Chapter Text
The instrument of Judy’s torture was a coffee cup, and the torturer was her flat refusal to get rid of it. It was a simple enough cup: a bunny-sized white mug with a picture of a carrot on it, and the words “I am Carrots” written in bold. It was by itself a fairly innocuous looking cup, but what many didn’t realize was that it was the companion to another bigger cup with the picture of a fox and the words “I love carrots”.
Every morning, Judy woke up and saw the cup sitting there on her nightstand, mockingly. It drove splinters of hot ice through her body each time she laid eyes on it. In between those times there were countless reminders of times past. She arrived at the precinct and went to her overlarge chair in the bullpen; it had always been too big, but now it stretched around her like a field of orange flames, huge in its emptiness. After the morning briefing, Judy would go to her squad car and hop in the driver’s seat and go on patrol, and the silence of the ride was a constant deafening ring in her sensitive ears. She could have turned on the radio, but it would have been like another betrayal. A refusal to accept it.
Lunch was taken in silence each day and without food of any kind. Judy would drink a bottle of water, and that would be it. In days past, she’d eaten lunch at the vegan diner near the precinct, the one with the amazing wraps, but no longer.
She’d check in after her shift each day, park her car, clock out. She’d slink past Clawhauser’s desk in heavy silence, and the cheetah wouldn’t speak to her. He’d tried, at first. He’d made an effort to maintain their friendship, but Judy never returned his greetings and eventually they stopped coming. The only thing he sent her way these days were sad, forlorn looks.
She would take the train to her apartment in the Meadowlands District by way of Zootopia Loop. In days past, she’d take the purple line, the Inner Loop, but no longer.
When Judy arrived at her apartment each evening, she dressed down from her uniform, made a small microwaveable meal, and sat at her desk to eat. She never ate much, and never sat there long. She didn’t like sitting at her desk anymore, because upon the desk was a single picture from better times. A picture framed in silver, a picture she would never hide but would always hide from.
And every evening when she went to bed the cup was there still, waiting for her. Waiting to drive nails into her heart, to shred her emotions apart again.
This routine had been going on for two months, one week, and two days. It was the morning of the third day of the second week of the third month when there was a change. When she arrived at Precinct One, he was there. Standing in front of Clawhauser’s desk in all his glory, uniform hugging him in all the right ways and coffee in one paw, was Officer Nicholas Wilde.
He looked tired, but he was still beautiful.
As she saw him, Judy stopped in her tracks, just inside the building, and she couldn’t help but to hear their words. Clawhauser asking him how the undercover case wrapped up, Nick telling him what detail he could, and then Clawhauser’s tentative question, spoken softly as if the words could rip worlds apart.
“So…what happened between you and Judy? She hasn’t spoken to anyone but the Chief in more than two months. Since you left, in fact.”
Oh, how Judy’s body sang to see his tail, bushy in its winter coat, droop. How her heart savagely beat against the barbed wire holding it in place when she saw his ears flatten. How her soul ached to run to him, and how her mind locked the rest back down into submission.
Nick shook his head and replied just as softly as the question, and the words pierced Judy like so many bullets. It was a wonder she didn’t fall, hemorrhaging from the wounds.
“She left me, Benji,” said the fox plainly, the pain still audible in his voice.
Clawhauser’s expression of confusion was entirely justified, as was his follow-up question: “What? Why? What did you do?”
If Nick’s previous words were like gunfire, these were sniper fire, precision killing blows.
“I forgave her,” said Nick simply, and then he walked to the Bullpen.
She followed after a minute, after her feet allowed her to move again, once she was sure the movement wouldn’t cause her to shatter then and there. And when she made her way into the bullpen, there he was again, in that overlarge chair, sitting to one side so as to leave room for his companion on the other half. The slump in his shoulders and the stillness of his tail were clues to the fact that he didn’t think Judy would approach, but he’d left her room anyway just in case.
She didn’t approach and instead found a seat in the back near Francine who had the empathy to look sadly at the bunny and the respect to not say anything.
The briefing went quickly. Judy was still, according to the precinct paperwork, Nick’s partner and now that he was returned from an undercover mission that required his unique talents they were expected to begin working together again. Bogo however noticed the seating change and held them back after all the other officers had moved to their jobs.
The buffalo looked down at them from his podium for a long moment with an impossible to read expression. Judy looked at the floor and Nick stared back up at him with what could almost have been described as defiance if not for the subdued nature of his expression.
Finally the buffalo spoke. “I don’t know what your problem is, and I don’t care. Fix it. Today.” Left unspoken was the implication that they would have an out if they could no longer work with each other, but also implied was Bogo’s order to try to make it work. Both mammals knew why Bogo wanted them to work: they were the best officers in the precinct, and they worked exceptionally well together. Also, Bogo was among those who could be described as “fans” of the Judy and Nick romance and had once in a moment of weakness told Judy that he was glad they had gotten together.
Nobody spoke as Bogo turned around and walked away, and the silence continued to thicken and curdle as they made their way to their car. Nick hopped into the passenger seat as he always had and Judy climbed into the driver’s seat as she always had, but the lively banter and friendly arguments didn’t come. They never would again, and Judy’s eyes prickled with unshed tears at the thought.
It was three hours before Nick finally broke the silence, gazing out his window.
“The case broke three weeks ago,” he said calmly, as if nothing had ever happened. “I ended up with a pretty moderate injury and I’ve spent the last three weeks recovering.” Judy’s stomach soured and clenched.
Nick took a slow breath. “I knew you wouldn’t come to see me. Chief told me you didn’t even know I was back. He said you’ve been isolating yourself. Doing your job and nothing more. Haven’t been listening to any of the office gossip.”
They were quiet again for a few minutes. Judy kept her eyes on the road and Nick kept his on their surroundings.
Lunch came before the silence was broken again, and Judy drove to their diner because Nick needed to eat and that was his favorite lunch spot. When he got out of the car to go get his food, she politely refused to join him, and by the time he returned with his typical pair of veggie wraps she’d gotten out her afternoon bottle of water. He stared at the water and then at her for a long moment.
“Tell me that’s not your lunch.” His eyes narrowed when she took a sip instead of answering him. “You haven’t really been taking a bottle of water for lunch since I’ve been gone.”
She took another sip. Then she looked out her window and nodded. Nick’s snort of annoyance was followed by him plopping one of his wraps in her lap. Judy looked down at it in shock.
“I’m not eating your food, Nick,” muttered Judy.
“You’ll eat it,” replied Nick with a definite tone of anger, “and tomorrow you’ll eat another one. You’re not going to continue to starve yourself. This is stupid, Judy.”
“Karma,” said Judy automatically. The moment the word left her mouth she cringed.
She felt Nick’s shocked gaze bore into the side of her head. “No. You do not get to use that against me.”
She whipped around and glared at him. “Why not, Nick?” Her words were loud in the quiet vehicle. “You told me a long time ago that Karma punishes those who do bad. You don’t get to decide who she should punish.”
“Neither do you,” yelled Nick, jabbing a finger at her. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. When he opened his eyes he looked sad. “Judy, you made a mistake. We all do.”
She shook her head. “No. You don’t get to come back and tell me that.” It was her turn to close her eyes, and as she squeezed them shut tears dripped down her face. She could remember clearly, could picture with perfect clarity, how broken Nick had looked when she confessed to him what she’d done. How angry, how volatile, how shattered he was.
“He was a player, Carrots,” said Nick softly, “and one of the most attractive foxes I’ve ever met. If I was into guys I’d have slept with him too.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. A clear deception made to illustrate how little he blamed her, and it served only to make her break into pieces in her seat.
Somehow, she managed to avoid sobbing. The tears, though, only kept coming.
“Don’t call me Carrots,” whispered Judy brokenly. The words were simple but contained the full meaning of her state of mind, that the mockery-turned-sobriquet had taken yet another transformation to shameful reminder of disgrace.
Nick sighed. “Judy, you’re a bunny. I knew going in that it might happen. I chose to date you anyway. I won’t hold it against you that your libido is so great that I can’t keep up.”
“There were options, Nick,” said Judy, clenching her paws into fists. “There were options, and I didn’t take them. Medication to depress my sex drive. Counseling to help bolster my restraint. I could have taken care of it myself more often, I could have talked to you about it more. Instead I promised I’d be monogamous and turned around and broke that promise.”
“So take those options now,” retorted Nick hotly. “Don’t give up. Make up for it.”
They were silent for a minute, and when Judy spoke again she spoke very softly.
“‘I can’t look at you. You’ve hurt me, and I need to be left alone.’” Her words echoed the ones he’d uttered more than two months ago, words spoken in pain and followed by absence. The last words he’d spoken to her before leaving for two months.
“No, Judy.” Nick’s reply sounded helpless.
“Yes, Nick.”
“Don’t hold that against me. I was upset, and when I took the time to think about it, I forgave you.”
Judy reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of well-folded and tear-stained cardstock. She’d first seen it when it was still crisp, a single fold down the middle, sitting on her nightstand the morning after she’d broken Nick’s heart and three hours after he’d left to begin his undercover assignment. Inside was carefully and badly drawn bunny and fox figures, and seven words: I forgive you, and I love you. It had been accompanied by a single violet blossom, which had long since fell to decay. Judy passed the note over and placed it delicately on Nick’s lap. Then, she ate the wrap he’d given her, murmured a word of thanks, and got back to their patrol route.
It was a very long and silent shift, and when it was over Judy went home on the Zootopia Loop leaving Nick to take the Inner Loop train like he always had before. As they parted, Judy refused to look at Nick’s forlorn expression and felt herself breaking again. She was a ship lost at sea, sailing steadily away from her guiding light.