"A moth? No, scratch that. A butterfly. It is a butterfly, isn't it?"

I sense, rather than witness her cross her legs behind the large mahogany desk that divides us. Her piercing grey eyes betray neither approval nor discord.

"There is no correct answer, Judy. That's the whole point of the test. There's neither right nor wrong. Just what you see in it."

I doubt there is any point at all but remain silent. It's not like she cannot tell this much herself; I've hardly been in here for twenty minutes and she's already giving impatient glances at her watch. The gesture is so blatant that I am actually trying to calculate the intervals between two consequtive ones in order to determine whether or not it's some sort of tick. Deep down, we both know we make part of one another's professional hell.

"So, butterfly it is?" I mumble warily.

She graces me with a pathetic smile. "Okay. So, what about this one?" She holds it up as if it were a weird protest sign. It depicts a rather disconcerting assemblage of shapes and colors that give off the impression of having been bled out, rather than painted. I have to squeeze my eyebrows together and blur the details away for it to make any sense at all. The remaining outline kinda looks like the upper body and head of a fox.

"Well?"

"I um. I am not sure about this one." I am lying with horrific ease. "Maybe...maybe Death?"

The therapist turns the card around and gives it a stare it probably hasn't received before. She is a strikingly attractive tigress in her mid-thirties, and the foulard that adorns her neck matches her earrings. If I were my usual self I would probably ask her where she bought it from, but my current one just wants to strangle her with it.

"Death? Are you sure you don't see something else here, Judy? Remember that whatever you say is part of the healing process and stays between you and me."

She is anything but stupid, of course. Bogo didn't just send me to a random specialist. He picked the one he reckoned was the best of them.

"Yep", I am chewing my words and she has definitely noticed, but it doesn't matter terribly at this point. "I mean. The black thingie on the left, right there, see? It sort of looks like a cloak, don't you think? And the red blotches, they, uh-"

My voice abates. Too many details. I should be less obvious. Focus, Judy, focus. We are cops, goddamnit. We're like, supposed to adapt to any situation, no? This should be easy. Still, every time I return to this leather armchair my mouth refuses to contain the avalanche of thoughts, and my feelings spill like cards on a table.

Maybe I really need this. After all even the feigned interest of someone who doesn't give an actual fuck offers some sort of comfort when you are everyone's odd one out. Or maybe it's just the atmosphere of this blasted place. The air smells funny.

"Judy...?"

For a moment we lock gazes and this unsurmountable horror boils under my ribs. I fear she might put that fancy black pen of hers down, close the notebook and call the chief, or prescribe me more medication. The sort that makes me drowsy during the day and gives me erratic heat cycles. But she just opens a drawer and arranges the plastic cards neatly inside before pushing it shut again. When her attention returns to me, the reflection of the lamp on her glasses makes her expression particularly hard to fathom.

"Judy, it's been almost a year."

"Time passes. I've been trying."

"Of course you have. You have been a cooperative patient, and rest assured your boss will be informed. But that's not where I was getting at."

"I don't understand."

This is only a half-truth, and it shows, because my paws are already digging holes in the cushions. I know what's coming and I also know this is as good a time as any to get this over with and stop postponing the inevitable. The therapist rubs the space between her eyes with two excellently groomed fingers.

"Judy, when you first came here-"

"-when my boss sent me here-"

"-when you came here all I knew was that you had showcased these...irregular tendencies that required the support of a proffessional, and nothing more. You've been on the helpful side of things the whole time, there's no arguing over that, but all I'm being given this far is hints. There was a partner who's off the picture now. There was a particularly strong moment at a hospital, which attracted extensive press coverage, correct?"

I desperately need to swallow, but my heart is stuck in my throat.

"Yes."

"But I need more than that in order to help you, Judy. I am being paid to chase ghosts until now, and there is little left for me to work with."

"And what if I feel uncomfortable with this?"

"Then I see no point in carrying on with these sessions."

I knew the answer even before verbalizing the question. It was worth giving a shot, anyway.

"But I need my job. And I need the sessions in order to keep it." I am tapping my foot angrily against the marble now. I haven't said anything terribly useful and she's just doing what she is supposed to. I don't even know who I am truly mad at; not a lot of things make sense in my head these days.

"You know, Judy, I could call your superiors or your parents and get filled in on the details without having to endure this..." she pauses for effect, and takes her glasses off, presumably for the same reason. "...this negativity. But I don't want that. I need you to entrust your problem to me with your own free will, because that's how therapy works."

My eyes roll before my neurons can advise them not to. I hope she hasn't noticed. I could end this now. I had done it before, back when I was a teenager with a big dream in a small close-minded community of carrot farmers. I could explain that it is easy for her to sit behind that funny little desk and pretend to be helping people that don't need help. That had she been in my shoes, she could have made the same mistakes. I could scream that it's not a question of free will if your job depends on your cooperation.

Instead, I say nothing. I just sit there and examine her, wondering how life would have been for me had I lived in a different era, or society. How life would have been for him. Something gets caught between my lungs and diaphragm. My chest rises and falls like I am being propelled by a hidden lever, ears fallen to my shoulders.

"Okay", I can feel my speaking voice resonate in my skull. "What is it that you wanna know?"

My fury is going haywire. I am literally oscillating back and forth. Oh, dear. It was all about me since the very start, wasn't it?

It's Judith Laverne Hopps I am mad at.

Animals Wearing Clothes

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***a story by Liessa***

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-SUNDAY-

"Abomination."

He gawked at the board incredulously, then back at me.

"Abomination? You honestly looked at the word 'nation' and thought it'd be cool to add some random extra letters to the front? Carrots, does this thing even exist?"

"Of course it does, Slick. Everyone knows it. And you do, too, but it, ah, kinda sucks to lose three times in a row."

"First round was a draw, thank you very much."

"That was because you misspelled 'catastrophe'."

"No, I didn't! You really believed I'd fall for that, like, would it even make sense if I tried to convince you that the word 'atrophy' ended in a-"

"Awh, just admit that I am superior, already. It might be a liberating experience."

His face contorted into a comical flinch, nose twitching theatrically. He pretended to be catching a whiff of an imaginary something in the air. The result looked and sounded hilarious.

"You know what? I smell fraud, Carrots. You should be ashamed of yourself."

The comment made me snort, and I almost chocked on a handful of homemade popcorn. It was just another typical Sunday evening, really; bad films, endless nagging about how awful Monday's paperwork would certainly be. And board games. We had established a well-respected ritual of arguing over who the winner was, since we both believed it would spoil the fun to do otherwise. Nick was more of a Monopoly type, whereas he obviously hated Scrabble. He only endured Scrabble because it was my favorite.

"Gee, Nick. Don't be so upset. It's not my fault some individuals are more gifted than others."

"Gifted? Dumb bunny like you? Pffft. Is that your only excuse, Fluff?"

"Nononono. You confuse the two of us." I gave him a cunning smile before pointing fingers. "Dumb fox. Sly bunny. Ring a bell?"

"Did you just call me 'dumb'?"

The smirk on my face broadened. In the back of my head, I was trying to suppress my excitement, because the flirtatious undertones of my behavior were plain as day. Nick, however, either never noticed or was discreet enough to not let it show.

"Did I? Wait. Yes, yes I did."

Could it be just me? I 'd argue I was being painfully obvious during these last few months. In the beginning I had convinced myself it was simply due to the happiness overload- me having the dream job, me having every police officer's respect, me having the best friend in the history of friendship. When it became clear there was more than just that I had embraced it as an anomaly I'd have to learn to coexist with, a sort of depravity to keep closeted till the end of my days.

Lately it was different. My manifestations were going on autopilot far too often.

"Say that again, Cottontail. I dare ya."

Besides, who hasn't seen the stigma? The pointing of fingers, the calling of names? And that's just interspecies couples between animals of the same dietary agendas. Predators and goddamn preys? Good riddance.

"It's 'dumb' partner. Do you want me to spell it out for you? D-U-M-"

The sentence was left hanging in mid-air. The board was pushed to the side, forgotten, bits of plastic orthography scattered all over the carpet. He threw himself on top of me, arms extended pseudo-menacingly, and like that the tickle war was on. Ι was torn between protecting my stomach with my arms and trying to get a proper grip of Nick in order to turn him over and counter attack. He was so well-acquainted with what worked and didn't work on me, that my ribs literally hurt from laughing.

"Hahahahahahahagettoffmehahahahaaaim an officer!"

"So what? I am an officer too."

"Buhahahahahaha- but that's police brutality!"

"You seem pretty amused, if you ask me."

"That's because you are tickling me!"

He had momentarily let his guard down, so I jumped at the opportunity, surged forward, and grabbed him. Before Nick could even process what had hit him, he was on his back, wrists pinned to the floor. We were both giggling like complete idiots, two animals sharing a game, a moment; I looked in his eyes and searched for something that couldn't be there. They were calm and radiating enthusiasm, playful yet tame. Not the eyes of a grown man, but rather, those of a child.

"Guess somebody forgot the basics of self-defence?"

"Just remember the things you're saying, Fluff. There will be consequences."

"Oh, no, what will you do? Kill me with your sense of humor?"

"No. I'll use you as an arm rest. During investigations."

"You already do that, Nick."

I knew I was better off not doing things like those to myself, that self-preservation was crucial. But I was feeling utterly, shamelessly present in that moment, more wired to reality than ever before. Conscious of the subtle friction, the innocence in Nick's expression as opposed to my own darkening thoughts, the distinctive smell of his fur- everywhere.

It was that otherworldly instant that my stupendous neighbors chose to destroy.

"Hey, you two! Get yourselves a room! Some of us have an early shift tomorrow!"

Early shift. Right. The nerve of those people was phenomenal, given they habitually were the loud ones and I had to wake up at six every morning, five days a week. They were right about one thing, though; we were, indeed, producing a lot of noise, suggestive noise to a non-viewing listener, too. And those stupid, hopelessly thin walls offered little in our favor.

I opened and closed my mouth several times, frozen above Nick, coming up with potential replies and regretting them just in time. The incident could have ended there. It could have made us awkward for about five minutes and then we could have laughed about it with Clawhauser and the others back at the ZPD. Not that Nick's decision to intervene, or the answer he picked per se, were particularly off-putting, or meaningful. He pronounced every word casually, even making that funny face he reserved for bad puns and spur-of-the-moment jokes.

It was my mind that overdramatized things, my mind that was proven unable to handle the implications.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this guys, but we, ummm, already are in a room. So technically, you know. The comment was not very valid."

The line was met with some muffled sniggers from the other side. Once those stopped there was a brief pause, and then another, drunk voice cooed, "youuuu guys. Are. Ddddisgussssting."

Something in my mind clicked, an ugly flash of future past left me petrified. I considered my partner's words, then the position we were in. The rebuttal itself. An inebriated one, sure. But the adjective circulating in my subconscious for weeks was there all the same.

Disgusting.

Limbs disentangled, I darted to the opposite end of the apartment, as if in pursuit of the emergency exit. Only this was my own apartment, and it was me I wanted to escape from. Nick kept observing me, still lying on the carpet, propped against his elbows. He seemed baffled.

"Have I lost my sense of humor completely, Carrots? This was supposed to be funny, not make you upset."

My heart was palpitating like a stalled drum machine. "I am not upset."

For some reason, my eyelids had become so heavy I couldn't raise them up to his level.

I realized I was being stupid.

I realized this was because, no matter how hard I'd tried to convince everyone, including yours truly, otherwise, the transition from silent compromise to pure anguish was already on.

"Then why... wait, don't tell me you did pay attention to what these idiots said? These guys argue over who stole the other's toothbrush, they-"

"I am sorry, Nick. What you said was really funny. I am just very tired."

Things had escalated almost surreally. I heard but did't see him stand up. I was ready for him to leave even though he'd done absolutely nothing wrong. Meek, apologetic, steps echoed; behind my back, the sussuration of a coat being worn.

"I can leave if you need some rest."

.

.

.

"Thanks."

.

.

The consequent absense of sound hit me louder than a gunshot would. I was flooded by an unprecedented sense of urgency.

"What is the matter, Judy? You alright?"

"It's nothing, really. I am just feeling a bit worn, is all. I will be a happy arm rest tomorrow morning, Slick. Promise."

I didn't have to escort Nick out, since the apartment was so tiny and we'd been buddies for so long now that all formalities had been abandoned. The sound of my actual first name being spoken had conclusively sealed the evening. Had I ruined it for him, too? Would I become a crappy friend and colleague and spoil everything?

Since direct visual contact was still out of the equation, my attention was generously given to his right paw, as it fiddled nervously with the door handle. Nick cleared his throat for what looked like no reason whatsoever.

"You know we can always discuss whatever it is that bothers you, right? This is what best friends are for."

Never before had I considered just how many facial muscles it took to muster a smile.

"If there was anything to talk about, you'd be the first to know."

"I hope so."

"Goodnight, Nick."

"You too, Carrots. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

The door opened and closed with a discreet thump. The sounds coming from the open window betrayed a busy night outside. I sat down on my bed and recalled every single time I'd witnessed Nick do something kind, or downright beautiful, like the glance we had exchanged on that gondola, when he had first told me about his experience with hate and prejudice. Then my mind drifted away and traveled to my parents, picturing them sell carrots on overloaded stalls back in my home town.

Nearly half an hour passed before a speeding driver with their radio on full volume made me realize I'd been staring at a wall.

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A/N: This is my very first attempt at the Zootopia fandom and I want to do it right, so any opinion would help a great deal. I am writing the next parts frantically these days so I will hopefully update soon enough. Cheers!