A/N: A nice, cozy, deliciously long chapter for a happy new year! (' v ')/ Happy New Year to the Beans who've smiled, laughed, cried and squealed with this series. Can't wait to write more. 

Enjoy. Oh, and that's Halloumi fries up there :> 

_____________________

[Leroy]

You don't really sleep in the firehouse; even if it's your day off and you have your private room on the second floor, you don't. There's the instinct to jump right out of bed when a call comes through the PA system and then you lay awake fighting the restless urge to do anything even after the alarm stops, hearing the rushing of feet, slamming of doors somewhere downstairs. The horn. The engine and the truck coming to life and turning out of the bay, onto the street.

I used to be good with that, too. Staying awake, drifting in and out, waiting for the sun. But approximately two weeks over at that cozy apartment of his and I'd softened up. A single taste of high-quality sleep and I was addicted. Even back at my own flat, things were different.

Chief wasn't really surprised when I showed up at the door to his office at five in the morning with a letter in hand. Not exactly a letter. An application form, with other relevant documents attached.

"Morning sir." I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a tad bit nervous about breaking it to him. Station twelve's bureau chief looked up from the screen of his computer and nodded at the seat.

"Cox. It's your day off. What are you doing back here?"

"What do you mean? I'm always 'back here'," I'd meant it as an inside joke but saw it coming the moment he laughed.

"Not so much recently. Don't think I didn't notice," his gaze rested on the envelope I was holding onto. "I've known you for years. And I'm guessing that's for a sabbatical?"

I paused before the chair, not exactly taking a seat. "You knew?"

Chief gestured, again, at the seat; turning his swivel chair to face me straight on and resting his arms on the desk. Hands steepled. "Something's up on your end and we all knew. Probie was the one who first saw that photo of you going around. Shared it with a couple of others but Jaeger made sure no one approached you about this. Told me about it. I kept it under the wraps. Thought you'd come running to me someday but knew you'd never quit fire. So. Sabbatical."

I took the seat. Slow.

It was weird how he'd pieced things together just like Vanilla would've. Figured it out just by knowing me and then understanding bits and pieces of what was happening. Still, chief didn't know the full story.

I owed him that, at the very least. By the end of it, he'd brushed aside me not telling anyone else about working at a restaurant on my days off since... technically most firefighters did do odd jobs from time to time. All he said about that was me having to keep up with calls despite being mentally and physically exhausted. The thing about Siegfried Cox being blood-related, too, he didn't really seem to care.

I nodded while he gave me a lecture about putting myself in danger and then about doing nothing about Zales' cooking for years and making the crew put up with the crap. Had me swearing on a feast some time in the future before getting down to business. Approving my sabbatical.

Every station had their own take on the sabbatical leave policy. For twelve, crew members with above three years of service were allowed up to three months of sabbatical leave depending on the department. With a valid reason. Mostly related to the job. Stuff like dealing with the overwhelming stress of near-death experiences, facing the families of those who were burned alive... melting eyeballs. Don't know how else to describe it.

With the letter I had attached, chief would know: this had nothing to do with my professional performance or special training. It wasn't anything close to being work-related. It was just me sorting out my shit—which was why, realistically speaking, I was expecting to be fired on the spot.

Filling up the application form was a gamble. A gamble on the five years I'd spent putting out flames, climbing through windows, pumping chests. It was hard.

I had a day or two to think about it but as expected, it wasn't enough. I didn't want to lose them.

Chief had been quiet for some time and I thought it was my cue to leave so I stood and thanked him, heading for the door when he stopped me short. I turned and there he was, signing off at the bottom of the form, the casting letter beside it that had the details of the production and competition in ink.

"How does this work?" Chief held the paper at arm's length and lowered his head a little. He always got a kick out of annoying Parker by pretending he needed reading glasses. Parker's ten years younger. He wears reading glasses. "Does it stream live like a basketball match? Does the crew get to tune in? Can we do shirts and banners with your name on it to embarrass the fuck out of you?"

I laughed then, giving him the finger and he laughed. Too.

"Aight get outta here Cox. Can't stand that face of yours. Oh yeah, just told captain last night—you're off duty this Saturday, right? Got you guys tickets for that Winter Wonderland thing at Hyde. Split the crew into two. Saturday and Sunday. Get everyone synced up and make plans. Zales asked about plus ones and I gave her the green so do whatever you want with that info."

I paused at the door, gears slowing to a stop at the sound of Winter Wonderland and Christmas festivities in general 'cuz. For some reason every year, the number of fire calls spike over the days leading up to Christmas. We'd pass the event that usually spanned a good stretch of Hyde Park—rides, food carts, markets, skating rinks and all—but never really got involved in any of that. I'd spend one evening with Annie and Rexi and that was... pretty much it.

It felt a tad bit weird to be stirred by something that had been around for ages and was ultimately kinda commercialized. But still. Wouldn't hurt to unwind.

"Thanks chief."

*

I caught up on sleep and then biked down to my apartment to check on the state of my shithole, running into a small team of repairmen going at the pipes in my kitchen. The hole in the wall had been patched up and sanded down, leaving a huge grey patch beside the counter. Aesthetics aside, it was a decent job. The landlady and owner of the building had agreed on a two-day-timeframe for finishing touches on the repairs but by the look of it, the apartment wasn't entirely unlivable in its current state.

I threw out the old armchair that had accumulated a layer of dust and ash from the fire and got rid of the coffee table with the cracked glass tabletop and the tiny-ass green rug under it. And then with the help of a repairman, got rid of the loveseat too. Two armchairs remained. And a cabinet for my camera equipment.

The living room was practically empty. I could run laps and install a library. He would've liked that. After scrubbing down the rest of the furniture and giving the laminate flooring a go, the repairmen asked if I could give the water pipes in the house a check so I hopped into the shower for a quick one. Something was wrong with the heating but the water was running good. They said something about the electricity being unstable for now but that they had people coming down tomorrow to wrap things up. The time was four in the afternoon.

I thanked them and they left me to mind my shit. The last checkpoint of the day was the production company's office building. There were a couple of documents that needed dropping-off, including a copy of the approved sabbatical.

I gathered my things and checked the state of the master bedroom upstairs (the sheets had turned grey from all that dust and ash) while facetiming Annie and Rexi; just day three in a ward and already kicking up a fuss about hospital food. Understandable. I promised to send over some homemade chicken noodle soup for supper. She stopped whining after that.

The plan was to drop by the office with the paperwork, get out in five minutes flat, and head to the store for some ingredients before returning to the firehouse. That didn't happen.

Riding the elevator up to the twenty-second floor at The Shard took less than a minute but the next thing I knew, there were voices down the hall that stopped me in my tracks. At first, I thought I was just hearings things. It didn't make any sense for Erlynn to be here—she wasn't involved in any of this. She had no reason to be.

"...and look what you got him into."

I stepped out of the elevator and made no move to turn the bend. Just stopped and listened.

"Are you happy now? This is what you've been planning from the start—you should be happy. And now you wouldn't even let me see him after you've come between us."

"Erlynn," it was him. "Leroy isn't here. This is a private space. An office. If you would please—"

"Stop lying. I know he's been casted on the show; I don't understand how you keep this up! I know the kind of things you say about me to Roy behind my back and good for you, Vanilla—because it's working. Roy's changed. Of course he'd listen to the manipulative liar. Of course. You've done enough."

===================

[Vanilla]

Dear Erlynn, I am honored to hear that you think so highly of myself. Naturally, this isn't the first time I've been called a liar since, well, many chefs I've crossed seem to prefer that term over something out of an adult's dictionary but I digress. I never knew you thought so poorly of your dear friend Leroy. Unfortunately for you, he has a mind of his own which, although susceptible to the tendencies of an idiot, can be extremely learned and capable of functioning perfectly on its own without having to rely on external forces of the world. At times even, I consider him a genius! Nevertheless, you don't seem to agree because, well, to you, 'he'd listen to a manipulative liar'. Either you have developed an uncanny faith in Leroy and myself as a pair of lovebirds in the dizzy, rose-tinted world of romance or you actually regard human beings other than yourself as lesser minds. Both, equally appalling. I haven't spoken a word to Leroy—be it text or in person—since Sunday. That's four days, Erlynn. Our world does not revolve around each other and we are individual, independent minds that have our own views, opinions, personalities and characters. But you wouldn't know that, would you?

Of course you wouldn't.

"Tell me." I glanced down at my watch and adjusted the frames on the bridge of my nose as I did, providing her with the opportunity to run. Or at least take cover. "What kind of things do I say about you to Leroy behind your back? I am positively dying to know."

Erlynn scoffed. Visibly fazed. Alas, she hadn't been expecting the conversation to take such a turn and perhaps being a fellow conversation simulator myself, I knew exactly how she was feeling. "You know full well the kind of things—"

"Unfortunately, I am experiencing a bout of selective memory loss and would very much prefer to be directed to some concrete evidence regarding your claim. Could it be; you have screenshots of non-existent text messages between Leroy and myself? Or perhaps audio-recording devices planted in our rooms? What sort of things do I say about you, Erlynn? Because the last I recall, the conversations that Leroy and I partake in involving the matter of you has yet to exceed a grand total of ten seconds! How very significant a topic of conversation, don't you think. We absolutely love talking about you. Of course we do. Now, would you like a detailed analysis of those bare ten seconds or an argumentative essay about the importance of Erlynn as a conversational topic? Both, I assume. Because the last I checked, you seem to believe everything revolves around your lovely self. Oh no I am not denying that, I do think even the gravitational force of the earth changes with your every step since you apparently exist to alter those very calculations. This may sound rather revolutionary to yourself Erlynn, but if you would so kindly direct your attention and intellectual genius away from making baseless assumptions, I would genuinely, sincerely like to sit down with you for a cup of coffee—or tea, if you prefer—and we can work this out, resolve these terrible misunderstandings, and even come to terms with one another because petty little issues like you, Erlynn, aren't enough to faze what Leroy and I have."

I finished without breaking my gaze even once, breathing hard as I did only to notice that she, too, seemed rather spent by the processing of my stand. Her eyes were wide and red; nostrils flared and lips sealed shut. She looked like she was about to cry.

And because she was there for Leroy when I wasn't, I let it crack and flow. The guilt filled me then, forcing my gaze downwards and away from the conflict as it should have; backing down from the stand-off. It took me that instant to realize I'd gone too far and skipped the mental barriers and procedures I'd set in place to keep that part of myself in check.

"I'm sorry Erlynn. And I... please. We could speak another time but right now—" As I looked up, her gaze rested on something over my shoulder. The light in her eyes shifted.

"Roy?"

It slowed. Coming to a stop.

Just the sound of her heels as she shoved past my shoulder and went for someone behind whose footsteps felt as though I'd been hearing them all my life. A chilling dread led up to the moment before our eyes met and so heated were the flames that I flinched, averting my gaze at once.

She held onto his arm.

"I was looking for you. He said you weren't in the office but I knew you had to be," she said amidst tears. I hadn't a single ounce of energy left to correct her. "I was worried about you. I came to see if you were okay and I can't believe you've been putting up with his nonsense all this time. He's said some horrible things—"

"He's right."

I looked up.

Already, he was looking at me; several feet away from Erlynn who looked, herself, unusually stupefied. "Right? What do you—he's not right, Leroy. How can he... you literally just heard him lie and insult me through his—"

"He wasn't lying," was all he said at first, turning to her with a standard show of... of something I could not read. A cross between indifference and apathy. Just, nothing. "Pick a fight with me, fine. But with him, you're dealing with facts and nothing else. You picked the wrong person to mess with, so get destroyed. Simple.

"I don't know why you're upset. Like I said, he wasn't lying. Those weren't insults—just facts. I don't know why you're making a scene here like you did at Andre's last week. I don't want to know. Right now, I kinda just want you out of my life. Does that make things clearer for you?"

The moment was like a kettle on fire.

I'd nearly forgotten how he was like in flames. A kettle wasn't really angry when it was on fire. The blinding glow of the metal where the open flames licked and the piercing whistle in the air; the trembling lid, the bursts of steam into a flare—mere consequences of a circumstance. The kettle was serving its function.

How extremely difficult it was to swallow his lack of emotion, directed at someone who'd expected him to respond on a level equivalent to her own. Leroy was not generous; emotions for reserved for select few he actually cared about.

Erlynn said nothing. Her second bout of speechlessness in the span of an hour.

"Um. I. Sorry... to interrupt. I just. I don't wish for any of us to leave this building feeling terrible about ourselves, so. Perhaps we could come to terms with... with holding off the issue for now. Call it a truce. For the day. Without an ultimatum. And then perhaps some other time, a nice, calm conversation over a cup of tea."

Needless to say, this was proposed on selfish grounds. Simply put, I'd most probably already ruined Erlynn's lovely day and I wasn't about to have another on my tab. Although, well, I wasn't even sure what Leroy was doing here in the first place.

"No thanks."

Unfortunately, Erlynn did not like the sound of tea and, shoving past a small audience of three onlookers who's stopped short in their tracks seconds ago, left through the open elevator they'd arrived in. It all happened so quickly and suddenly that I hadn't quite formed an apology or word of farewell before realizing that for the first time in a while, Leroy and I were... so to say—alone.

Just the two of us.

"Um. Hello."

"Hey."

"Good evening. Though it's... sort of a bad one I suppose. I wasn't expecting... well of course no one was expecting... a-anyway, you must be busy. I'll leave you to it." The words were led astray before I could register where they were headed and internally, I was gasping for breath. The last thing I'd said to him was days ago; through tears and emotion. Falling down the crevice of a mind.

"You killed it." He stopped me in a language I couldn't understand. Several feet away. One hand in his pocket. Another with a folder sandwiched between his index and middle finger. "You were the avalanche."

I paused. Good heavens he really heard everything. "That was," I breathed a sigh. "A mistake on my part. I promised to hold back on your neighbor but look what I've gotten myself into. I'm sorry if that made things difficult for you."

His expression was a cross between a smile and a frown. And something else in his eyes. "I would've just said 'fuck off' 'cuz explaining takes energy. Not spending that on her."

A closer look revealed a lack of sleep under his eyes. "Oh. Well. G-good. I mean um, it is good that you are saving the energy that... never mind I'm not making any sense. It's just. You seem rather... tired."

He laughed a little. "Was up dealing with the legal shit. Applying for sabbatical. And studying."

"Studying?" I caught, fairly surprised. "You have an exam coming up?"

"... I mean if the preliminary rounds count as an exam, then." He gave me a look and I understood.

"So you... really agreed to this, then. I can't believe... this just... all seems so wrong. It's not just the kitchen here, it's the spotlight—i-it's TV, it's not going to be—"

"I know." He was close now; close enough to block my line of sight to the rest of the hallway and without a way to tell if we were alone. "It'll take some getting used to. And I don't love it yet. But Annie's right. I gotta try."

He pulled back as soon as he finished. As though that was the end of the secret he wanted to share and now, it was a burden shared. Points of logical reasoning fell through at the assessment of his claim that remained vague: Try what, exactly? What did Annie say to him? What does 'it' refer to? And were there not other methods to... trying?

He must have read my eyes because he was waiting. A question or two.

Someone passed us to our right. It was an inconvenient location, standing in the middle of an office hallway.

"You spoke your mother?"

"Everything."

"She knows you're... so—but, what did she say?"

He was staring at a spot over my shoulder. Someone on the production team he must be wary about. But either way, if he was to be a participant on the show perhaps interaction between us would have to be... strictly professional.

I felt my thoughts falter at once. The space between us was no longer intimate and could not be interpreted otherwise. Leroy glanced down at the folder of documents he was holding on to, smirked a little, then started towards the reception area I'd come from.

"That it's about time I learned to love the kitchen."

===================

I was alone on Friday evening when I received a text from him.

Our first electronic exchange since that day with the tears and flames. The end of November saw colder days and the perpetual dark skies that was London, very much perfect for some indoor rest and relax had I not been doing so for the past several days in the strangest state of boredom; a state of mind that allowed or stray thoughts to wander deep and wander dark. I'd somehow managed to convince myself that it was Chicken I missed. Not his owner. Just Chicken. And then I chanced upon the lovely short videos I took of him balancing a blueberry on his nose. And then before I knew it, I was spiraling down a rabbit hole of cute pet videos on the internet and feeling the terrible urge to adopt one of my own. A dog was nice. But I'd always had a preference for felines. Well... explains the lion, then.

Either way, my personal time of enjoyment had been rudely interrupted by a text from said idiot lion just as I was thinking about him. Dreadful.

In a single line of what he termed English, Leroy had, rather forwardly, extended an invitation to London's most famous festive Christmas market at Hyde Park—Winter Wonderland—tomorrow evening, joining him and his crew members for a night out. Apparently, his bureau chief had purchased extra tickets for plus-ones.

Gold Gate at 5.

Come if you want to.

It's okay if you don't.

The way he'd phrased it sounded quite as though he hadn't expected a proper response from the very person he'd extended the invitation to. Like this was a rolled-up note sent by a dove and we were to convene at some secret hideout regardless of my availability—he'd be there.

Fortunately for myself, I was an expert on fools. One fool. What the message really meant was that he'd extended the invitation to one person, and that one person was me; and he wasn't intending to extend it to anyone else since his invitation wasn't a question per se but a statement. Come if you can. Perhaps other non-foolish people would have extended the invitation to someone else available on that evening, should their first person of choice be unable to do so. But Leroy Cox was an idiot. It was one and only.

It is unfortunate that said foolishness could at times be mildly contagious. This was one such time.

Here I was standing at the end of an enormous line outside the Gold Gate entrance to Winter Wonderland, fifteen minutes early and running conversations through my mind for a proper evening with Leroy and his crew members. The entrance was a bit of a walk from the Marble Arch, and I was positioned idly at the top of a couple of steps by the Arch for a better view of the crowd. It did not help very much.

I snapped pictures of my surroundings and sent them to Leroy. The status under his name switched to 'online' in milliseconds flat and then, back to offline. Seconds later, he was at my shoulder as though this was some 'Where's Wally' challenge and he was a competitive idiot breezing through the pages.

"You're early."

I narrowed in on the surprise in his tone. "Well um. I overestimated the time I'd take to get here. Jason's on his day off and the um..." The self-proclaimed main chauffeur and I have an ambiguous relationship at present. "So I thought I'd... give the Tube a go."

He nodded, and it was then that I could tell he'd sped over, walking ahead of his peers and was now about to take me with him to rejoin the group. Needless to say, nerves were a thing. The firehouse was practically Leroy's second family and a good impression was, um, therefore necessary.

"You liked it?"

"Not really. It was rather cramped in the train carriage and the platform was um... I'd very much prefer you. I meant, to be riding the... to be car in... you drive car." I finished intelligently. He laughed, glancing sideways.

"They'll like you."

"Don't say it like it's a known fact that practically doubles the nerves!" I fidgeted, following him across the field to the proper end of the line where his crew members were apparently waiting. "I've already ruined one of your friendships here; god knows how many more in a single evening."

He reached over and I saw it coming—the usual—and, on instinct, closed my eyes to brace for it. It didn't come. Instead, he'd laughed with his hand faltering. Hovering somewhere between my ear and my shoulder. "Some ties, when tested, break. She took the test. Failed. That's it." He snorted. Eyes lingering on my neck. I followed his gaze. Just my turtleneck. "Real ties don't break like that. They're the good shit. They last."

He was talking about us.

Well it made sense that he was, even if Leroy himself hadn't actually meant it in that manner. All I could think about was the ambiguity of said tie at present. And also how good he looked in that new hooded down jacket of his. Wine-red. Shearling. Ostensibly illegal.

"Ay he's back." "Heey it's the bagel dude! Sweet." "Everyone here?" "Sir, the queue's twice as long now." "Let's go boys." "Sorry for the wait." "You're a real shit for running off like that without a heads-up, by the way." "He said he was gonna pick his friend up, Capt. You were busy checking people out." "Zales. If your girlfriend was here, I'd tell her about the girls you check out." "She's cool with it. We check people out together all the time." "Aight you can shut up now."

It was a whirlwind of banter left right center and just walking alongside Leroy had me thrust into the middle of the storm. Needless to say, I'd expected more of an awkward start to it all with, well, a stranger in their midst but my presence did nothing to faze the crew members from acting like their usual selves. More importantly, it was increasingly clear that... apart from Leroy, no one else had brought along additional company. I-it made me slightly conscious, having prior to this assumed I'd have someone else in a similar plight and therefore perhaps some common ground. Clearly, I was wrong.

"Sir, what about the unused food coupons?" A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed member voiced to no one in particular as we shuffled several feet forward in the queue. He matched the description of the station's new crew member I'd vaguely recalled Leroy recounting. He never said his name—only the title 'Probie'. On probation.

"Oh right. RPS." "Ah fuck. Okay." "Zales." "Fine."

Leroy turned to me. "You ready?"

"O-oh. What am I... how does this..."

"Rock paper scissors," he said. Nodding at the crew that had somehow formed a tiny circle of hands. They looked fairly amusing—human beings built like Leroy all gathered in a holy circle of summoning. "I need your magic deductive abilities and 200 IQ."

"But—th—Leroy, this is a game of luck a-a-and I've never played a game of rock paper scissors as a child, books never required that and, quite frankly, the pre-requisite for this would be to have, in the first place, friends to play with."

He laughed. "Your debut then." And in an instant, took my hand and slid me into the circle of summoning. None of them found this (me) out of place. Three rounds of sheer luck and null intelligence later, I'd won a grand total of two additional food coupons that came with the entry ticket already purchased by station twelve's bureau chief.

The gang was in pain. Indecent fingers went round. I received some. It was quite the crime scene—I didn't know what to think of it.

"That's some beginner's luck you have there, uh... blimey what's your name again?" This person was the only one who hadn't presented me with a casual finger. I think his name was Jung. I wasn't too sure. There hadn't been a round of official introductions; nothing was like the simulations I'd run. "Cox, what the hell man. You didn't introduce him. Sorry mate... we just know you as the bagel guy. Which is awesome though. The bagels were lovely."

"Oh fuck..." It dawned on Leroy and I stared at him in disbelief. He actually forgot! This idiot. Unbelievable! I'd merely passed it off as something of a tradition. A thing they didn't necessarily do. "This is Vanilla."

I stared. That's it?!

"Heyyy good on you for putting up with this motherfucker." "Vanilla's a cool name." "I like your turtleneck. Where'd you get it?" Before I could answer, Leroy moved on to introducing his team. "This is Jaeger." Hand raise. "Zales." "Hey." "Jung." "Pleasure." "Probie. His name's Vance." "Pleasure to meet you sir."

"Oh um," I directed this to Vance. "You don't have to call me that. Just Vanilla is fine."

"Okay sir. I uh... hope you keep the bagels coming."

And then the conversation very naturally flowed elsewhere into the realm of food carts and German sausages that were the apparent favorite of festive go-ers at the Winter Wonderland.

We started off by stopping at an area with firepits and live music, getting ourselves a steaming cup of mulled wine each and for Vance and Jaeger, a serving of churros to share. While we were warming ourselves up at the firepit and enjoying the fruity tartness of mulled wine, I'd chanced a quick glimpse at Leroy and noticed his gaze fixed on a food stall not far away.

I read the sign. "Halloumi fries."

"Yeah." Was all he said, not quite taking his eyes off the menu. "What's that?"

"It's a type of cheese. Originated in Cyprus, I believe."

"Yeah I know," he met my gaze and then it was back to staring at someone else's portion of Halloumi fries—crisp and brown, topped with something that looked like aioli and a dash of freshly chopped herbs and spices. "I actually... he made me memorize them," he said under his breath. "All the cheeses. This one's usually grilled. Traditionally."

"Oh. Oh yes, you are correct. They are sliced and grilled. Would you um. Like to give the fries a go then?" I held up a food coupon. He met my gaze with a spark in his eye.

"We're sharing. I need your tongue."

As ambiguous and problematic as that sentence sounded, it was enough to propel the two of us away from the warmth of the firepit and toward the Halloumi fries. Most of what was in the batter and the garlic aioli, Leroy could make out. There was just one obvious thing that I could taste and he couldn't.

"It's honey-glazed. The cheese." I told him as he sent fry after fry into his jaws. "They sliced it up and brushed them down before setting it."

He stared at the takeaway portion in his hands. "So that's what's..."

"Sorry?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

I did not press. He finished the rest of it and the crew headed for our first official destination of the evening. 'Bar Ice'; part of the 'Magical Ice Kingdom' and quite literally as its named described: a bar made entirely out of ice. Even the glasses used to contain alcohol were made of ice.

Well um. Needless to say, I had my concerns.

The weather was cold, yes, but nowhere near freezing at this point in late November. Therefore, the bar was, technically speaking, housed in a freezer of sorts. An enclosed space. Of extreme cold.

Spelling it out would have been a mood killer. I did not do well with freezers or anything that resembled the like of an enclosed space at freezing point; I wasn't sure if Leroy was going to remember that but I suppose excusing myself after a quick drink wouldn't... oh. He was looking at me.

"Not good?" He said under his breath, our shoulders brushing. I sighed behind my scarf that had now made its way up around half my face. My glasses fogged up.

"Not... exactly. I mean. I know there's going to be people around and logically speaking a repeat of history would be impossible with the safety measures put in place but... I suppose it's just a... a psychological... barrier." I finished lamely.

He offered to spend the time somewhere else. I declined.

"I don't want your crew members to worry about me or... spend their time in there thinking we're waiting around for them. It's fine."

"You sure?" He asked one last time. "They'll be cool with it."

"I'll be fine." I insisted, smiling up at him behind my scarf. He seemed to soften.

"At least you got a whole crew of firefighters to break you out of there."

This had its effect; relaxing the tension in my shoulders. "Ah yes. I'd yell for Operation Arson to commence and you firefighters can start melting everything within reach." It got him laughing too.

It was then that I realized how much I'd missed the sound of it. Even if we were mere days apart.

*

Turns out, no one liked the bar made out of ice. Vance was the most impressed out of the crew, but even he had given it an average score of five-point-five out of ten. Jaeger was not a fan of the drinks and Zales said that the ice smelled funny; Leroy just flat out thought the whole thing was a gimmick and overpriced. Jung and I sipped on gin cocktails and kept our opinions to ourselves. The place was more for pictures than it was for anything else.

Everything worked out nicely because we spent less than a total of fifteen minutes in the bar and apparently, everything had come out of the bureau chief's pocket. I felt incredibly guilty.

"Aight boys. Time for some charcoal-grilled Bratwursts," Jaeger rubbed his hands together as we headed for the Bavarian Village food hall. "And schmalzkuchen. You like those? Oh wait, Cox can't taste 'em."

"Wait. Say that again?" Jung held up his phone in Jaeger's face for a video. "Those two words."

"Bratwurst. Schmalzkuchen." "Ah fuck the only time I don't throw up at your voice." "Zales I know you like the thickest, juiciest, longest Bratwursts—" "Oh yeah get me those." "Sir, what's a shmatlz... koo... I dunno. What's that?" "It's like beignets." Leroy told him. Vance's mouth shaped into an 'o'.

We split up to look for a table and purchase different food items from different stalls. A certain idiot had his eye on one that stood out. A halal place that had a special beef rendang on the menu. I presented him with the second food coupon I'd won us. He had the gall to wink.

Zales and I were tasked to find the crew a table amidst the crowd and moments after a tedious search, we were joined by Vance with a tray full of beer. The three of us sat and they texted the group about our find.

Since it was indoors, I'd removed my scarf and winter coat for a comfy dining experience. It was then that I began to receive looks from neighboring tables and people passing by.

"Woah. Probie. You've got tables checking you out." "I don't think they're looking at me, ma'am." Vance handed out the glasses of beer between the three of us. "It's um... it's Vanilla. Sir."

Indignant, I threw the scarf back on my neck and bundled up half my face. "You see, it just so happens that I've been gracing social media with terrible gossip as of late. I'm sorry. It's my hair too. It stands out. People don't exactly have the hardest time identifying me. Especially if they're into the culinary scene. Or anything food-related, really."

"Woah, hey..." Zales downed half her glass of beer in one go. I'd barely looked away and it was just, gone. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Your hair's cool. And about the Twitter thing? Cox has it bad too. We just don't talk about it in the firehouse."

"Actually, ma'am, I think it's kinda cool that officer Cox is a chef. I don't get why we don't talk about it. Sorry if that sounded... rude."

Zales brushed his apology aside. "Nah. He told us a while back. It just never was his thing, he said. Though... have you seen him dice those fucking onions in seconds and like, every time he gets on fried chicken and that beef thing? Beef bou... fuck I can't pronounce it but it's some fancy restaurant thing and wow. It's the good shit."

I laughed. It was hard to disagree. "Leroy is... an incredible chef when he wants to be."

"Hey Probie. You heard about his sabbatical from chief, yeah?"

Vance blinked. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

"Cox is taking a two-month sabbatical leave. Didn't Jaeger tell you that already? I swear chief tells him everything."

The poor boy had his mouth agape for seconds. He looked upset. "Is that why we're going out today? To say goodbye?"

"Unfortunately, the motherfucker's coming back," Zales laid out after finishing her glass of beer. The food hadn't even arrived. "So no goodbye and no sad stuff. Okay? He's coming back."

Then she turned to me with a look in her eyes. A sad sort of smile. It frightened me a little, no doubt; to see such a fragile emotion in the eyes of what would have been, an hour ago, a stranger.

"You take care of him."

I stared.

Here I was, taking everything away from Leroy—his ordinary, simple life with his crew members, the people he seemed so comfortable around and just, overall... happy. So much more than I'd ever seen him in a kitchen that wasn't private and... for myself. For me. But what he said that day; what he said, would have had to do away with such a thought.

"It's not me."

This wasn't for me.

"I'm not going to be the one taking care of Leroy."

It wasn't going to be that way again. Not anymore.

"He's going to do that himself."

Zales paused. And soon after, laughed—grabbing another glass of beer that wasn't her own and clinking it against mine. "Welcome to station twelve, bagel boy."

=================