passersby. "I don't think he'd run far. There's nowhere to hide, really. So I think he'd be in the most obvious place!"

Nick is not moved by my idea. He snorts. "No way he's still at home, Hopps. We have watchers on that house day and night."

I stomp my foot. Usually, that makes Nick laugh. He doesn't even smirk. But I know I'm right. "And that's exactly why he'll be there. Now let's go!"

He complains, I think. It's too late: his paw is mine as we run to our cruiser.

"How did we miss that?"

Our fellow officer is genuinely surprised. He hides his narrow eyes underneath his police cap. I don't blame him; you would need to know Mr. Big to nab a peek at his secret hidey-hole. I remember him bragging that he could live in that hole for forever. I hope he doesn't.

"Rookie mistake, champ. Happens to most of us." Nick tries to comfort the guard as I call in the full might of ZPD. Bogo makes an excited snort — I picture his nostrils flaring — and I'm told to stand by.

So we sit and wait. Every so often, I poke my head out from the shrub that's planted two hundred hops from the front of Mr. Big's estate. His favored bears patrol the entrance. They're like the wind-up toys I played with back home. They follow their line, pivot and return. It's so mechanical, which almost puts me to sleep.

"Oh no you don't, Carrots. We're not done yet." Nick's paw yanks at my collar. I do my best not to yelp. The other officer is gone, left for another shrub. He never answered Nick; he must still be so embarrassed. I would've told him about that one instance during the Night Howler case, as stories of botched speeches and flashbulbs often cheer up the rookies.

I rub my neck at the spot where Nick pulled. It doesn't hurt, but I make a bit of a show of it. I think it gets to him. "I don't know, Nick. It's so strange to be doing this."

"It's our job, Hopps." He's so sure of his answer.

"I know you don't like him. I understand."

"He's not my favorite."

I want to say more, but I am speechless. A light breeze picks up and whistles in my ear. It's a pretty tone, and soon it's in harmony with my humming. I hum a few bars that Mom taught me when I was very little. I don't remember the name of the song, but it always calms me down. I hum the song an awful lot these days.

Nick doesn't care for it, though, and I'm not sure why it bothers him. "Hey, Carrots, mind turning down the tunes?"

I am not calm yet. I whip around and catch him as he wrinkles his nose. I don't mean to yell, and I don't think I do. But, it's probably louder than it should be. "Nicholas P. Wilde! I will hum this song as long as I want to!"

"Hopps! Get off the radio!"

Chief Bogo's voice is muffled. I feel the air vibrate under my tail. It must have fallen out when Nick yanked me. My tail is still pressing the transmit button. I believe I need to respond, so I do. "But it's Nick's fault!" I don't mean to sound petulant — I'm not an infant. But the truth is the truth, and it should be told.

Some static crackles before Bogo returns. "What? Look, there's no time for jokes — just stay quiet!"

I let my tail fall off the button. Above and around me, the atmosphere trembles. In the blink of an eye, the full might of the ZPD descends onto the estate.

My feet know they should move. They don't. Nick is wide-eyed; the emerald in his eyes sparkles as giant floodlights paint the estate a ghostly white. On a weaker day, I would've said something.

And tonight, behind the shrub, with what we are about to face, I feel weaker. It slips out. "Nick, your eyes...they're beau—"

The siren is ugly. It screeches in my ears, and my paws try to block the noise. I peek from our hiding spot. A crescent of cars lines the lawn, awash in the ocean of blues and reds. The estate is still white with four giant floodlights trained on the front door. The wind-up bears are on the ground; handcuffs fly with tremendous speed.

I think the chief had planned for resistance. He shouts his demands through the bullhorn. His words reflect off the building and splash into the lawn. Through the noise, I catch a tiny squeak.

Mr. Big emerges from his castle.

I am the only one with the right sized handcuffs. I look to Nick and think about asking him to do it. He cocks his head; he must know what I'm thinking. So I puff out my chest and pop up from the shrub.

Fru-Fru does not stop crying, and she wails from behind the massive front door as I arrest Mr. Big. I almost say something to her, but it doesn't feel right. Mr. Big has no words for me as I place him in the first police cruiser I find.

Some of the officers start their congratulations. I'm not listening; I'm looking at Nick, who is blinking sad eyes. I do not expect this, but I am so thankful for it. "You understand, Nick," I whisper into the ocean.

My carrot pen is heavy as I complete the last round of paperwork tonight. Mr. Big is in the system somewhere, far away from his home and his Fru-Fru.

Nick stands next to me, warily eyeing the forms I'm filling out. "It had to be done, Hopps. You did a good thing today."

I like Mr. Big, but Nick is right. He always knows just what to say; I really do think we're connected in some strange way. Nick denies it whenever I bring it up. He only smiles like he usually does.

I smile. "Thanks, Nick. It's hard, but we wrapped it up."

"Indeed we did. Should we celebrate?"

My chair squeaks with glee as Nick and I leave the desk and go to the break room. There are no eyes staring at us today — everyone is enjoying this moment.

I peek through a window on our way over. It's breathtakingly dark outside. "It's always darkest before the dawn," I hear my dad say to me when I wake to plant carrot seeds. I don't think he ever got the meaning right, but I would never tell him that.

Chief Bogo is cutting a sheet cake as we enter. He makes an announcement, and everyone turns and is chanting my name.

"Hopps! Hopps! Hopps!"

Not to be immodest, but I like it when they do that. Every part of me is warm as my fellow officers hoist me into the air. I float through a field of paws and reach the table with the cake.

I'm handed a large slice of carrot cake as the chief calls for attention. "Thank you to all of ZPD's finest for your great work on this case. Together, we accomplished some real good for our city. And, of course, a special thank you goes to the officer who tracked down and apprehended Zootopia's biggest crime boss. Well done, Judy Hopps!"

They cheer some more. My mouth is too full, and I spit crumbs across the table. Through the noise, I can hear Nick laughing at me.

We all enjoy each other's company; it's so rare to do so these days. But it cannot last, and Chief Bogo gives the call to disperse. As everyone floods the exit, I tiptoe to the edge of the table and tap the chief on the back.

"Yes, Hopps?"

I can't hide my smile. "Thank you for trusting me with this case, sir."

If he could smile, I think he would have done so here. "It was well placed. You did excellent work."

"Thank you, sir! I'm glad we could make this arrest together."

A ridge forms on his forehead. His eyes narrow a bit — maybe he's as tired as I am. "Yes, that's…right, Hopps. It was a good team effort."

There is too much sugar in the carrot cake. Even though I can barely keep my head up, I'm bouncy as I talk. "Exactly!" I'm yelling again, so I quiet down and lean into the chief. I don't want Nick to hear because it should be a surprise. "But, between you and me, sir: Let's be sure both of us get medals this time, okay?"

There are many ridges on the chief's forehead. He blinks twice, and I see surprise. He confirms it when he speaks. "Both of you?"

The room is empty as everyone is back at their desks. It's quiet in the break room, so I take a moment to study his face. I can't tell if he's serious or not. I err on the side of caution. "Uh, me and Nick, sir."

Chief Bogo's ear flicks in the noticeable way it does when he's thinking too hard. I gulp.

My eyes jump around the room, looking for help. I find Nick behind the chief. He's smuggling a second piece of carrot cake out of the break room (he's such a scoundrel). With his free paw, Nick waves at me. It's terse — just a flick of his wrist. But I see it. And it's maddeningly gorgeous. On a weaker day, I'd wave back.

And today, I wave back as Bogo breathes deeply. I'm suddenly humming my song; it's a little off-key in the empty break room. Bogo is short with his words, which scares me more than anything.

"Hopps: Who's Nick?"

A bunny sits by a window; she does it every day. She stares through the glass at the animals on the street outside. Large or small, they all earn her smile.

This booth is where she's found each morning. She waits for a bit and then orders steamed carrots and a cup of tasteless coffee. There's a hesitation in her eyes before she twists each root in half. What does she wait for?

She laughs — one root is gone, and she laughs at the greatest joke no one's ever heard. The other diners start looking at her right about then. They can't keep their eyes off of her. It's alluring, in a way.

But she doesn't seem to mind. She'll barely keep her paws on the table as she talks. She's always excited, and it's almost lovely.

I wander over, and I catch her eyes watching my tail like they always do. I think her puffy tail bothers her, but I rather like it. At the table, we have the same conversation day in and day out.

"Y'good over here, hun?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you!"

"Mhm."

I keep my ear up and listen to her talk. It's not to be rude; I'm actually a little bit curious and a bigger bit worried.

"We did some good work on the Mr. Big case, Nick! Bogo wants to debrief today. I'll bet we'll be in line for a promotion! Not that it matters to me, of course…."

I take three steps, and the bunny is suddenly irate.

"What do mean you don't think it's for a promotion?"

There's a long pause, and I'm back at the counter before she talks again.

"Stop it, Nick! They were just messing with us. How could they not know you? Seriously, sometimes I worry about you."

And then, like always, she says that she's running late, and she chugs her coffee. There's usually a splutter — the coffee's tasteless, but it burns. A few more patrons pay attention. She still doesn't. Her eyes dance around the booth like she's watching something flit gracefully.

"C'mon Nick, I'll race ya to the car!" she shouts. There's the patter of her feet on the floor and the pause as the sunlight flows through the open door and over her cheek. She seems happy; I don't feel like ruining that today.

"Poor bunny," another patron mumbles into his hash browns.

This time, I am suddenly overcome with something unexplainable. My feet are daring me to run after her. My heart reaches out, hoping to help her somehow. I'm breathing heavily, and it's scaring a few of the patrons. On a weaker day, I'd follow the bunny.

Today, the feeling is gone. I pick up the carafe of freshly brewed and tasteless coffee. The other diners are thirsty. I look to the patron whose muzzle is buried in his burnt hash browns. I have nothing to offer. What can I do?

"Mhm."

END