Chapter Text
Judy’s POV
“Knock, knock, ZPD! And by that I mean it’s me, Judy. Open up, or I will bust in.”
I called out after knocking on Pawbert’s oversized front door. Normally I might’ve worried he couldn’t hear me, but I knew he could.
A chill ran through me as I debated letting myself in, but I decided against it. I waited. As seconds stretched into minutes, I began to wonder if he really was dropping the program. I lifted my foot to turn away and call another cab when the door finally creaked open. Pawbert looked like he hadn’t slept all weekend. His fur was disheveled, whiskers frayed at the ends. It was hard to believe it had only been a few days since I’d last seen him.
“Oh geez, what happened? You look… not great. No offense.”
He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked back into the house. I hesitated for half a second before stepping inside. We entered what I assumed was the living room due to the massive fireplace, enormous flatscreen mounted above it, and the cluster of expensive-looking sofas arranged around a polished coffee table.
“I just didn’t want you freezing out there.”
His tone was flat, and he didn’t turn toward me when he spoke. It was a stark contrast to the quiet kindness he’d shown for most of Friday.
“Uh… thanks. Why weren’t you at the meeting this morning?”
He dropped onto the sofa and began flipping through channels without answering. Right. Not in a talkative mood. Time to adjust my approach.
I took a seat across from him, not on the same sofa. A small distance, but enough to guarantee me a small bit of safety from the rather unpredictable lynx.
Eventually he settled on a documentary about some musician I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t exactly boring, but it wasn’t something I would’ve picked either. The longer it played, the more I felt oddly out of place, like my own tastes were somehow lowbrow compared to the clearly cultured individual next to me.
He hadn’t said much of anything. Yet somehow, that silence felt louder than words. I shifted in my seat, forcing my foot to stay still against the cold floor.
“Well… the documentary’s been interesting, but if you’re not feeling well, you could’ve just said so. I can call a cab and tell Bogo you’ll be back tomorrow—”
Pawbert cut me off, his voice quiet but edged with steel.
“I’m not going back.”
I was on my feet before I realized it, my paws thrown up in a mixture of frustration and exasperation. I had worked so hard to try to help him.
“Are you kidding me? You fought to have me as your mentor. I know Friday didn’t go perfectly, but that’s not an excuse to quit. You’re a grown animal, Pawbert. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life stuck in this house, you need to act like it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then he laughed. It was cold and unfeeling, but not lacking amusement.
“Even when I threaten to bail on your little program and make you look bad, you’re still worried about my future. Not your own.”
I broke eye contact and looked anywhere but at him. My voice was quiet when it finally left my mouth.
“That’s my job, I have to believe you can be better, and I have to try to help make that happen… I’m sorry Friday was difficult. I don’t want you to give up.”
He stood and his height filling my field of vision, crowding the space I was taking up without technically touching me.
“I’m not giving up, Judy. I’m accepting reality. You, on the other paw, seem to make a habit of rejecting it.”
My ears twitched and I backed up, but only found the sofa instead of chances of escape.
“No matter how desperate you are for connection, I won’t play along. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Understanding.”
His eyes held mine now.
“Your family never understood you. Your friends may have admired you, but that isn’t the same thing. And Nick? Maybe he can predict you. But understanding you? That’s something deeper.”
It unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. I knew he didn’t understand me, but he was touching on fears I’d never said out loud. What if I was pulling Nick toward something he didn’t actually want?
What if he’d been happier before, before me, before all of this?
What if I was just looking for someone to mirror me back to myself?
No. He was just getting under my skin. Relax, Judy.
“Pawbert, stop. I didn’t force you into this program. You asked me to be your mentor.”
He rolled his eyes and slouched back onto the sofa.
“Fine, my mistake for being honest for a second. Clearly that’s not what you’re looking for. You prefer a happy fairy tale. Impress the ones who doubt you, and eventually they’ll accept you.”
He paused, his gaze flickering to the tv.
“I understand that mindset. I used to live that way too.”
I glanced toward the door. I could make it. If things shifted, if I felt even a hint that this was going somewhere dangerous, I could run.
But looking at Pawbert, disheveled and looming in every measurable way. He was larger, wealthier, and physically stronger than me, yet I felt something stubborn settle in my chest. Duty. And, frustratingly, the urge to help someone who seemed determined to push everyone away.
He didn’t deserve it. But maybe he could.
I sat back down and crossed my arms, forcing my voice into something steadier than I felt.
“We don’t have to talk about rehabilitation. Or anything, really. But I’m not watching this.”
I reached for the remote resting on the end table between our sofas. It felt strangely symbolic, like offering an olive branch while still keeping my footing. I flipped through the channels until I landed on Wuthering Heights, an older film I’d watched with my family years ago. The familiarity settled over me, warm and steady.
Maybe not the safest pick. As the opening scenes played, I couldn’t help noticing that the lynx beside me carried a similar storm-cloud intensity to Heathcliff. I suppose in my vague recollection of the movie he could come off as misunderstood, resentful, and convinced the world had already decided his place in it.
Still, it was a classic.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke before Pawbert broke the silence.
“You’re not leaving?”
He was quiet for a moment, long enough that I almost let myself relax into the movie.
“I used to think we were the good guys, my siblings and me. We genuinely thought our family invented the weather wall. Like full pride, full legacy, whole ‘Lynxleys change the world’ speech at dinner. Very dramatic.”
He huffed softly.
“I didn’t find out the truth until I got in contact with Gary with that stupid letter. I kept telling myself there had to be a reason, like maybe great-grandpa just… borrowed the patent. Aggressively. Or maybe it was some weird clerical error that lasted seventy years.”
Pawbert shook his head slightly before continuing, a small forced smile appearing for a moment before leaving his face. I couldn’t help but noticed how much more handsome he was when he was happy, even if the smile hadn’t been a sign of true happiness. Wonder what he would look like then?
“But then I watched you. You work your tail off— sorry, is it technically tail or cotton ball? Not important. You give everything. And they still treat you like you’re optional. That’s when it clicked. It’s not about good or bad. It’s about winners and losers. And no matter how hard you try… well sometimes it just is what it is.”
I sighed. So he did want to talk, just not about what I was asking.
“Alright, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say the world really is that black and white. What then? You just sit here and let it swallow you? No risks, no new attempts at anything? You play guitar. You have interests and money. You’re charismatic, whether you like admitting it or not. You’re actually fun to be around, Pawbert. I’m not going to sit here and list your strengths while you dodge the real issue. If something’s wrong, just say it.”
Eyes glued to the television, he tried to brush me off.
“Just forget it.”
Really?
I leaned forward slightly. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give me this whole ‘we’re underdogs’ speech and then pretend you’re not quitting. You’re not being an underdog Pawbert, you’re being a coward.”
He finally looked at me, irritation flashing across his face.
“No, you don’t get it. It’s more complicated than that for me.”
“How?” I pressed.
He hesitated, jaw tightening.
“I—I… I can’t tell you. Not everything.”
I held his gaze, he wasn’t just getting out of this and wasting his life.
“You can keep secrets. As long as they don’t put anyone in danger.”
Shit, I’m being to harsh. I know that’s not how I get to him, changing tactics. My voice softened slightly with my next words.
“I’m here to help you, Pawbert.”
I was surprised when I noticed his hands trembling. At first it was subtle, just a faint shake in his fingers, but it spread quickly, moving up his arms until his whole body seemed to quiver. He’d been holding himself together this entire time. And it seemed that he was losing the grip.
His jaw tightened as he tried to steady his breathing. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, stripped of the sharpness it had carried before.
“I… I lost something. Something important to me.”