Chapter 2: Don't try to change me

The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise still atmosphere. Rays of the waning sunlight peeked in through the upper windows of the puphouse, checking to see what was going on inside. A repurposed lamp illuminated the back wall, a soft glow resonating through the cozy structure. The shadow of a mixed breed projected itself on the floor, both literally and metaphorically. Rocky considered this irony, as he stared at his shadow. A salty taste enveloped the corner of his maw, as a fresh tear fell from his eye. Rocky wasn't upset because Skye was insensitive; it was because he knew the cockapoo was right. He wasn't a good friend to Zuma: the pup most excited to spend time with the mixed. From the first day he joined the Paw Patrol to now, the fun-loving chocolate laborador supported Rocky, played with him, and listened closely on the rare occasion he would say something. Zuma really considered Rocky to be his best friend, but he let Zuma down. He was a terrible friend. He wouldn't talk to him. He wouldn't even repay Zuma's kindness.

I thought that the isolation would be comforting. But now, I just feel alone.

All hope was not lost though. Because in Adventure Bay, if you had something to get off your chest, or even a question that you couldn't' ask anyone else, there was a solution. That solution was a clumsy fire pup.

Smack

"Oww…" Marshall groaned as he collided with Rocky's puphouse door. Rocky knew that he couldn't hide from Marshall; he'd already tried that many times to no success. But he really didn't want to talk either. Instead, he just opened his puphouse door, giving the Dally a blank stare.

"Heyyy, Rocky…sorry for crashing into your puphouse, I thought I would check up on you…are you there, buddy?"

Rocky was still sitting there, not saying a word. After an awkward silence lasting an eternity, Rocky finally muttered:

"Marshall, I don't want to talk right now."

The mixed breed closed the door on his dalmatian friend, slumping into his beanbag.

The best thing to do is just ignore him. It'll feel better if I don't think about it.

Suddenly, the dally opened the puphouse door again.

"You can tell me Rocky. What's wrong?" Marshall asked, trying to get Rocky to speak his mind.

"Nothing really. Some pups are just making a big deal about everything for some reason." Rocky sported a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look that told Marshall that the mixed was getting uncomfortable about him being there. He didn't want to upset Rocky, but he knew Skye was right that Rocky needs to talk to Zuma.

"Look, Rocky. I'm not going to lie; I think Skye was right: not that you're a bad friend to Zuma, but that you should just talk to him about what's going on."

"But I'm a bad friend; I can't even talk to pups when its not complicated," Rocky confessed.

"Life is not over, Rocky," the dally explained, "You still have time to talk to Zuma. He's not even expecting that anyone is going to see him; he thinks that everyone is mad at him for what happened."

"What happened?" Rocky asked in curiosity.

"I don't exactly know yet. But what I do know is that you can help Zuma, and you're not a bad friend."

"Don't try to change me, Marshall. I'm just the shy pup that can't talk to anyone." Rocky cowered, becoming more uncomfortable with the extended conversation.

"I can't change you, Rocky, but I think you want to change. I've seen how you're friends with Zuma; heck, if I didn't know you better, I would've thought you two were in love. Even if you don't think so, Zuma adores you, and I know that he would really like if you went over to talk to him."

Rocky considered Marshall's words, persisting the silence that followed. He didn't know what to say, but it felt like Marshall gave a whole new insight into his relations with Zuma. After considering what he was going to say, he replied to the onlooking dally:

"Wow, Marshall, someone gave you a really special gift. You always know what to say in every situation."

The dally perked up at Rocky's comment.

"Thank you Rocky. It makes me happy that you said something so nice."

Marshall arose and opened the puphouse door. "If you need to talk, Rocky, I'll be around. I know talking isn't your strong suit, but that's okay with me."

Marshall made a swift exit, gently closing the metal door. Rocky considered the fire pup's words, specifically about how he was almost like a lover in his friendship with Zuma.

Marshall, Chase, Skye...no one will ever know because I'll never tell anyone this, ever. But maybe my relations with Zuma are like a lover...because I love him.

Just thinking about such a shocking revelation made Rocky uncomfortable as love was the pinnacle of social togetherness. Yet, as terrifying as the thought was, it also brought him an uncanny warmth, one he hadn't felt before...

Maybe the thermostat is broken again. I'd better check.

"Okay, okay, I'm just going to start off slow. Then, I'll get into the real talk..." Chase muttered to himself, formulating a plan in his mind. He didn't want to risk talking to Zuma unprepared, especially in the state that the lab was in. Being the police pup, Chase always wanted to bring justice to the situation and have a good resolution to a problem, and he simply couldn't stand to see one of his friends so upset. After a few more minutes formulating his plan, the shepherd trotted up to the bright orange puphouse.

Knock Knock

"Come in," Zuma muttered, sulking in the corner of his puphouse. Chase entered Zuma's puphouse, and he immediately developed a concerned expression upon seeing the state of the lab. Zuma looked up at Chase, very surprised that he was here. Chase couldn't get frazzled now, otherwise, he would risk saying something stupid and making Zuma even more upset.

"Chase, you're the last person I expected to see right now," Zuma replied, clearly dismayed, "Why would you want to talk to me? I almost killed you earlier. You probably hate my guts right now…just go on, say it. Say you hate me!"

"Zuma," Chase replied, a bit frazzled by the lab's sharp response, "I don't hate you. I would never hate you, especially not for your rescue."

"Chase, it was clearly YOUR rescue. You saved Chickaletta; I just messed up."

"I messed up too, Zuma. I shouldn't have jumped in after Chickaletta. I could have drowned. It's my fault that I took that risk."

"You wouldn't even have to think of doing something so crazy if I hadn't missed with my buoy!" Zuma was really starting to get upset by the discussion.

"Zuma, it comes to this. We both made mistakes today, but it's not uncharacteristic of us. We're the Paw Patrol, so naturally we hold ourselves to perfection. But when it comes down to it, we're pups, not machines. We're not perfect, no matter how much we want to be or how much the world wants us to be."

Zuma looked on with intent at Chase, listening closely to his words.

"I would only hate you if you were perfect. Because that would mean your not a pup, and your not the vivacious, fun loving, chocolate labrador that I know dearly. And I would hate to know that you were some kind of perfected machine because I wouldn't have such a great friend."

After a long silence, Zuma finally spoke.

"Yeah, I guess. But I still messed up."

A/N: Wow, it's almost been three months since I posted the first chapter of this story. I don't know if I should be disappointed by my lack of motivation for writing or happy that I finally decided to write again. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Stay pawsome!

-PawsomeHamster