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jeriendhalHis ears weren’t as big as a certain bunny’s, but Nick was started out of his doze in the hammock, as he heard the squeak of the screen door towards the front of the house. He rolled out of the hammock and landed lightly on his foot pads, checking the time on his phone briefly. It wasn’t even 4:00 AM yet, early even by farmer bunny standards. Can’t be a burglar, he thought. The house was a good mile away from the main road, making it a fair jog for potential thieves. The Hoppses didn’t even lock their doors. So if no one is going in, someone must be going out. One guess who.
Silently, Nick dropped to all fours and began slinking near the ground, padding along silently until he came around to the front. Sure enough there was Judy, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, walking at brisk pace. At this distance Nick doubted she could see him, given his superior night vision. Shame on you, Judy. The doctors told you no exercising without supervision. He smiled grimly, and then rose to his two feet to start following her. It would serve her right for him to come from behind and whisper “Boo!” into her ear, if he was still worried about her recovery from stomach surgery.
Judy walked along the brick path some earlier generation of bunnies had laid on the ground along the edge of the property, heading towards the tool shed. To Nick’s surprise, she unlatched it and slipped inside, emerging a moment later with a basket in one paw and a garden trowel in the other. Nick found cover behind the trunk of an oak tree as she headed back towards the house, stopping in front of the bed of marigolds and primroses that Bonnie maintained in a bed circling the house. He watched as Judy dug up several clumps of flowers, then headed back down the path, taking a sharp right towards the large backyard, heading in the direction of a small, squared off area defined by more flowerbeds that Nick had never investigated in his previous visits.
He moved forward, as Judy kneeled in front of the bed and began carefully transferring her load of flowers from the basket to the ground. When he was six feet away, Nick stopped, cleared his throat briefly, and said softly, “Little early for gardening, isn’t it, Judy?”
Judy started briefly, then turned towards him briefly and answered in the same soft tone, “Good morning, Nick. Yeah, it is, but I wanted to do this when it was quiet, before the house woke up.”
“So what’s the big secret?” he asked, squatting down beside her.
She patted the last bit of dirt around the flowers she’d transferred, then said, “You’ve never been to this part of yard, have you?”
“No,” he admitted. “I never had a reason to, and everybody seems to avoid it anyway. Your sibs don’t even kick balls near here.” He glanced at the ground enclosed by the beds. Set in the grass were a series of small brass plaques, each about a foot long and half again as wide. As he looked closer to examine them in the starlight, he felt the ruff on the back of his neck begin to rise up as he realized what he was seeing.
Jessica Hopps, read the first plaque, Born February 18th, 2016. Died February 18th, 2016.
His eyes turned to the next one. Martin Hopps. Born March 3rd, 2015. Died March 3rd, 2015.
Frederick Hopps. Born April 14th, 2014. Died April 16th, 2014.
His eyes went to somewhere in the middle of the little forest of grave markers, finding James Hopps. Born June 3rd, 1981, Died August 20th, 1992, and Adam Hopps, Born June 3rd, 1981, Died August 20th, 1992.
There were an even thirty of the little brass markers. Nick’s eye flicked over them, counting them all, swallowing hard as he saw a line of four, all clumped together with the same birth and death date. Finally, he managed to choke out, “Judy, what the hell?”
“It’s basic statistics, Nick,” Judy answered calmly, rising up to her feet. “About ten percent of bunnies are stillborn. Mom has had over four hundred kits. Mathematically speaking she’s doing better than average.”
Nick blinked in disbelief. “How can your mother walk and talk like a normal, sane mammal, after losing thirty of her children? How could she and your dad not have gotten themselves fixed, rather than have to worry that every time she has a litter, one of them will come out already dead?” Suddenly Stu’s funny habit of bursting into tears at the least slightly sad thing... wasn’t quite so funny anymore.
“Mom and Dad are farmers,” she answered, still in that maddening, matter-of-fact tone. “That means they’re breeders. They have to be, to have enough paws to run a farm this big. Most bunnies do voluntarily fix themselves either around age sixteen or after they have a single litter. They have to, otherwise we would have overrun the planet by now, after the Great Compromise ended the predator hunts. The ones that don’t know the risks they’re taking, and accept the consequences.”
“‘Accept the…’” Nick sputtered. He waved in the direction of the house, and by extension her sleeping parents. “I saw them after the mess at the asylum was taken care of, while they were still waiting for you to wake up. Those were not the faces of two prey who were just going to shrug their shoulders and say ‘Whoops, we lost another one.’ They were scared for you.”
Judy smiled wryly, as if at some private joke. “Yeah, they were scared for me. They were scared for me most of my life, when they realized I was dead set on becoming a cop. They were scared when I got on the train to head to Zootopia for the first time. Who do you think gave me that stupid anti-fox spray? They were terrified I was going to get killed my first day on the job.” She shrugged, wincing in pain as her healed shoulder moved. “But if I had died, they would have wept, and then moved on. They would have had to. Bunnies are small, and weak, and not very hardy, Nick. I worked around those facts when I wanted to become a police officer, but I never pretended they weren’t there. Mom and Dad don’t pretend either.”
“So what are you doing now?” He gestured towards the newly planted flowers.
“A little memorial. We plant flowers here every once while, when we want to remember,” Judy said. “I wanted to do it now, while it was still quiet.”
“Because you survived, and they didn’t?” Nick asked gently.
“Yeah.” She turned away from him briefly, wrapping her arms around herself, as if she was cold. “With all the damage I took, I should have died. But I didn’t.” She ducked her head down briefly, drawing in a breath as she turned away from him. “Nick, I don’t know if… if I should return to the force.”
Nick frowned, his ears turning back in surprise. “What? You mean not even try? Judy the Determinator, just giving up?”
“I gave up once before,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, because Mayor Smellweather’s buddy Doug ambushed you with those questions at the press conference,” Nick pointed out. He smiled wryly. “Though I suppose me blowing up at you right after that didn’t exactly help.”
“Three months of protests and riots, because I babbled out the first thing in my head instead of taking a moment to think,” she said darkly. “And God, when I saw poor, sweet, Clawhauser being transferred down to Records, because of what I did.” She turned back towards him, pulling at her ears. “I am always rushing in without thinking, Nick. I did it that day when I said those horrible things, I did it when we were trailing Volkov’s goon and got myself nearly killed. All that happens when I do, is I end up hurting people who don’t deserve it, Like Clawhauser, like my parents… like you.”
Nick kneeled down to eye level with Judy, taking gentle hold of her shoulders. “Carrots, I don’t want you ever change, because you’re worried about hurting me. The only one who could ever really screw up my life was me, especially when I was still being a cynical bastard. You showed me that I didn’t have to be like that, and that’s because you were just being you. I don’t want you to become some… some… imaginary Judy Hopps, that you think you need to be, instead of the Judy Hopps that I know you are.”
“And what Judy Hopps is that?” she asked, sniffling a little.
“The Judy Hopps that is smart, and brave, and, trustworthy, and loyal, and who always finds a way to win,” he replied firmly.
“Is that who you see when you look at me?” she asked softly.
“Yes, yes I do,” he told her.
She sniffed, face pressed into his chest as he hugged her. “Thanks, Nick,” she murmured into his shirt.
“I'll always be here for you, Carrots. Count on it.”
Silently, Nick dropped to all fours and began slinking near the ground, padding along silently until he came around to the front. Sure enough there was Judy, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, walking at brisk pace. At this distance Nick doubted she could see him, given his superior night vision. Shame on you, Judy. The doctors told you no exercising without supervision. He smiled grimly, and then rose to his two feet to start following her. It would serve her right for him to come from behind and whisper “Boo!” into her ear, if he was still worried about her recovery from stomach surgery.
Judy walked along the brick path some earlier generation of bunnies had laid on the ground along the edge of the property, heading towards the tool shed. To Nick’s surprise, she unlatched it and slipped inside, emerging a moment later with a basket in one paw and a garden trowel in the other. Nick found cover behind the trunk of an oak tree as she headed back towards the house, stopping in front of the bed of marigolds and primroses that Bonnie maintained in a bed circling the house. He watched as Judy dug up several clumps of flowers, then headed back down the path, taking a sharp right towards the large backyard, heading in the direction of a small, squared off area defined by more flowerbeds that Nick had never investigated in his previous visits.
He moved forward, as Judy kneeled in front of the bed and began carefully transferring her load of flowers from the basket to the ground. When he was six feet away, Nick stopped, cleared his throat briefly, and said softly, “Little early for gardening, isn’t it, Judy?”
Judy started briefly, then turned towards him briefly and answered in the same soft tone, “Good morning, Nick. Yeah, it is, but I wanted to do this when it was quiet, before the house woke up.”
“So what’s the big secret?” he asked, squatting down beside her.
She patted the last bit of dirt around the flowers she’d transferred, then said, “You’ve never been to this part of yard, have you?”
“No,” he admitted. “I never had a reason to, and everybody seems to avoid it anyway. Your sibs don’t even kick balls near here.” He glanced at the ground enclosed by the beds. Set in the grass were a series of small brass plaques, each about a foot long and half again as wide. As he looked closer to examine them in the starlight, he felt the ruff on the back of his neck begin to rise up as he realized what he was seeing.
Jessica Hopps, read the first plaque, Born February 18th, 2016. Died February 18th, 2016.
His eyes turned to the next one. Martin Hopps. Born March 3rd, 2015. Died March 3rd, 2015.
Frederick Hopps. Born April 14th, 2014. Died April 16th, 2014.
His eyes went to somewhere in the middle of the little forest of grave markers, finding James Hopps. Born June 3rd, 1981, Died August 20th, 1992, and Adam Hopps, Born June 3rd, 1981, Died August 20th, 1992.
There were an even thirty of the little brass markers. Nick’s eye flicked over them, counting them all, swallowing hard as he saw a line of four, all clumped together with the same birth and death date. Finally, he managed to choke out, “Judy, what the hell?”
“It’s basic statistics, Nick,” Judy answered calmly, rising up to her feet. “About ten percent of bunnies are stillborn. Mom has had over four hundred kits. Mathematically speaking she’s doing better than average.”
Nick blinked in disbelief. “How can your mother walk and talk like a normal, sane mammal, after losing thirty of her children? How could she and your dad not have gotten themselves fixed, rather than have to worry that every time she has a litter, one of them will come out already dead?” Suddenly Stu’s funny habit of bursting into tears at the least slightly sad thing... wasn’t quite so funny anymore.
“Mom and Dad are farmers,” she answered, still in that maddening, matter-of-fact tone. “That means they’re breeders. They have to be, to have enough paws to run a farm this big. Most bunnies do voluntarily fix themselves either around age sixteen or after they have a single litter. They have to, otherwise we would have overrun the planet by now, after the Great Compromise ended the predator hunts. The ones that don’t know the risks they’re taking, and accept the consequences.”
“‘Accept the…’” Nick sputtered. He waved in the direction of the house, and by extension her sleeping parents. “I saw them after the mess at the asylum was taken care of, while they were still waiting for you to wake up. Those were not the faces of two prey who were just going to shrug their shoulders and say ‘Whoops, we lost another one.’ They were scared for you.”
Judy smiled wryly, as if at some private joke. “Yeah, they were scared for me. They were scared for me most of my life, when they realized I was dead set on becoming a cop. They were scared when I got on the train to head to Zootopia for the first time. Who do you think gave me that stupid anti-fox spray? They were terrified I was going to get killed my first day on the job.” She shrugged, wincing in pain as her healed shoulder moved. “But if I had died, they would have wept, and then moved on. They would have had to. Bunnies are small, and weak, and not very hardy, Nick. I worked around those facts when I wanted to become a police officer, but I never pretended they weren’t there. Mom and Dad don’t pretend either.”
“So what are you doing now?” He gestured towards the newly planted flowers.
“A little memorial. We plant flowers here every once while, when we want to remember,” Judy said. “I wanted to do it now, while it was still quiet.”
“Because you survived, and they didn’t?” Nick asked gently.
“Yeah.” She turned away from him briefly, wrapping her arms around herself, as if she was cold. “With all the damage I took, I should have died. But I didn’t.” She ducked her head down briefly, drawing in a breath as she turned away from him. “Nick, I don’t know if… if I should return to the force.”
Nick frowned, his ears turning back in surprise. “What? You mean not even try? Judy the Determinator, just giving up?”
“I gave up once before,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, because Mayor Smellweather’s buddy Doug ambushed you with those questions at the press conference,” Nick pointed out. He smiled wryly. “Though I suppose me blowing up at you right after that didn’t exactly help.”
“Three months of protests and riots, because I babbled out the first thing in my head instead of taking a moment to think,” she said darkly. “And God, when I saw poor, sweet, Clawhauser being transferred down to Records, because of what I did.” She turned back towards him, pulling at her ears. “I am always rushing in without thinking, Nick. I did it that day when I said those horrible things, I did it when we were trailing Volkov’s goon and got myself nearly killed. All that happens when I do, is I end up hurting people who don’t deserve it, Like Clawhauser, like my parents… like you.”
Nick kneeled down to eye level with Judy, taking gentle hold of her shoulders. “Carrots, I don’t want you ever change, because you’re worried about hurting me. The only one who could ever really screw up my life was me, especially when I was still being a cynical bastard. You showed me that I didn’t have to be like that, and that’s because you were just being you. I don’t want you to become some… some… imaginary Judy Hopps, that you think you need to be, instead of the Judy Hopps that I know you are.”
“And what Judy Hopps is that?” she asked, sniffling a little.
“The Judy Hopps that is smart, and brave, and, trustworthy, and loyal, and who always finds a way to win,” he replied firmly.
“Is that who you see when you look at me?” she asked softly.
“Yes, yes I do,” he told her.
She sniffed, face pressed into his chest as he hugged her. “Thanks, Nick,” she murmured into his shirt.
“I'll always be here for you, Carrots. Count on it.”
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Date: 2017-03-17 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2017-03-17 06:30 pm (UTC)