Wax

Saw: Eighteen

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've always wanted to give a glimpse into Leroy's life while the two were apart and here it is. It's definitely a longer chapter than I expected it to be. Next week, same time, same place :') on with it, I'll be picking up the pace of storytelling because everything I've wanted to establish has been covered. 

Enjoy.

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It had been a week and a half since Leroy Cox had received a text from the person he wished to see the most. Eleven days.

While any ordinary mind of this world would conceive the passing of time in months and years, there exists a state in which time was perpetually cyclical and characterized by presence and absence. The number of days, consecutive, they were present; the number of days, consecutive, they were absent from their lives.

Someone had been absent from his life for eleven days straight.

Hush was the City of London at five in the morning down south, cool and waiting for the crack of dawn and pigeons to wake; markets to open and bakeries to line their displays with piping hot breakfast rolls. Fire Brigade Station Twelve had lights the power of soccer fields in its engine bay and it stood out in a sea of darkness, the cloak of night. It lit the textured surface of the station's red-brick house. The house of fire.

Below the building's name in bold white was a phrase. He figured it was the station's slogan. Motto, of sorts.

No one left behind.

"Ay. You must be the new guy." Someone called out to Leroy from the guardhouse, having spotted his larger-than-life duffel bag and standard fire academy hoodie. The trainee stuffed the papers in his hands into a folder before turning to the approaching man. The latter extended a hand.

"I'm Emil. Been at the guardhouse for three years now," they shook. "Been hearing things about you, man. Chief said you aced the exam, top of the cohort—that true?"

This made him hesitate. "Can't say for sure." His tone had given away some indication of fired nerves and Emil, having welcomed a couple more to station twelve before Leroy, clapped the young man on his back.

"Loosen up, rookie. Big day ahead. Go right on in. Chief will see you once he's ready." The man paused right after, glancing at Leroy's duffel bag and the other carrier he was holding onto. "So... what'd you bring?"

He caught on in a snap. The offering.

"Fried chicken." He watched the man's eyes light up like a Christmas tree with presents underneath.

"Fried chicken?" He peered into one of the carriers Leroy was holding onto. "You serious?" The latter produced a large, air-tight box that contained dozens of craft bags—two wings, two drumlets in each; southern spice, garlic butter. It'd used to be a combination of three flavours. Annie's signature 'three-ways' that had, along the way, become nearly impossible for him to recreate.

"Where'd you get them? They're still hot." Emil was an expert of East Dulwich, having lived in the area for most of his life. He knew fried chicken stalls in the area were not open at such an ungodly hour.