Nick was a light sleeper. It was a necessary skill when living on the street, being able to wake at a moment’s notice. You could lose all your possessions—or even your life—if you couldn’t wake up and react when something happened. Coupled with his nocturnal nature and diurnal schedule, waking at a moment’s notice during the night was excruciatingly easy.

So when someone entered his apartment one night and crept into his room, Nick woke up immediately. As was his habit in such situations, Nick kept still and quiet, pretending to still be asleep. He worked his nose and strained his hearing to gather as much information as he could, and in the space of only a couple seconds he had a conclusion.

He smelled a lightly floral scent that reminded him of wildflowers and grass. It was a subtle and pleasantly sweet smell tinged with just a hint of the musk one might associate with a long day at work. The footsteps he heard were soft, barely audible brushes against the hardwood floor of his room, meaning the intruder had no pawpads. The steps were also uneven, indicating a limp. There was also a quiet breathing, somewhat heavy and hitching but nonetheless quiet. It was a feminine breathing, and an emotional breathing as well. The intruder was struggling not to burst into tears—or perhaps was crying already and trying not to sob. She approached his bed, her steps tentative and probing, which meant she couldn’t see in the nearly pitch-black room and was trying not to run into anything.

She did manage to circumvent his desk without kicking it, though, meaning she’d been here before enough times to know the layout of the room.

When she reached his bed, she knelt next to his head and reached out to shake him.

“You’re lucky I know your scent so well, Carrots,” mumbled Nick without moving or opening his eyes. He heard her start in surprise. “You know I keep a knife under my pillow right?”

Her only response was to lean into him and let the barest hint of a sob escape. Nick opened his eyes and peered over at her. She was wearing what could be considered glorified casual-wear but which Nick would call sleepwear: a pair of sweatpants and a long, baggy tee shirt. It meant she left her apartment quickly with only the lightest attention to modesty.

“What happened? Come on up here and talk to me.” Nick scooted back on his bed to give her room and she crawled up, curling into a ball against him. She took a couple minutes to control her tears so that she could speak in the first place before she managed to answer, and Nick ran his claws through the fur of her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. It seemed to help.

Finally, Judy took a deep breath and spoke, her voice quiet and tentative. “Am I a bad person, Nick?” His stroking halted and he blinked at her in surprise.

“What? Where’s this coming from? What happened to the headstrong determinator I got to know three months ago?”

Judy squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath. “I-I-I keep thinking about what I did and I k-keep seeing how stupid and bigoted I was. I don’t know what to think, Nick.”

Nick took a second to think about what she said and came up empty. “I don’t understand, Fluff. What do you mean ‘what you did’?”

Tears flowed from her squeezed-shut eyes and her next breath was shuddering. The anguish was clear in the flood of words that followed. “I caused twelve serious physical injuries, Nick. When I spoke at that press conference, there was more than just protests.” Nick suddenly understood what was happening, but he let her finish speaking. “Twelve predators were attacked in the street. Four of them were f-foxes, Nick! They were h-hospitalized because of me! And even more lost jobs and friends, and that doesn’t even m-mention what I did to you!”

Nick didn’t reply for a moment, making sure she was done speaking.

“Judy…sweetheart, we wrapped that up a week ago. Bellwether is going to prison for a very long time, you have your badge back, and I’m just fine. The city is healing.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Nick, what am I? Am I a psychopath? I thought I wanted to do good, but was I really just trying to benefit from all of this?”

“A psych—Judy, where is this coming from?” Nick was caught completely flat-footed and his voice made that abundantly clear. In response, Judy opened her paws and pressed a wadded piece of paper to his chest; he hadn’t noticed her holding it, but he took it from her, flattened it out, and scanned the words via the little light filtering through his curtains from street lamps.

Judy Hopps,

I saw the news cast that informed us all that you are still on the police force despite the anti-pred fiasco you caused three months ago. I should have expected as much from this farce of a city, but I have to admit I was caught unprepared to see your vile face on the news, still in uniform. You think bringing that sheep to justice absolves you of your sins? People were hurt because of what you did. People lost jobs and livelihoods thanks to you, and while most seem content to forgive you for that there are those like me who know better.

You meant for that all along. You’re a narcissistic psycho riding Lionheart’s Mammal Inclusion Initiative to gain power over the city and stand out from the crowd of your thousands of mewling bastard siblings. Mammals like you make me sick, and give rabbits a bad name.

I hope you get shot.

Sincerely,

Screw You.

Nick growled and crushed the paw-written letter in his grip, then threw the wad of paper across the room. Then he wrapped his paws around Judy and drew her into his chest, hugging her tightly. Before he could even speak, she whispered into his chest.

“Since Monday’s broadcast I’ve gotten sixteen letters just like it,” she whimpered. “And when I came back last week I had over a hundred hate letters waiting for me from the press conference. People think I deserve jail time as much as Bellwether does.”

“Oh, Judy.” Nick pressed the underside of his muzzle to her head and rubbed her back. “I was mentioned in the news on Monday too, you know. Since then, I’ve received something like fifty letters with statements ranging from ‘did they realize you’re a fox’ to ‘please go hang yourself we know you were involved’. Does that mean they were right?” Judy hesitated, but after a moment she shook her head. “I want to tell you something, Fluff. Are you listening?” She nodded into his chest.

“Good. A psychopath is self-serving, egotistical, and—this is the important part so listen up—has no empathy and no genuine positive emotions toward others. Why did you walk, in sweatpants, two miles at three in the morning to come see me tonight?”

She shifted against him uncomfortably for a moment before answering quietly. “B-because I was upset and….”

“..and?”

She shifted a bit more. “…and…I wanted someone I care about to comfort me….”

“Yes.” Nick drew back and looked at her; he could tell she could barely make him out in the darkness, but he had her attention. “You care about me. You care what people think. And you joined the police force because you care about everyone in this city. You care so deeply about the general populous that a few nasty letters reduced you to tears. You have more heart than anyone I have ever met, Judy, and you use that heart and your determination to do as much good in this city as you can. How many people have you helped since you’ve been back, not counting the Night Howler business? How many have you assisted without being coerced, and without asking for a reward? You have more heart than anyone else in this city, and that…sweetheart…is who you are.”

Judy sniffed at him uncertainly, her tears having not-quite-stopped. “A-are you sure?”

Nick chuckled quietly, and smiled. “Of course I am. I know everything, remember?”

A hint of a smile crossed Judy’s face and she lightly punched his shoulder. “You mean you know everyone. Not everything.”

“Pft,” scoffed Nick. “I know that too. You know I’m perfect.” Finally, a full smile graced Judy’s wet face and she chuckled tremulously. “So, tell me you’re going to prove these ingrates wrong.”

“I’ll prove them wrong.” Her voice was still a little quavering, but it held a certain strength Nick had become familiar with.

“There’s the sly bunny I know.”

She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you, dumb fox.”

“Any time,” replied Nick. And he meant it.