Work Text:
Business is slow at Pawfee Break this morning. The mint green tiles gleam with the lack of foot traffic, and the baristas are chatting quietly behind the counter as they run through some deep cleaning checklists that they're usually too busy to other with. The lone patron at the corner booth, though, is having a less peaceful start to her day.
Judy Hopps sits back in her chair, scowling at the screen of her laptop as she finishes off her carrot chai latte. The scene she's trying to write is just not working. Hell, the whole plot isn't working. She scrubs one hand down the side of her face, squinting at the half-finished paragraph like it'll offer some clues if she focuses long enough.
"Trouble with the tiger?"
Judy knows just who is lingering at her elbow with a refill before she looks up into the face of a grinning Nick Wilde.
"Please don't," she snaps. His eyes widen theatrically, but so does his grin. He's playing with her. He always is. She can't stand him.
"Why, Carrots," he says, and she grumbles at the nickname based off of her drink of choice. He ignores her, like he always does. "I just want to know what has my favourite customer looking so dour. Can I not check in?"
"No," she grumbles, and startles when he smoothly swaps out the cup at her elbow with a fresh latte. She glances up at him. He winks at her and she scowls. "If you must know, I'm having trouble with the latest manuscript. It's... it's just not working, but I need the outline in by next week."
He raises his eyebrows, and she's almost surprised to find that he's listening. She doesn't know why. If there's one thing she knows about Nick, it's that he listens.
When she first met him he was taking her order with a bored expression, clearly not worried about presenting a chipper face to his customers. What can I get for ya, sweetheart? She'd chewed him out for calling her sweetheart when she was a total stranger, ordered a carrot chai latte, and been so flustered that she forgot to give her name. The cup just read carrots and ever since then Nick has used that as a moniker to rile her up as much as possible. The more she tells him that it's rude, the more he uses it.
"I thought you were excited the plot idea," he says, and he leans against the back of her booth, leaning in to look at her screen. She should stop him, but at this point she might as well just give him access to her work email. If Nick wants to learn something, he'll do it, using whatever means he has to. "What happened?"
"It's just..." She sighs. "I'm not connecting with this new love interest, I guess. Rico had to go, and I don't regret marrying him off, but Portia needs someone she has chemistry with and it's just not..." She buries her face in her hands, forgetting momentarily that she's talking to someone that irritates her and in front of whom she should not show vulnerability. "It's not this guy. But I don't know who it is."
To his credit, Nick doesn't make fun of her. She was half-expecting a snide remark, but all she gets is the smell of his pine shower gel and the faint aroma of espresso shots that clings to him at all times. He really is awfully close to her, she realizes as she glances up. His muzzle is right next to her face, and his lips are slightly parted. A sharp incisor peeks out, and a thrill runs through her that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with--
"Chemistry," he repeats, and stands up straight again. There's a cold patch of air where his head was a second ago, and for some reason it makes Judy even crankier. "What does she need in a guy? Maybe if you start--"
"Oh, gee," she says, pasting on her best sarcastically-interested face. (She learned it from Nick.) "I didn't realize you were a writing tutor, Nick!"
His ears fall back, and she feels guilty for a minute before they prop up again and the slick smile she's used to takes up its rightful place on his face.
"Sorry," he says. "Forgot that you're doing great on your own. Enjoy the latte, Judith. On the house."
He returns to his spot behind the counter, snapping at the high schoolers he's in charge of, and the guilt returns in full force.
They had a rocky start, Judy and Nick, and it's not like they've really gone anywhere. It's just that despite all the energy Nick seems to put into annoying Judy, he also shows surprising depth sometimes. He pays attention to everything; he knows every regular's order, and their backup order, and the pastries they prefer. She's written her past two books here, and over the course of that time you kind of have to become familiar with the person that's taking your order more often than not. Nick annoys her, but he's not bad. He just likes mouthing off and making her squirm. Loathe as she is to admit it, it's not a crime.
She watches him swipe a cloth across the counter. He seems to sense her watching; he glances up. When he catches her eye his solemn face melts into a cocky grin. He waggles his fingers at her in a smug wave. She ducks her head and refocuses on her laptop, glowering even more because she feels kind of bad.
Stupid Nicholas Wilde.
The next time she shows up at Pawfee Break, Nick is the only one behind the counter. He's looking a little more ragged than normal. His glossy fur is a little frizzy, and his shoulders are slumped forward as he rests his elbows on the counter.
"Where is everyone?" she asks, digging in her pocket for her wallet. (They've long since passed the point where Nick asks her what she wants. He's aware.) "It's so quiet."
"Exam season," he says, punching her latte and carrot muffin into the system. "I sent them all home. They were stinking up the place with anxiety and caffeine sweats."
Judy watches him make her drink with a strange soft feeling swirling in her chest. He's working extra so the kids he manages can study? He glances over at her and rolls his eyes.
"Don't make that face, fluff," he says, setting the paper cup down and sliding the pastry display open. "I'm no saint. They were mixing up orders and I'm not about to be the one that has to tell Mr. Big why his inventory is short. Better I pull a few doubles than go through that ordeal."
Judy shivers involuntarily. Mr. Big might be small in stature, but he's very large in presence. His polar bear assistants don't hurt, either. He's the reason she's never made a joke on Twitter about the name of this establishment; she has no interest in pissing off Mr. Big.
"Got it," she says. "You're still the worst."
"You know it," he says, sliding her plate across the counter with a flourish.
He heads into the back, to restock on coffee or something, and Judy takes her food to her usual table, mind spinning. She doesn't know why she feels like the interaction was cut short, like there wasn't enough time, like she wants to say more. That feels like something Portia should be feeling about whoever her suitor is going to be, though, so Judy grabs her notebook, scribbling down the thought before she goes through the ritual of opening her laptop bag and getting set up.
The bell above the door jingles as a couple of goats stroll in. Judy ducks her head as they look her way, focusing on booting up her writing software.
"Cindy!" One of the goats is hyperventilating. "Cindy, it's Judith Hopps!"
Judy doesn't look up, only through great self discipline.
She used to dream of becoming a writer so well-known that she could be recognized out in public. Ever since her romance series took off, however, Judy has found that she has no taste for celebrity. She just wants to sit and work, not smile for pictures and sign autographs. Hopefully the goats will take a hint from her hostile posture and leave her alone.
"Do you think she'd let us take a picture?"
Great.
"Oh, that's actually not Judith Hopps." Judy's ears shoot up, despite herself, turning towards the well-known voice. She peeks around her laptop, watching as the goats frown and Nick nods, face full of regretful sincerity. "I know it looks like her, but that's just her doppelganger. She's a grad student that's living off of our coffee. You can talk to her, I guess, but be prepared to be dragged into an hour-long rant about her thesis on electrodialysis."
"Really?" One of the goats turns to look at Judy, who dives back into her laptop just in time. "Man. I love Judith's books. I'd love to get the chance to tell her someday."
"Hey, me too," says Nick. "Into the Jungle has gotta be one of the best bildungsromans of the past three centuries."
Judy chokes on her muffin, and by the time she's recovered from her coughing fit the goats have been handed their drinks and are leaving the cafe with a few last longing glimpses at Judy.
She needs water anyway, she tells herself as she heads back up to the counter. It's not like she's going to bring it up.
"Oh!" He looks genuinely surprised to see her back up at the front. He glances at her workstation, and she wonders if he can somehow tell that she hasn't even opened her document yet. "What can I get for you?"
"A glass of water," she says. He nods and heads for the tap. "And maybe an explanation for why you anti-doxxed me?"
"You heard that?" he frowns, and something quivers within her. "Man. I was hoping to save your ego from blowing up any further. Maybe if you don't know that people are reading your stuff you'll give up and head back to the carrot farm where you belong."
Oh, yeah. That's another reason she can't stand him. From the beginning, even though she already had a book deal, Nick was convinced that Zootopia was going to be too much for Judy, that she would be happier on the farm. Incensed, Judy had pumped out two books in the time allotted for one, which is how she's in the position of working on a story that doesn't feel ready yet.
The memory is almost enough to make her forget that Nick had referenced one of her books like he was intimately familiar with its contents. Almost. Something keeps her from mentioning it, though, some latent reluctance to disturb the status quo of verbal jabs. She accepts the glass as Nick hands it to her. Their fingers brush, sending a tingle through her wrist and up her hand.
"Anything else?"
Nick looks quite tired. Judy wishes, suddenly and bizarrely, that she could take him home and put him to bed on her sofa. The thought of his eyes closing in exhausted bliss seems tantalizing, and she wonders if he'd let her sink a hand into the fur at the back of his neck, soothing him to sleep.
What?
The thought is so unexpected and jarring that Judy physically steps back. A red ear flicks towards her, and the sheer exhaustion on Nick's face flickers for a moment into something more curious.
"You okay?" he asks, and she clears her throat. The glass of water is dripping condensation over her fingers. He put ice in it. She didn't have to ask.
"Yeah!" she says, too forceful. "Yeah, of course. Great."
He doesn't look convinced, but he also doesn't say anything. He just grabs a coffee pot and fills it with water.
Judy retreats to her table, wondering where on earth her weird thoughts came from.
She avoids Pawfee Break the next day. The desire to touch Nick was so strong, so sudden, and so unexpected and unexplained. She can't risk encouraging those thoughts. Once everything has died down--and she's finished her outline--she'll go back. They really do have the best pastries.
"Come on!" Fru Fru demands. She's come over to insist that Judy come clubbing with her, and Judy has been resisting. "All you do is write."
"But the deadline--"
"You need to live," Fru Fru insists. "That will give you the inspiration you need to finish the outline."
She has a point, Judy is forced to admit. As startling and disturbing as her new feelings about Nick were, they did offer her a lot of insight into what Portia might need in her new leading man. Someone that inspired startling and sudden revelations, someone that felt irresistible.
The fact that Nick made her think of those things is an issue that Judy is choosing to avoid.
"Fine," she sighs, and lets her ears fall back to slightly dampen the sound of Fru Fru's squealing. "But only for tonight, okay? I really need to focus."
The club Fru Fru chooses is, to Judy's surprise, not for shrew-sized rodents.
"Those are fine," Fru says, "for everyday. But this is special! We're going to get crazy!"
The clientele of this club, the name of which Judy can't quite pronounce, is as varied in size and species as the populace of Zootopia itself. She weaves in and out of the legs of megafauna that are getting down on the dance floor, but she spots an elevated table--floor, actually, for mammals that might not be able to duck out of the way in time. That's where Fru Fru has Kevin set her down, and Judy is stricken with dismay.
"Wait!" she says, and there's a desperate tone to her voice. "I thought we were dancing together!"
"We are!" Fru says, voice even shriller than normal as she fights to make herself heard above the crowd. "But you're not going to find someone to go home with if you don't get out there."
Judy doesn't bother to stifle her groan. So that's what this is about.
Fru Fru is convinced that Judy needs to get laid, and she isn't ashamed to say it.
Judy appreciates the thought, really, and maybe (though she'd never admit it) Fru has a point. It's been a long time since Judy was in a relationship, and writing about idyllic romances isn't helping her overall maudlin state. Still, she wishes Fru Fru had given her the chance to make that choice herself instead of tricking her into a club outing.
"Fine," she says, and there's a voice like her mother's whispering in the back of her mind saying maybe you shouldn't go crazy, Jude, you have a deadline but there's a whole dance floor to tear up and if Judy's here she might as well make use of it. "But I'm going to yell at you later."
"Of course," says Fru, raising a champagne glass, and Judy blinks. She doesn't even know where Fru Fru found it. She wants to be mad, but her friend is grinning so endearingly that it melts into exasperation. Tinged with fondness, no less!
Scowling, Judy shoves through the crowd on the "regular-sized" floor, elbowing her way up to the bar. Fortunately the bar is tiered, with different levels for different sized mammals, and she makes her way to the one that will fit her best.
"Tequila shot," she says, rapping her knuckles on the bar and finding herself forced to admit that she kind of likes the feeling of demanding a drink.
But she's not here to have fun. If she's going to go try to score, she's going to need some liquid courage, and tequila is about the only hard liquor she can stand the taste of. She turns around, leaning against the bar, and scans the crowd, hoping to find a buck that catches her eye. Instead there's a flash of red in her peripheral vision and then a voice that she knows all too well.
"Carrots?" Judy groans, turning to face the obnoxious barista. He's wearing a hideous shirt and a stunned expression. It's a bit of an ego boost to watch his eyes drift down her frame and get trapped down there, but it's also irritating. She clears her throat and he starts guiltily. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question," Judy says sharply. This is just her luck. Exactly the guy she was trying to ignore, and then--
Her shot arrives and she slams it back, nodding at the bartender to let her know she'd like another one. Nick whistles.
"Okay," he says, nodding like he understands everything. "So we're here to forget someone."
She wants to scream.
"Yeah," she says, drawing out the word. Maybe if she avoids eye contact he'll take the hint. She scans the dark oak countertop, idly noting notches in the wood, drink rings, a smear of something purple.
"Huh," says Nick. She glances at him, forgetting her resolution to avoid eye contact, and he shrugs. "Sorry," he says, sounding not very. "It's just that you're in the shop so much, I kind of figured you weren't seeing anyone. Hell, by the end there I was probably seeing you more than your boyfriend." He grins at her, but it slides away when she doesn't react. He clears his throat. "Uh, or girlfriend. Date... friend?"
"None of your business," says Judy. Her second shot arrives and she slams that, too, telling the pig behind the bar to put it on Fru Fru's tab. This is all her friend's fault.
"Right," says Nick. There's a strange sound to his voice, and she looks at him. Again. It's not that she wants to check on him or anything, it's just that she's curious. She does see him a lot, and he's... different, somehow, under the flashing lights, shouting over the thumping bass of the music. He returns her gaze, and something kicks in her stomach.
"I'm gonna go dance," she says. Nick nods.
"Knock yourself out," he says. "I'd join, but my moves would kill you."
And it's definitely just because of the fact that she just tossed back more liquor in minutes than she's had in weeks, it's just because Fru Fru has sent her mind swirling with sensual thoughts, but it doesn't really matter why when the end result is the same:
"Try me," Judy says, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Nick actually freezes. It's weird that she can see it, because he wasn't even moving before.
"You sure?" he asks. There's that strange hint of something again, and it makes Judy tingle all over.
"Get over here before I change my mind, Nicholas," she says. A smile creeps onto his face. It's bright and wide and real, nothing like the sarcastic smirks he offers her at the coffee shop, and whatever it is in her stomach kicks again.
"Fine," he says. "Just remember that you asked for this, Fluff."
*
Judy hasn't been this drunk in a long time. Maybe, even, in her life. The world has boiled down into a slightly burred melee of lights and music and lots of sweaty bodies and, most importantly, Nick.
His moves are not devastating. They're not disappointing. They just... exist. He's quite a mediocre dancer. Judy finds it charming. She likes the way he twirls her around when she calls him out on it, and she likes the way he apologizes profusely when he steps on her foot. She likes the way he folds his arms and watches her bounce around, shaking all her work-related frustration and exhaustion onto the dance floor.
She likes him, she's realizing in retrospect and in the moment. She has for a long time, even. But he's too cool for her, too funny and clever and secure in himself in a way that she will never be, so she's been swallowing it down. Now, though, with him shining blue and purple under the club lights, with him wincing when a particularly loud song comes on, with him breaking into a smile when she shouts "I love this song!"...
It's easier, now. Lubricated by the tequila and the dancing, loosened by the fact that she hasn't thought about her manuscript in hours, she grabs his hands and pulls him into a dance with her. He smiles indulgently and her heart skips. Distracted, she trips over her own foot. Nick steadies her with his hands on her waist, laughing.
"Easy there, Carrots," he says. He tries to take his hands away but Judy grabs his wrists and returns his paws to her waist. Then, upon reflection, she drags them lower, to her hips. Nick's paws flex against her and she makes an indecent sound at the way his claws dig into her skin through her dress. His eyes widen at that and he laughs nervously. "Let's get you home, yeah?"
"My home or yours?" Judy asks, looking up at him through her lashes. She's kind of enjoying the height difference, the way he towers over her. Her mind drifts in decidedly salacious directions, and she bites her lip. He coughs awkwardly.
"Yours, definitely," he says. She leans into him, swaying to the beat still, and his arms wrap around her. It's so instinctual and it feels so good to be all wrapped up. She sighs happily into his fur. She can feel him stiffen underneath her. "All right," he says. "Time to go."
*
Judy wakes up with a splitting headache and snapshots of memory.
Nick, calling a zoober on his phone, holding her paw because she'd tripped one too many times up the stairs and he didn't trust her not to take a tumble again.
Her head resting in a warm soft lap, paws with claws tracing patterns in the fur on the back of her neck.
The door at her apartment held open for her as, somehow, he helped her across the threshold at the same time.
She attempts to get her eyelids open and is rewarded with blinded light. She groans and flings a hand across her eyes to protect herself. Everything hurts.
When she finally gets her eyes open (it takes a while because she has to work up to it) there's a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on her bedside table.
She grabs for them gratefully, tossing back two of the painkillers and downing the water in one go. Though her head is still splitting open, she feels around under her bed until she feels the corner of her laptop. She has an idea.
Nick glances up when she walks into the coffee shop and then does a double take. She can't blame him. It's been almost two weeks since she drank herself under the table and had to be walked home. He probably thinks that she's been avoiding him, which is definitely part of the reason she's been steering clear of the coffee shop.
There's another reason, of course, and she plunks that reason down in front of him in the form of a stack of papers.
"What is this?" he asks, looking both amused and concerned. "Also, are you okay? Did you get alcohol poisoning?"
"Miraculously, no," she returns, and then taps the papers. "But I got an idea. And I wrote it. And now I have a manuscript."
"Whoa!" he says, ears pricking up. "You wrote this in two weeks?"
"A week and six days," she says, because she can't help herself. "And yeah. Scrapped the original idea and wrote this."
"Why?" he asks, but he looks like he knows. Her heart is in her throat. Being this scared is foreign and kind of awful. She's written about it dozens of times and she's never experienced it. It's only the faint tinge of hope in Nick's eyes that gives her the courage to press on.
"Well," she says, and her voice is shaky. She shoves her hands into her armpits to hide the fact that they're shaking, too. "I figured out what Portia needed."
"Oh? And what was that?"
"Somebody that annoyed her but cared for her when it came down to it."
"Yeah?" She isn't positive that it's hope in his voice, but she can't imagine what else it might be. She nods, starting to feel a little more confident.
"And maybe someone she had already known for a while. But just didn't realize that she cared about, too, because she was stuck in her own mind and she was looking for something perfect instead of good."
"Huh." Judy has never seen Nick nervous but she's being treated to the sight now. His tail is swishing sporadically behind him and she doesn't think he even knows. It's impossibly sweet and endearing.
"Yeah," she says, and his obvious uncertainty is lending her bravery. "Do you agree?"
"Well," Nick says, and he twists a napkin in his hands. "I think you're the one that knows your character best, Carrots. that being said, I personally wouldn't be opposed to the, uh, I guess, twist maybe? But of course, that's only if--"
Judy has never seen Nick speechless, and to be fair she doesn't see him clam up so much as feel him freeze when she vaults into the counter and pulls his mouth to hers. She also hears him let out the sweetest and most delicious noise of shock against her lips before he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close and cupping the back of her head with a hand. He's a surprisingly good kisser when he's not frozen in astonishment, and she finds herself melting into him, cherishing the sounds he makes, the gasps he takes when she tries something new. Soon enough she has to pull back, partly for air and partly because they need to exchange a few more words.
"Whoa," Nick breathes. His swagger and easy confidence are gone, replaced with something softer and more true. She can't help kissing him again, but when he tries to deepen it she pulls back.
"Do you think that's an okay ending?" she asks. It's not fair that she's not saying it outright but she's just not brave enough. And besides, he's not stupid. He knows what she means.
"No," says Nick, and Judy's stomach plummets. She can't believe she read this so wrong. She can't—his lips turn up into a smile and she can breathe again. "But I think it's a really promising beginning."