Chapter Text
Nick Wilde hadn’t planned on staying late again.
That was the lie he told himself every evening around six, when the precinct lights dimmed, and the night shift clocked in looking tired and underpaid. He’d loosen his tie, crack a joke about earning his “third paycheck of the day,” and then… stay.
Because the city crime didn’t slow down just because the sun went down. In fact, most crimes bloomed after dark. It was easier to get away with things under the cover of night.
But for him, it wasn’t just the increase in criminal activity that made him stay. No, it was a number.
Two hundred criminals.
Nick knew the number by heart. He’d counted them more than once, not because anyone asked him to, but because his brain wouldn’t let it go. Two hundred mammals who had been behind bars until he had unintentionally released them in his attempt to escape.
The ZPD had wrapped up that headline clean and quick. This was an unintended consequence of allowing the government to be infiltrated by criminals, case closed. Damage mitigated. The press cycle survived.
But numbers like that didn’t disappear just because the headlines moved on, and people stopped asking questions.
The ZPD was short-staffed, worse than usual because they had to let go of multiple mammals who had been working with the Lynxley family. And now the mammals who remained were left to mop up the fallout.
Old warrants resurfaced. New crimes began to tie back to old faces. The system groaned under the pressure of its own cracks, and Nick had quietly stepped in to help without anyone asking him to.
He took the overtime. All of it, with no complaints or bargaining. Just a wry smile and a “Put me down for it” that made Chief Bogo pause, then nod.
Judy noticed immediately. She always did. The bunny was perceptive as hell.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” she’d said, hands on her hips, ears tilted just enough to tell him she was serious. “I can take extra hours too. This doesn’t all fall on you.”
Nick had grinned, easy and practiced. “Nah, Carrots. You stick to your normal schedule. Someone’s gotta keep this place running during daylight, right?”
It sounded reasonable. Logical, even. What he hadn’t said was that this felt like his mess to clean up. Plus, the idea of her running herself ragged alongside him made something tight and panicky twist in his chest.
So, Nick stayed late and he made sure Judy didn’t. And the arrangement held...barely. He often had to reassure her that he was fine. He told her he was taking the overtime to pay off years of unpaid taxes. Which technically wasn’t a complete lie, and she couldn’t argue with him over it.
Tonight was worse than usual.
Nick leaned back in his chair, stretching until his spine popped. His eyes flicking to the clock above the bullpen. Ten forty-three. He was supposed to be off an hour ago. His four-day off rotation loomed ahead. The first real break he’d had in weeks, but tonight still had its claws in him.
He glanced at his phone. No messages.
Which didn’t surprise him. Judy never hovered when he worked late. She respected the job and knew not to blow up his phone when he was working. She understood that distractions in this field could be dangerous. She respected him and knew he would reach out when he got off, as per his usual routine.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t there in spirit. He could feel her anyway, like a constant hum under his ribs. The thought of her at home safely in her apartment tugged at him harder than he liked to admit.
He shook it off with a smirk. “Focus, Wilde,” he muttered. “Clock out first. Pine for the bunny later.”
He waved goodbye to a few of the other nightshift officers he had gotten to know since staying over. They were nice enough, but he still preferred his partner on day shift.
When he finally left the precinct, the city was humming in its low, nocturnal way. Neon lights reflected off rain-dark pavement. Somewhere overhead, the elevated tram roared past like distant thunder.
Nick pulled his coat tighter and started the walk home.
His apartment sat wedged beneath a gym... an elephant gym. A fact he pretended not to regret every time the ceiling rattled from above. The building smelled faintly of disinfectant and old concrete, and the stairwell light flickered like it had a personal vendetta against him.
Inside, his place stayed exactly as he’d left it.
Boxes from moving in were stacked against the walls. Half-unpacked since moving in. Takeout containers lingered on the floor and on the counter. By the time he got home, it was just easier to order takeout than to try and cook. Besides, he hadn’t done any real grocery shopping since moving in.
A scattering of comic books lay on his desk, covers bent and well loved. The Roaring Stones poster he put up upon moving in, hung crooked above the couch. Christmas lights draped over it in a way that suggested he’d meant to fix them… eventually. He just never seemed to have time.
The cleanest spot in the apartment was by the door. A small table. Bare, except for one frame of a newspaper photo: him and Judy, side by side, grinning like idiots after their first big case. The ink was smudged from where he’d handled it too much before finally framing it. He’d wiped the glass earlier that week, to remove any dust.
Some habits stuck. Even with Judy now having their carrot pen, he still maintained this little spot.
Nick dropped his keys into the bowl beside the photo and leaned there for a moment, listening to the muffled thud of elephant footfalls overhead. The apartment felt empty in the way only half lived in spaces could be.
He didn’t mind the mess. Messes meant movement. Messes meant he hadn’t stopped pushing forward.
Still… his eyes drifted back to the photo. Judy’s smile in it was all teeth and determination. She was quite the female to behold. So full of hope and fearlessness to a fault... but also alive.
He exhaled slowly as he made his way to his room and let himself fall onto the mattress.
Four days off, after tomorrow's shift. Four days where the city could spin without him for a bit. Four days where he could breathe and maybe, finally, stop paying penance.
Though he would do it all again if he had to. Escaping that jail when he did only left him seconds before Judy could have been killed. No, he would choose the same path over and over again if it meant that she was alive and well.
Overtime in exchange for her wellbeing was a small price to pay, and he would continue to pay it until all two hundred criminals were behind bars again.