Opening Authors Note: Do you remember the smell in the air before the storm reached your house? The eerie quietude before the air split itself with screeching gales? The look of a fog-white sky through your kitchen window before the black clouds wend their way in from all directions? I don't. I think it's hard to remember the calm once the calamity sets in.

…

Warm air caressed Jack's face. Angela's heater must have been set to turn on automatically in the morning.

Angela. Her paws were still clasped around his white belly. He gave his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of the concrete cube room. The ghostly image of that plastic table stood in front of him. The bourbon bottle was still empty. The pizza was still half eaten. He rubbed against the vixen, turned his head up so that he could bury his face into her blond chin.

Then, delicately, he lifted her fingers off him one at a time and laid her paws against the cot mattress. He winced as he slid the blanket off them- partly because he was afraid it would wake her and partly because he was afraid the chill of the room would force him back under the covers, back into her arms. But the room wasn't cold anymore. The heater worked fast.

Or, maybe, the room was cold last night because this used to be a place where nothing happened. Tools might change their resting spots from day to day, and car parts might be fiddled with, but progress wasn't made here. Things were changed last night, as if through some bizarre magic the two of them had unknowingly cast. Last night, she filled a hollow space in him, and he filled one in her. Yes, maybe it was just the simple of act of doing something.

Or maybe it was the heater.

He crawled off the cot.

Part of him still doubted the concrete floor. It sure looked cold, possessing the same gray color of those iron burrow skies he'd see over head back when he was little, right before a thunder storm hit. Touching it, however, revealed that it was in fact very warm; just not as warm as the fox blanket he'd been wrapped up in a second ago. He looked around the floor for his things. Where again had he thrown them last night? Pah, that's the only downside to drinking. Not being able to find your clothes the next morning.

He remembered what he did after tossing the clothes, though. That wasn't always an assured thing.

He looked at the cot for his boxers- maybe he'd left them there. Maybe they were tangled in her sheets, just as he had been. No. Angela was the only thing tangled in those sheets, but that was even better than finding a pair of boxers. She'd be waking up soon. Her toes stuck out from under the covers and twitched listlessly. Her ear rested flat against her head. She looked breathtaking to him there; the overgrown, bright blonde fur that sparkled on her head and ran down her neck to cover the rest of her; the black, finely trimmed claws that could easily carve into him, but instead ran down his back and across his bare butt; the feeling's that wriggled for his attention down at the bottom of his stomach when he watched her- she must've fallen from the sky.

Jack turned around. His head hurt a little, enough to make his vision blurry. He searched the floor at his feet for his clothes again. His jacket had been tossed across the room. A hum came from behind him.

He glanced back. She was awake, casually taking in his body, like a distantly curious tourist, here to see a foreign attraction. He looked away, felt her ogle the black stripes that lined his back, felt her trace circles around his white, plush rump.

"You're staring."

"I know."

And she stared as he tugged his boxers on, then his slacks. She stared as his lithe torso swung this way and that – like a belly dancer – when he tugged his dress shirt over his head. Then she sighed like a vixen who'd just been woken up from the first good dream she'd had in a while. He watched her get up. She rose gracefully, effortlessly, as though the warm air in the room had lifted her body for her. He couldn't get the first button on his suit jacket buttoned. The heavy blanket clung to her shoulders, exposing the yellow tuft of fur sticking out from her chest.

He tossed her overalls onto the cot; they draped themselves across her snout.

…

"A trial down at Outback Island, huh?"

Angela had her feet-paws up on the dashboard of the police cruiser. She curled and warmed them in the glassy ray of sunlight coming through the front window.

"Yeah. It's… awful," said Jack.

"No kidding," said Angela, grumbling. "How's Miss Hopps taking it?"

"Horribly. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what to do anymore. She thinks she does, but she doesn't."

"Well, she never did strike me as the most well-adjusted rabbit."

"I mean, who can be well-adjusted after everything she's been through? I told you what happened to her-"

"I know… but it isn't healthy, visiting a cemetery that often." She used one foot to adjust the sun visor on her side of the car. "You've gotta let go at some point. Can't save 'em all."

"She still spends half her paycheck on flowers." Jack took a right turn. Angela eyed a sign as it passed above them.

Bunnyburrow: 25 miles

"Really though," continued Jack, eye's set on the road, "I don't think we can call it. Who knows what's going on in her head?"

"Right…" she said, her face scrunched up. A thought eluded her just then, like a beady black fly barely out of the reach of a frog's lunging tongue. No, no- not a frog. In this world, frogs didn't exist, only birds and bugs and mammals.

"No, you're right," Angela said again, like a mammal – as for what kind, take your pick – who's paw just narrowly missed plucking a pesky fly out of the air, "she must have a lot to think about. Probably has even more on her mind after these last few days." She rubbed her jaw sleepily.

A sheep rested underneath a decaying billboard, one that advertised headache medication. She was stuffing a plastic pipe with gauze. The sheep looked towards the patrol car with half-lidded eyes, as if she were in a hazy trance. Jack pressed his foot down on the gas, went a little bit quicker.

"Bunnyburrow's not too far now," he said, easing up on the gas again, "you excited?"

Angela pulled her feet off the dash. They were warm now. She laughed, rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm thrilled about it."

"Come now, honey," said Jack, a tad mocking as he placed a tiny paw on the vixen's knee, "are we having second thoughts about helping out?"

She didn't touch his paw. "Of course not, darling," she said, placing her own, large paw on his lap, squeezing a little too hard, way too hard, "I just find the idea of hanging around a bunch of bunnies to be a little… grating."

She slackened her grip so that he could make the turn onto a long and narrow dirt road, he let out an unsteady breath, a little chuckle, and made it. Jack turned to the vixen, a wry smile growing on his face.

"You're not afraid of rabbits, are you?" asked Jack. "Because, if you are, I have a confession to make."

"I'm not afraid of you," she rolled her eyes. "It's just that… we're going to be seeing a lot of rabbits soon."

Jack slid a paw into hers, she gave it a squeeze. He much preferred that kind of squeeze.

"Just keep an open mind, for me," he said. She rolled her eyes at him. "And, if they swarm and attack you, I'll be there to fend them off."

She squeezed his paw again.

…

It was noon when Joey dragged Nick to his room, eager to show the fox the entire burrow and how it had changed since he went away. They had no time for such things yesterday because Jack was out of town and Nick had taken it upon himself to work in the fields for the both of them. The harvest season had just begun, after all. Luckily, Stu called off farm work today on account of preparations for Charlie's trial. The little one shared the room with three of his siblings, dividing the circular hollow into four parts.

Joey bounced to his side of the room.

"This is my room," said Joey, "And this is Claire."

A doe sat on her bed in her corner of the room. She waved at him with a small smile on her tiny lips.

"And this is Charlie."

A round buck lay face down on his own bed.

Nick recognized Charlie, by name and by the thing around his neck.

"We can… uh… come back later if you'd like," said Nick. "I don't want to wake the little guy up."

"Charlie's not asleep," said Claire.

Joey retreated to his corner of the four-sliced circle. His bed sheets were blue, police blue, and rough looking. Nick couldn't help but wonder how a soft thing like Joey, so innocent, so fluffy, could sleep on such a bed. Posters wrapped around his side of the room, also blue, and with various Z.P.D slogans across their scrawling faces. One hung directly over his pillow.

Here to Serve and Protect.

In Charlie's corner, his blankets formed a second hollow around him. A chalk board rested against a well-read stack of books atop his dresser, a calendar drawn on it in childish scribbles. The date was wrong, it read a time from last year. A chalk smear began at the top of the calendar and stopped abruptly in the middle of the board, as if the mammal erasing it had given up in the middle of the act.

Another chalkboard sat on the floor, braced against his bed. This one was coated in facts and figures, mathematics. It lay slanted and, if they could, the numerals contained in it would have surely slid off and joined the rest of the mess on his floor by now. Charlie's clothes – shirts, pants, and PJs – littered his side of the room.

Nick looked at Charlie again. The boy still hadn't moved.

The sibling who wasn't there, Edmund, left his side a mess. The sheets were bunched at the foot of the bed, as if he'd thrown them off him in a fright this morning. Superhero dolls – action figures – cluttered his floor. Many a toe must have been stubbed getting in and out of bed. His clothes made one neat pile- that was about as organized as this rabbit got. Bonnie probably doesn't have the time to check every kit's room to hang up their clothes.

The little doe, Claire, sat on her bed, watching Nick with quiet fascination. Her sheets were a washed out black, and on her bedside table sat a model race car. Beside it sat a stack of photographs- no, drawings. Nick walked over to them. She said nothing, only smiled like she was keeping a secret from him- one he'd never be able to understand.

"Mind if I take a look?" asked Nick.

Still she said nothing, still she only smiled.

He lifted the stack of drawings. They were a good bit weightier than he expected them to be. In the first one, meticulously sketched in coal, an oryx sat waiting on a bench in front of the Bunnyburrow train station, absorbed in a newspaper. But his face sloped drastically down and in the most unnatural way, as if he was just starting to melt. The newspaper in his hooves – the other side of it, the side visible to the viewer – had no words on it, and no scribbles used to represent words. It had columns for articles and portrait spaces for photographs, but they were empty. Nick told himself that she probably couldn't think of anything to put in them.

The next picture was an inked drawing of a rabbit family standing outside a tiny burrow home; but were they really rabbits? That claim was… dubious. Their eyes were large, even larger than rabbit eyes are supposed to be, and they stuck too far out of their heads. If the picture were a moving one, the eyes would surely pop out fully and slip to the ground with a wet squish, flopping and writhing like fish. The rabbit's – rabbits? – necks were wrinkled into several folds. The father, fat like Stu, had the most wrinkly neck. Little patches of fur were sectioned off on the bunnies in darker ink, giving the impression of pock marks. These rabbits had an Innsmouth look.

Nick – slowly, and a little afraid of what he'd see – looked up from the stack of pictures. The doe still sat in front of him.

"These are your drawings, right?" he asked. When she nodded, part of him wanted to ask what in the world inspired her to make these, but he couldn't tip the words off his tongue.

"I draw what I see," said Claire, as if she knew what he wanted to ask. Still she smiled.

Ok, enough of that.

Nick smiled back and raised his eyebrows, nodding, and praying she didn't see his discomfort. He set the stack of pictures down. He was pretty sure he wouldn't like whatever it was he'd find next.

Charlie turned over then. Nick and the other two rabbit siblings glanced over at him, holding their breath. Surely they'd been talking loud enough for him to hear them, but he looked up at Nick like he had only just noticed him, narrowing his eyes at the fox. Then he pushed himself up with his arms, squinting harder, wanting a better look. Claire and Joey may as well have not been there.

He saw the collar.

It was like a reunion between two brother's who'd been without one another for years. He watched Nick with a mixture of adoration and wonder.

"Hi," said Nick in a gentle whisper, wiggling his fingers in subtle salutation.

"Heh-" the rabbit cleared his throat, looked a little surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Hello?"

The buck's eyes bobbed up and down, from collar to fox eyes.

"I've got a collar, too," said Nick, answering the unspoken question.

"Y-yes…" said Charlie. He took his time sitting up properly, straining to cross his legs. But he didn't make a noise. Didn't moan or grunt. He was like an old man who'd been suffering for a long time now, and he didn't seem to care anymore. He scooched over to one side of the bed.

"Can you sit with me?" he said.

Nick smiled with his whole muzzle. He sat down on the bed beside Charlie. Claire and Joey watched, fixated. Charlie's eyes widened very slightly now that he was inches away from the fox's collar, he thumbed over his own absentmindedly.

"How long have you had that thing?" asked Charlie.

"I actually just got it," said Nick.

"No way…"

"Way." Nick smiled again, chuckled through his nose. "And it really sucks. Burns. Itches a whole lot."

Something changed in Charlie then. If he had been an old man before, he was a hardened warrior now. He stuck out his chest a little. Placed a paw on Nick's knee.

"You get used to it," he said, nodding in understanding. "I've had mine for, like, a year now." His voice was deep for a little guy. He talked like he had food in his mouth.

"Phew…" said Nick, breathing out. "That's good to hear, cause it's pretty bad right now."

Charlie smiled his most reassuring smile. Then he looked down at his feet. "You're Judy's old partner, huh?"

"Yes," said Nick.

"So you know how all this prison stuff works, huh?"

All too well.

"I do," said Nick.

"I'm getting the chair, aren't I?"

Nick was shocked.

All this time he hadn't considered the idea of his own execution as particularly frightening, he was resigned to the idea, but hearing the same resignation in the voice of a little rabbit – a rabbit who'd done nothing wrong – he felt like he was looking into a fun house mirror, and he was the warped image.

"No…" Nick said, a little hesitant, a little unsure, "You're going to be fine."

"Do you really think so, Mr. Fox?

"I do, yeah, of course I do."

Charlie smiled the same smile he used to see on the door to door salesman's face back when he was little. Back about a year ago. "Ok," he said through the smile. He seemed to be turning a thought over in his mind. It reached his tongue, and he whisked it around in his mouth before setting it free.

"What should I call you, Mr. Fox? I didn't really pay attention whenever anybody said your name."

Nick, with his palms placed flat against the bed, tried his hardest to smile. "Nick."

"Ok, Mr. Nick."

It wasn't until then that Nick finally noticed Judy. Her head was through the doorway; she'd been listening to their conversation. She seemed puzzled, not because of what she'd seen, but because of what she thought about what she'd seen. Nick met her gaze. She shook her head, cleared it.

"Jack's back."

…

The patrol car eclipsed a white sun as it came over the hill. Nick and Judy stepped out onto the porch to find Stu standing beside his truck, watching Jack approach the farm. The farmer had a grim way about him now. His fur stood up at odd angles and his face looked like a recently awoken sleep-walker's. He had grown up to look like his son this past week.

Dirt sprayed like disturbed sea foam on either side of the police cruiser. Tires spun slower and slower until they reached a full stop. Jack's door unlatched slightly at first, only to drift closed again, then it swung open more forcefully, Jack stumbling out from behind it, as if he had pushed it with his entire body. He gave Nick a friendly glance and Judy a polite bow before turning to Stu.

"Cavalry's here," he said to the solemn faces, smiling, but the faces remained solemn. He frowned, caught himself, tried to smile again. He raised a finger as if asking for a second before sliding across the hood of the car so as to open the passenger side door, sputtering, "I- uh, I brought somebody who's going to have your truck purring like a newborn kit fixed in no time, Mr. Hopps, honest, she's magical. Just you wait-"

The car door sang a satisfying pop as it opened wide, and out from behind it an overall'd leg stepped. Angela climbed down onto the dusty ground and looked around herself. She saw Nick and Judy – Nick waved politely – and she saw Stu. She looked behind her, over her shoulder, and saw the blue winter sky. It looked sharper when she wasn't looking at it from behind a patrol car window.

"Angela, meet Stu," said Jack.

She turned to find the rabbit, Stu, walking towards her, crinkled hat in one paw and the other paw extended like a beggar's.

"Heya-" she bit her tongue, "I mean... Hello, Stu." She took the paw, still a little uncertain as to whether or not it was meant for her and not somebody behind her.

Stu threw his face into his smile, squinted his eyes. He looked sincere. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Angela," he said. "Just wish it was under better conditions, is all."

"Uh, me too, sir." She tried to tug her paw away, but his grip was tight and cool like a corpse's. He caught her grimace and released it before looking down at his feet, apologetic.

"So…" said Jack.

"It's good to see you again, Ms. Skyes," said Judy. It was her turn to take the vixen's paw.

"Likewise, Hopps," said Angela.

Nick leaned back on his feet pads, pressing two fingers to his forehead before flicking them with in one crisp motion, a half-hearted salute in her direction. She smiled briefly before turning her attention to the porch and its door. There were rabbits in there, undoubtedly. A lot of rabbits.

Jack must have noticed her increasing uneasiness because he was close by her side again by the time she looked back at Stu.

"So, where's the truck, anyways," said Jack.

"It's still off by the silo. Come inside, I'll get us some water and we can go out the back."

It was then that Angela's suspicion that 'there were a lot of rabbits in there' proved to be true. The door opened slowly, and out came a fluffle of bunnies, curious about this new fox in the driveway. Their mother followed close behind.

"Hey, we're busy here-" said Stu, but the three rabbit boys – Joey, Emmet, and Bill, as she'd soon be informed – hopped down the steps anyways. The mother rabbit stood on the porch and rested her arms on the railing, watching them all.

"You didn't tell us there was going to be another fox, Pa," said Joey.

"Gee, two city foxes in one week, can you believe it?" whispered Emmett to Bill, elbowing his brother in the side.

Angela tightened her paws into shaky fists. Jack noticed. Evidently, Stu noticed it too.

"You ok, Angela?" he asked.

She snapped out of her rigid stance almost immediately. "Huh?" she looked like a mammal who'd just been startled out of a day dream. "Yeah, I'm fine..."

Everyone still stared at her.

"Seriously, I'm good." She ran her paws across the top of her head, flattening her ears for a second before letting them flutter back to full-mast. She sniffled. "I just get a little overwhelmed when there's a crowd; I'm not really the social type." She forced out a chuckle and looked down at Jack, who nodded in encouragement.

What she said wasn't entirely untrue, she didn't like large groups. She liked them even less when everyone in said large groups gawks at her, and less still when that group was comprised of bunny rabbits. Their large eyes were unsettling.

"Oh, you should have said something. Last thing I'd want to do is make you uncomfortable, miss," said Stu. Bonnie turned away and walked back inside the burrow. "Bill, Joey, Emmet, fetch us the water pitcher and something to set it on. Then I want you boys out of here."

Angela looked at the rabbit brothers, expecting to find them offended. But they weren't, they smiled apologetically, a little sheepishly, in fact. Bill gave a thumbs-up. "Sorry about that Miss, we'll get out of your fur, then."

She almost felt sorry, almost. Part of her still didn't trust the rabbits. Part of her was convinced that they were hiding something behind those smiles. She glanced at Nick. He seemed to trust them just fine.

The group turned to start heading inside, into the lion's den- no, the rabbit's den. She gave Nick a look over as she passed by him. "Nice overalls, by the way" she said, tugging at the straps on her own pair.

…

They sipped their waters. The ice-filled pitcher sat on an old collapsible table next to the truck. Nick frequently visited it as he and Judy watched the other three mammals work on the engine. Stu kept his head under the shadow of the hood and panted. Jack handed Angela her tools as she asked for them with a knight's diligence.

Judy nudged Nick in the side as they watched the trio. He looked down at her, raised an eyebrow.

"Have you had the chance to sniff Jack yet?"

Of all the things he'd expected to hear from her, this was not one of them. His drink must've gone down his windpipe.

"Nuh- No." He sputtered and coughed. "No, why would I- that's not really something I-"

"Calm down." She smiled an itchy smile, as if she knew something he didn't. "I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Good," he coughed again. "because I don't sniff rabbits. Like, not regularly enough for the question you just asked to be a reasonable question to ask me."

She laughed.

Wait.

Weird. It was weird to hear her laugh. A weak laugh, but it was a laugh. It sounded like the laughs she used to laugh were still hidden somewhere inside of that laugh, not yet dead- just forgotten.

"I'm just saying," she said, "You should go and sniff him when you can."

He looked down at her, unbelieving. Now he was curious. He walked over to the truck, as nonchalant as possible. Jack glanced at him, he coughed. He looked under the hood of said truck, pretending to be interested in the process of fixing it, and realized that he had no clue what was going on in there. He looked left and then right, aloof. Jack looked up at him, Nick looked away. Nick cleared his throat again, tapped his foot. Jack looked back at the engine, watched Angela's paws work away at the parts. Nick stole a furtive glance at Jack again, who must have caught him out of the corner of his eye because he looked at Nick again. Nick coughed.

"Are you sick?" asked Jack.

"Hmm?"

Jack looked over his shoulder at Angela and Stu, who ignored the conversation. "Are you sick or something? You keep coughing."

"Oh…" said Nick. "Oh, yeah. Kinda."

They stared at one another for a while.

Jack looked away, shook his head, and grumbled. "Well… feel better then."

Nick looked off towards the silo again, pretending to admire its country-styled architecture. Then, when he was sure Jack was absorbed in the work being done to the car, he swooped low towards his white head and sniffed deeply.

Jack turned to him, obviously irritated now. He squinted. "What's your problem?"

"My nose is running," said Nick, throwing his paws up. "I'll just uh, stand over there again, then."

Holy Jesus Capybara he thought to himself as he walked back over to Judy, Jack watching him all the while, It was as if he'd bathed in that vixen. He smelled more like Angela than Angela smelled like Angela. He smelled less like Jack and more like something else, something in between the two of them. Something mixed. He smelled funny.

He took his place next to Judy again, a ways away from the truck. "He," he said in a voice just loud enough for Judy to hear him, "He slept with her."

Judy's itchy smile grew again. "I noticed it when Angela went to give me a pawshake. I'm surprised you didn't smell it right then."

'I didn't think he-"

She laughed first, it was her fault- really. Soon Nick was laughing. So, Nick and Judy were laughing. So it goes. Jack looked over at them, wriggled his nose like a child who wasn't let in on a joke, and turned back to his work.

"But, Jack? He'- what? He's just a- a… he's just a kid." Nick wheezed, trying his hardest to whisper the words. He cupped his forehead with a paw, rubbed his side with the other. He shook his head. "I feel like a mother sniffing out cigarette smoke on her kit. He's so young- so small! He can't be mingling with vixens!"

"Looks like we don't have a say in who he mingles with." Judy watched as Jack tried to give said vixen three different types of wrenches before she rolled her eyes at him and grabbed her breaker bar. He leaned against the side of the car, watching her work. Stu fanned himself with his hat every so often.

…

Nick watched as Angela stepped aside and Stu climbed up into the truck. With a turn of his key, the engine hummed to life, filling the orange afternoon sky with a nervous, yet forceful, energy. Jack hopped up and down, pumping his fist in the air. He playfully pushed Angela, who nudged him back with a hip-check, almost throwing him off balance. He smiled at her, bright, thankful, and bounced his way over to Nick and Judy. Stu didn't smile as he sat in the driver's seat.

"Check it out, huh?" said Jack as he bounced up to Nick and Judy, his dress shirt untucked and wet with sweat. "We're back in business!"

Judy smiled through pursed lips. She chewed at her cheek. "Guess so." They turned to watch Stu drive off from the silo and pull onto a nearby dirt path, facing the burrow.

Ah?

Strange

Nick just felt a peculiar chill run up and down his spine- like someone was watching them from afar.

Maybe it was god. Maybe god was looking down, chuckling and shaking his maned head at them. Wondering how much longer they'd continue this act- this make-believe schoolyard game where they think they have a chance of coming home tomorrow intact. Finding it funny how time is like a rapid river for them, and how they haven't got any choice but to float down it, keeping their heads just barely above water, unable to see further down the stream. Finding it extra funny how he can see the whole stream, and how he can see the cataract, the white waterfall at the end of the line, the rabbit child dashed against the rocks.

Or maybe it was the birds. They watch us as much as we watch them, you know.

"It's late, we best be getting back inside. You can stay here if you'd like, Angela," said Stu, pulling up closer to them, an arm resting outside his truck's window.

"I- uh…" She looked as though she'd just had some bad seafood. She must have been counting on getting back home tonight.

"It's a long way's back to Zootopia," said Jack.

"It's-"

"-the least we can do," Stu finished for her.

Jack looked up at the vixen.

She looked down at him. She sighed, shook her head. "Well, if you're offering… Thank you, Stu."

She stuck out her paw, which he gladly took.

…

Night finally fell and Nick was out back, nursing a cigarette. The air was bitey compared to the warmth of the hearth-lit burrow, but he had to get out if he wanted to smoke.

Wait.

Strange, he thought, it almost looked like a mammal was off atop that hill, watching him. It must have been nothing, though. It must have been. He took another drag, shivered slightly, ran his teeth over each other.

But the figure was there again. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He had to check it out, just to be safe. Maybe it was one of the rabbit kits, out past their bed time. The path from the silo would take him up that hill. He scratched at his chin, a little nervous. He went towards it.

When he reached the top of the hill, the figure stood staring up at him from the bottom. He couldn't make out the face of that vague silhouette, but he didn't have to. He followed the path down, now hidden from the sight of any bunnies in the Hopps family burrow, and Finnick stood there, waiting for him. Behind the little tan fox stood an older rabbit. Nick had met the guy back at the rebel camp. It was the same rabbit who opened the door for him.

They stared at one another for a while. Nick broke the stare first, lowered his head, snorted, nodded his head. He turned to the buck rabbit.

"Hey, Dalton."

"It's good to see you again, Nick," said Dalton.

"How'd you find me?" said Nick. He turned to look out into the wheatgrass fields. The blades of green shuddered, stiff in the breeze.

Finnick looked at his partner, Dalton, and then back at Nick. "One of ours found you working out in these fields a couple days ago. We've got eyes everywhere, you know." He stuck his paws into his pockets, used his tongue to wriggle a piece of today's lunch out from between his teeth. "Wasn't easy though. I thought I lost you for good this time."

The taller fox snorted again. "Oh, yeah. That was sort of the plan, pal."

Finnick didn't say anything in response for a while, just sighed in that deep, syrupy thrum of his. After a while, Nick had to turn and look at him, just to make sure the smaller fox was still standing there.

"There's going to come a time, Nick," said Finnick, "when you're going to need us. You're going to come begging for our help, and we're going to give it to you."

"Is that supposed to convince me to go back with you?"

Finnick looked up at Nick, looked like he was going to say something. Maybe shoot a venomous comment back; make it like the good old days. But Dalton placed a paw on the shorter fox's shoulder. Finnick's face softened, he turned to the rabbit.

"It's getting late," said Dalton, his paw not having moved.

Finnick sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. He clasped his own paw over Dalton's. He looked back at Nick.

"I'm not here to convince you of nothing. Just know that, when we help you, and we will, you're back on the team. You're going to have to stop playing your own game, and start playing ours. That's all I wanted to say. You're hard to get a hold of you know." Finnick smiled, Nick did not. "You're always with those rabbits these days."

Nick stood there, shivering in the wind as he watched them walk away. He tossed his cigarette butt on the dirt path, stomped it out, and started back for the burrow, paws in his pockets.

Bastards, bastards, he thought.

…

Down on that little Bunnyburrow farm, in the dead of night, a mother sat on her front porch, bouncing her son up and down on her knee. The fat little bunny, with sunken eyes, stared back at her as she stared at him, and when she stared at him she saw a heavenly ring of moonlight halo his head. Crickets whirred in the farmland before them, and they were the only other being's privy to the secret conversation.

They sat quietly as a red fox opened the burrow door and went inside.

"You're shaking, Mama," said Charlie.

"Ooo, I know- I know…" Bonnie cooed. She pressed her forehead against the forehead of the little rabbit.

She played with his arms a little, he let her. She pinched at his arm pits, moved the limbs around, just like she did when he was a newborn. They moved just fine and he didn't flinch. He opened and closed his paws. She rubbed his fingers. He was healthy. Why did he look so sick? She brushed the wild fur at the top of his head down. Tried to rub the white powder off his cheeks, only to discovered that his fur had only whitened there. She pressed a paw against that damned collar.

"I love you, Charlie. You know that, right?"

Charlie bit at his cheek, anxious. He smiled, she pretended not to notice the tears welling up in his eyes, like heavy droplets growing on farm grass. Droplets that he used to study with rapt fascination back when peaceful mornings were a thing.

"No, I love you, Mama."

She choked, steadied herself, bounced him a little more vigorously. She smiled, turned away, sobbed, shook her head. "No, I love you," she said.

"Well, I love you more."

She gasped, almost caught her own scream. Almost. All that was left of it was a shrill piping. It rang out into the night. He didn't hear it, or you wouldn't have thought he'd heard it by the look of his face, by the way his sunken eyes shined brightly back at her. She pressed her chin over his head, rocked with him. "No, I love you more."

"I love you to the moon and back!" said Charlie. He tugged at his mother's white blouse, smiling like a little maniac.

"I love you even more than that!" said Bonnie, who knew she was going absolutely and violently insane.

They stayed out there for a little while longer, Bonnie crying horribly, Charlie trying not to. She only carried him in when she remembered he would need to get up early tomorrow morning. They needed time to get his chubby body him into his little suit somehow, something she didn't think she'd be doing until prom night.

…

Author's end note: Sorry for the super late update, I've been up in my state capital this last week for lobby visits. Super tired, but we're back to the normal schedule from here on out until further notice!

If you're still reading, consider dropping me a review! Hearing from you all really keeps me motivated, and lord knows I need the motivation sometimes, haha.

Hope to see you all again soon!

Oh, and like, also, today's totally the one-year anniversary of this fic. Like, what the heck is that all about?