He wasn't coming.

The inside of the bar was almost as lifeless the outside. You'd think a place that catered to dogs would have a touch of pizazz to it; maybe some bright, bone-print wallpaper, canvases hanging on the wall with "inspirational" quotes about the bond between man and dog in rainbow lettering, even a fluffy basket or two in the corner. But no. This place, of which Chase had only visited twice before, looked like just about any other dive in the city. The floor was worn and sticky in ways he didn't want to think about, as was the counter his paws rested upon. Above him was suspended a row of fairy lights, four of which weren't working, and the only decor was a neon outline of a cocktail glass plastered on the wall, unless you counted the ceiling fans. It was Tuesday, so the joint was practically empty of both humans and dogs alike.

Of course, he wasn't coming. Why would he?

Chase sighed at the little glass sitting in front of him, untouched. He'd gone simple; some dog-friendly brand of whiskey he'd already forgotten the name of that happened to be cheap as hell. The one good thing about this dump was you didn't get ripped off. It was the only decent reason he had for coming back. He closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. Today's shift had been long as it had been crappy. In hindsight, arranging this...whatever it was for tonight had been a bad idea.

'You gonna drink that or just keep starin' at it?' A voice suddenly said.

Chase looked up to see the bartender standing in front of him, having materialised from somewhere. He was cleaning a glass with a filthy-looking rag and eying Chase like he was a particularly large rat. Not the best attitude for a so-called "dog friendly" establishment.

'Somethin' on your mind, copper? Dogs like you's ain't usually the type to neglect their booze.'

'Pretending to give a damn won't get you a better tip,' Chase replied flatly.

Back in Adventure Bay, Mayor Goodway had once told Chase he had the friendliest face out of everyone in the PAW Patrol. He must have lost it with age because, judging by how the barman sidled away without another word, his face looked anything but friendly right now. He'd come straight here after clocking off, not even bothering to change out of his police uniform. A dangerous move in some parts of the city, but Chase had been forced to develop his street smarts quickly since joining the force. Furthermore, most people - human, dog, or otherwise - didn't often get the urge to mess with a fully grown German Shepherd in a dark alley.

Chase sighed again and leaned back in his barstool. It, like the others, was designed to be accessible to both humans and dogs alike so he at least didn't have to worry about falling off. Not while sober, anyway. He checked the clock on the wall opposite the bar for the fifth time since getting here. Ryder was supposed to have arrived three minutes ago but it didn't matter because he wasn't coming, because why the hell would he? This was such a stupid idea. As if either of them didn't have better things to do than hang out in a craphouse like this. Chase knew the smart thing to do was to call Ryder again, make up some pointless excuse to save face and-

'Chase?'

Chase had been so occupied by his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the door open or the footsteps almost squelching on the floor. He turned so sharply that his stool wobbled and a brief, humiliating image of him falling flat on his muzzle flashed across his mind. 'Ryder...'

Ryder stood maybe three feet away, his hand resting on the back of the stool next to Chase's, like it was unsure of where else to go. For a full awkward second, the two just stared at each other. Ryder looked the same as when Chase had seen him last; on that talkshow interview with the annoying host who laughed obnoxiously at his guests' every other word as if it was some hilarious zinger. Ryder had been a special guest, talking about the new search and rescue program and workshops he was pioneering, and yet so radically different than the last time they'd spoken in person. He was much taller, for one. His hair was shorter, not quite as spiked, and instead of his PAW Patrol gilet, he wore a black turtleneck. It was November and it wouldn't be long before the snows came. Ryder's face was less rounded these days, sharper with maturity, and he was clean shaven. Chase's nose detected exactly three squirts of expensive cologne and he noticed the silver watch on Ryder's left wrist. The only thing that had never seemed to change was his eyes.

Chase realised he needed to say something otherwise this was going to be a very uncomfortable start to their reunion.

'Uh...hey. I didn't think you'd come.' It had sounded far less lame in his head.

'Yeah, sorry I'm late. I couldn't find the place, kept going in circles.'

Another awkward pause.

'I'm gonna sit now,' Ryder said, gesturing almost robotically to the stool beside Chase. He seemed about as unsure of how to act as Chase felt, which he wasn't sure was a comfort or not. He sat in the stool and rested his hands on the counter, fingers laced together. The bar tender reappeared, giving Ryder an appraising look as he ordered a double gin and something. Once it was served, he walked away again, ignoring Chase completely this time.

'So,' Ryder said, holding his glass but not bringing it to his lips. 'This is...nice. I mean, God, how long has it been since we've hung out?'

Ten years and three months, technically, but who was counting?

'Yeah,' Chase replied with a forced little chuckle and a flick of his ears. 'A while.'

'I'll be honest, I was really surprised to get your call. I didn't even think you'd kept your pup-tag.'

In the front left pocket of Chase's uniform sat a piece of his childhood on a keychain. The little silver and blue shield was pristine, as if he'd worn it yesterday, and the yellow star in the centre still functioned. Over the years, Chase had told himself he'd throw it away at some point plenty of times but had never seemed to be able to. Even now, it went with him everywhere. He was sure his therapist would have a field day about it if she ever found out.

'I was surprised you still had your communicator. It was a total shot in the dark, to be honest.'

That much was true. The night after Ryder's appearance on TV, Chase had been home alone (naturally) and found himself toying with his pup-tag. Out of nowhere, he'd been overcome with the urge to press that little star, just to see if it still worked, he told himself. The last thing he expected was to hear Ryder's voice on the other end a few seconds later. Now, somehow, here they were.

'Yeah...guess I couldn't bear to part with it,' Ryder said, turning away slightly and taking his first sip.

To avoid yet another uncomfortable silence, Chase leaned over and lapped softly at his whiskey. He found the way it burned in his throat oddly steadying.

'I saw you on TV last week,' he said. Well, more blurted. Ryder looked at him, brows risen.

'Really? You saw that?'

'Yeah, you were talking about your new search and rescue thing. Sounds...cool.' Then he quickly added, 'I'm sure it'll be a big success.'

'Thanks,' Ryder replied, setting his drink down. The way he was looking at Chase now made it extremely difficult to meet his eyes. 'Is...that why you called?'

Chase was stricken. 'No,' he said too quickly. 'I mean, uh, I watched your interview and...uh, I guess it got me thinking that, y'know, we hadn't talked in a while and...yeah.'

Ryder's face didn't change. 'So, what? Ten years of radio silence and you suddenly decide to call out of nowhere? Just like that? Kinda weird isn't it?'

Chase suddenly wished for his new best friend, the bar tender, to show up again. Or maybe for a meteor to fall through the ceiling. 'Ryder, I swear, I just wanted to catch up. That's all.'

There was a full heartbeat of tense silence before Ryder's face softened. 'Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound like an accusation. It's just...I got a lot of people wanting things from me at the moment. Guess I'm still on edge or whatever.'

'...Yeah,' was all Chase could respond with. He had no doubts that Ryder's successes and borderline celebrity status had brought out plenty of industry leeches over the years.

'Anyway,' Ryder said, clearing the air with a smile and turning to Chase in his stool. 'I gotta say, Chase, you look good. K-9 Commander? That suits you.'

Chase blinked. 'How'd you know?' Had Ryder been keeping tabs on him and his recent promotion?

Ryder smirked. 'It's on your uniform.'

His eyes flicked to the two silver stars beneath a canine-shaped silhouette pinned to Chase's right shoulder.

'Oh, yeah, that would explain it.' He laughed and Ryder did too and, in that moment, he felt the icy wall of discomfort between them truly begin to melt away. The conversation picked up from there, Ryder telling Chase all about his latest ventures in the world of rescue technology, and Chase, in turn, relaying stories of his time on the police force. He'd forgotten how easy Ryder was to talk to, back when he was a puppy calling out his silly little catchphrases and saving people from themselves. Ryder had always seemed to know the right thing to say, no matter the situation. Through every anxiety attack and night terror, every argument and falling out - Ryder had been there, calm and consoling. A rock in the tide.

Three drinks in, Chase was telling him about a particularly belligerent suspect pulled over for possession of illegal substances.

'So, this guy's got a dog with him, right? A bulldog, big, mean-looking fella, and he tries to set him on me.'

'No way!' Ryder said behind a laugh, downing the rest of his drink.

'Oh yeah. He's all like "Sic 'em, boy!" and I'm just stood there trying to de-escalate the whole thing, asking him to please not make this a violent situation, but it doesn't matter because the bulldog takes one look at me, and you know what he does? He jumps right outta the car and straight up bolts! Never seen such stubby legs move so fast.'

Ryder burst into another fit of laughter and Chase joined in, earning them a dirty look from the tender, who was now polishing glasses at the other end of the bar.

'I'm sorry,' Ryder said, wiping his eyes. 'When you said it was a bulldog, all I can picture is Rubble. Like that time he thought there was a monster running around Jake's mountain.'

Chase sniggered. 'I remember that. Poor guy was terrified.'

'I wonder what he's up to these days.'

'You haven't heard from him?'

Ryder shook his head. 'Not in years.'

Chase could scarcely remember the last time he'd been in contact with Rubble. After the PAW Patrol officially disbanded, Rubble had been the first to leave Adventure Bay, claiming he was going to be involved in some major architecture project or something. He'd then gone MIA, apparently disappearing off the face of the earth. To Chase's knowledge, no one had any idea where he'd gone or what (God forbid) had happened to him. Last he'd heard, everyone else seemed to have something going on; Skye was busy with her elite flight school, Rocky had started some kind of environmental movement, Marshall's face had appeared on a movie poster a year or two back, so that was a thing, Everest was involved in the Winter Olympics in some way, and Zuma...well, the less said about him the better. Chase looked up from his third whiskey and saw that a strange look had appeared on Ryder's face. All traces of merriment had vanished, replaced with something distant and detached, like his mind was somewhere else in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

'Ryder?' He said, now finding it difficult to keep the volume down. 'Hey, you okay?'

Ryder blinked and his gaze flicked to Chase. 'Yeah, sorry. It just kind of hit me...God...that was so long ago. All of it. More than ten years. How the hell did that happen?'

'Yeah,' Chase replied, suddenly put off his drink a little. He gently pushed it aside with a paw. 'Feels like yesterday we were in the lookout. What happened to that place, anyway?'

'Demolished,' Ryder said flatly, staring into his empty glass. 'They tore it down. Used the land for housing.'

'Oh.'

The silence between them was different this time. If Chase was the artistic type, he'd have described it as almost melancholic. From where he sat, he could see through the window by the door on his left. It had begun raining outside.

'I'm sorry.'

Chase's attention snapped back to Ryder, positive he'd misheard in his tipsy state. 'Huh?'

'I said I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

'Just...everything.'

Chase frowned. His brain already felt slower and more sluggish than he liked and Ryder's words were confusing. 'What does that mean, Ryder?'

Ryder was quiet for so long Chase thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he spoke again. 'I just...I should've kept us together.'

Chase's ears lowered. He was still sober enough to have an idea of where this was headed. 'Ryder-'

'I had the nerve to mention how you hadn't called me in years, but I didn't call either. So, what does that make me?' He chuckled, but there was no humour in it this time, and went on. 'I haven't spoken to the others, y'know. Not nearly as much as I should've, anyway. Skye, Rocky, Marshall, you. I've kept tabs, sure, yet I can't bring myself to call once in a while, and I've no idea why. I tell myself it's work, that I'm too busy and you're all too busy but...I don't know. And then there's Zuma...' He trailed off and suddenly looked so sad that Chase thought his heart would break. He felt a pang of anger as well. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was some deep-seated instinct to reject anything that made his oldest friend unhappy, the same instinct he'd always felt as a puppy.

'Don't,' he said firmly, sitting up straighter and leaning a little closer to Ryder. 'Don't go there. Don't bring up that damn book.'

'It's not just about that,' Ryder said, meeting his eyes. 'I'd just never entertained the idea that it would be like this with us, y'know?'

'None of us did,' Chase said earnestly. 'But, I mean, we're here now aren't we? You and me, together again. That's gotta count for something, right?' The words felt thick and clumsy in his mouth and he made a mental note not to order anything else except a glass of water. Ryder gave Chase one of his scrutinising looks that made him feel like he was made of glass, transparent and oh so fragile.

'Why did you call me, Chase? Really, I mean,' he asked softly.

'I...' Time to dog up and be honest, Commander, his brain told him and there was no room for arguing this time. 'I just...miss you, Ryder. I miss the hell out of you, and Skye, and Rocky, and Marshall, and Rubble, and Everest, and...and hell, even Zuma.' Now that he'd started, he found he couldn't stop, the words pouring out of him like a loose faucet. 'I think about you guys all the time: at work, at home. I think about Adventure Bay and all the amazing things we did back when we were a team. I remember the last time I felt...' His chest was tight, his uniform constricting and unnatural. '...felt useful.'

'Chase-,' Ryder began but Chase continued.

'I think about you but I don't call because I've no idea what to say, because there's nothing TO say. You guys are off doing cool things with your lives, Rubble could be dead for all anyone knows, and I'm pretty sure Zuma hates my guts most of all, so where does that leave me? I became a cop because that's all I know how to do. I think about you because...because I've got nothing else worth thinking about.'

With the monologue over, Chase felt like a balloon that had had all the air sucked out of it. He slumped in his stool, refusing to look at Ryder, and reconsidering his earlier 'no more drinks' stance. When he finally did muster the courage to glance to his right, he saw Ryder staring at him. He looked almost nauseated.

'Chase, I...' He said quietly. 'I don't even know what to say.'

'You don't have to say anything,' Chase replied. 'My, uh, therapist is helping me work on it.'

The rain had gotten worse. What had been a soft drizzle was now pelting against the windows of the bar, almost drowning out the volume of the football game playing on the TV above their heads. It was a while before Ryder spoke again.

'You were always such a stress head, back then,' he said. A little smile had played across his lips and he was toying with his empty glass once more. 'You were like this little ball of responsibility, always the brave and sensible one.'

Chase snorted, unsure how else to react to the sudden turn in the conversation. 'I don't know about that...'

'No, it's true,' Ryder said, turning to face him again. 'I never played favourites, Chase, or at least I never tried to. I swear to God, it was never about that, no matter what anyone thinks or says. I need you to know that. But...I don't know, I guess I just knew that, if something ever happened to me or anything like that, if anyone could look after the others, it would be you. That's why you were my second.'

He paused and Chase didn't dare say anything. He realised he was actually holding his breath and had to force himself to breathe normally before Ryder continued.

'God, you were so small back then. All of you were. I put so much on your shoulders and you never complained, not once, and I'm sorry for that. Really, I am. You were just pups, and the world expected so much from you. I expected so much from you.'

'...You were just a kid too, Ryder,' Chase said quietly. The tightness in his chest hadn't gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse. It wasn't what he was used to; the vice-grip of panic crushing his lungs. This was different. Softer, slower, and infinitley more upsetting.

Ryder just shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. You were my responsibility. Rubble and Zuma were my responsibility, and look how that turned out. Guess I wasn't the leader I thought I was.'

Chase opened his mouth to deny him, to spew out the truths of how he was a great leader, how Chase had secretly idolised him his entire puppyhood, wanted to be just like him, how that's why he'd always been the "brown-nose" he'd been called so many times, because Ryder was simply the best thing since sunshine and no stupid, spiteful biography, or bad press, or online smear campaigns would ever change that, but Ryder beat him to it.

'Maybe I don't have the right to say this,' he said with a calm ferocity, 'but, I don't ever want you to feel like you're less than anyone, because you're not, Chase. You're a hero. You're MY hero. I know I never said it enough back then, but please, please believe me when I say that I am so unbelievably proud of you.'

Chase's eyes burned as he stared up at his old owner in silence. What was there for him to say now? Ryder's words tore through him in a way he was wholly unprepared for. Anyone else listening in might have found it cheesy, forced even, but Chase felt something reach deep inside him and rip up the foundations of the dam he'd spent over ten years building, releasing the flood. The words he'd never imagined hearing, yet longed to hear for who knew how long rendered him into the puppy standing by the intersection where he'd been abandoned, hurt and confused and hopeful as he listened to Ryder tell him how, despite everything, he was born to be a hero. Everything shifted in a moment, in that dive bar, in the rain, and Chase was so overcome with a thousand different feelings he thought he might come apart. Then, the moment was over and reality set itself back into place, like a CD coming to the end of its run. There was a sudden buzz from Ryder's left pocket. He blinked and reached into it, producing a smartphone almost the same size as his old communicator.

'Damn it,' he muttered, frowning at the screen and typing furiously.

'Everything okay?' Chase asked. The quick distraction had given him a second to compose himself and ensure his voice wouldn't crack when he spoke.

'Yeah, just work nonsense,' Ryder replied, pocketing the phone. 'Listen, Chase, I really hate to end it like this, but I need to get going.'

Chase eyed the clock on the wall opposite the bar and saw that they'd been there for just over three hours. How had that happened?

'Yeah, it's late, I should get home as well,' he said more casually than he felt. He stretched in the stool, his joints popping stiffly.

After a brief debate on who was paying their tab (Ryder insisted on covering it but Chase point blank refused since the whole thing had been his idea), the two made their way to the door, the barman watching them the whole time. Chase's eyelids felt heavy and his steps a little uneven, and he made a note to drink water before going to bed. It was pouring outside when Ryder pushed the door open, raindrops the size of marbles splattering aggressivley against the tarmac.

'Great,' Ryder muttered, surveying the darkness. 'And me without my jacket.'

'I'd offer you mine but I'm not sure it'd fit,' Chase replied.

Ryder smirked. 'Thanks, but I think I'll manage.'

There was a pause, neither of them taking the first step into the deluge.

'Chase?'

Chase looked up at Ryder. 'Yeah?'

'Call me again, okay? Soon. We need to do this again. My treat next time.'

'I...yeah. Yeah, you got it, Ryder.'

'You promise?'

Chase grinned and stood up straighter, pantomiming a salute. 'Chase is on the case.'

Ryder raised his eyebrows a fraction, seemingly caught off guard. Then, he beamed and his white teeth reflected the glow of a nearby streetlight. 'You've no idea how much I've missed hearing that. You'd better call, Commander, 'cause if you don't, I'm gonna come find you. I know where you work.'

'Whatever you say, Ryder, Sir.'

The two smiled at each other before Ryder took a breath and stepped out into the rain. 'Well, until next time, then. Bye, Chase.'

'Bye, Ryder.'

Ryder turned and hastened down the street, using his arms as a futile shield against the downpour. Chase watched him turn the corner and vanish into the night before stepping into the rain himself and beginning the trek home. He knew plenty of shortcuts and so hopefully wouldn't be too sodden by the time he got there. On the way, he found himself thinking about it would be like to invite the others along next time; Skye, Rocky, Marshall, and Everest, if they weren't too busy and were up for it. Maybe even Zuma at some point in the future as well. God knew they had plenty of things to clear up between them. Chase smiled to himself. He would suggest it to Ryder and they could talk about it, perhaps arrange something.

Next time.