Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lawrence crawled out of hell. Adam was carried out.

In the end, the bathroom had cost them both - for Lawrence, his family, his leg, and his trust in everyone but Adam. For Adam, his ability to sleep at night, and everything below his left ankle.

They were both in the hospital for almost three weeks combined. Adam lost his foot due to gangrene, and sepsis was starting to rear its ugly head. Lawrence lost more of his leg due to necrotic tissue. 

"If I'd known they were going to take the damn thing, I'd've just cut it off myself," mutters Adam.

He'd developed gangrene by pulling so intensely against the chain that he eventually cut off bloodflow. Still had his arms, though, no matter how stiff one was.

"But now I got the good shit. Trade offs."

He tries to shoot a grin at Lawrence, but it still looks tinged with pain. When Lawrence doesn't bite, he turns away. 

Lawrence hadn't done the media circus surrounding Jigsaw any favors by crawling onto a sidewalk and collapsing. He was so near death then, and some bystander out early in the morning had called the cops and did first aid the best he could.

The Jigsaw killer and his accomplices had vacated quickly and cleanly, leaving no trace of them. The only witness left was Adam, and they figured he was going to be dead soon.

Which is a weird assumption for them to make - John would've at least heard how Adam had caved Zep's head in. Starvation, dehydration, incoming sepsis and gangrene be damned, Adam still hung on. How he failed Jigsaw's test was beyond him and Lawrence. Lawrence only wounded Adam; Adam killed someone to save Lawrence. Now that is a will to survive.

And speaking of Jigsaw ... he was still out there. This was not a comforting fact to any of the four people who had suffered that night. Even if there was an APB out for a 62 year old, bald white man, Jigsaw knows how to lay low. Not to mention the potential accomplices. 

One hideout is destroyed by the city, and it's televised on the 11 o'clock news. NIMBYs had finally bothered the city into declaring it a nuisance and having it demolished. The hideout in question was actually a very nice looking house... save for the bathroom and indescribable horrors that occurred in it. 

Alison, Lawrence, and Adam all cheer when the house is destroyed and drink in celebration. Diana is long asleep against Lawrence's chest. No noise they all make could wake her up. The only thing that does is nightmares.

Which, hopefully, there's no sign of tonight.

For the first week, everything is generally fine. Adam got evicted and both Lawrence and Alison practically dragged him to the house by the ear. There's some kinks - Adam's schedule clashing with everyone else's, Diana not used to having another adult in the house. Not to mention the stairs. Oh, boy, the stairs. Two guys missing one foot walk into a bar...

Then Lawrence starts staying out late again.

"Do you think it's... a big deal?" asks Alison one night over wine.

Considering I caught him red handed cheating..., thinks Adam. Instead, he says, "I don't really know, to be honest. I've only been here a month."

"The last time he was out this late and this often, he was cheating on me."

I did not cheat on her! Lawrence yells.

Adam shoves the thought away. 

"Just talk to him. I'll tie him down, even," says Adam. The wine must be getting to him, because ordinarily, he'd be feeling really bad about the last time Lawrence was restrained. Except now he's having thoughts that aren't entirely unpleasant, but completely inappropriate.

Alison snorts into her glass. "Least he can't cut his hand off to escape."

One night Adam and Lawrence come home at the same time. Lawrence has always had a different air around him, post-bathroom. But this is different.

In the low lighting, Lawrence's teeth seem sharper.

All the better to eat you with, thinks Adam. Then he tries to focus on untying his shoes. Late nights, especially rainy ones like this, usually end with reduced mobility with Adam's bad shoulder. Not to mention his ankle. 

"That bothering you?" asks Lawrence. His voice sounds almost gravelly in the dark.

Adam goes red, thankful Lawrence can't see as well. "Yeah. I'm fine, though. I'll just get some painkillers."

Lawrence's knees crack as he bends down to be at Adam's eye level. "Can I help you out somehow?"

Adam picks at his shoelaces, silent. Then Lawrence's hands - strong, with long fingers and short nails - come into Adam's periphery and start undoing the laces on Adam's prosthetic left foot. 

Adam keeps his head down and finally undoes the laces on his good leg, then throws the shoe across the room. 

"'S'gotta be bothering you too," Adam says. He swallows, trying desperately to lubricate his throat. "Your leg."

Lawrence meets Adam's eyes, his own almost glowing in the dark and his expression hard to read. "I'll just get some painkillers."

Adam's face gets hot again. Then he leans down and swats Lawrence's hands away. "That's - that's good. Thanks. Go to sleep."

Lawrence pulls back, then goes off to the kitchen. Shaking. Then he comes back, holding three red tablets of advil in his hand.

"Take it."

Adam looks up.

Lawrence shakes his hand a little. "Take it before I shove them down your throat."

I bet both of us would enjoy - 

Adam cuts the thought off at the source. It's not like he was going to say no to the painkillers anyway. He plucks the pills from Lawrence's hand and dry swallows all three at once.

Satisfied, Lawrence retreats into the dark.

The next day, Alison and Diana are gone, and Adam wakes up to find Lawrence making breakfast in his pajamas. Without a shirt.

Not a great idea when you're making hash browns, thinks Adam, before it sinks in and he goes red. Then he glances down at himself, seeing only boxers, socks, and a ratty old shirt. Of course. Pot, kettle.

Adam just decides to play it cool and move around the kitchen like nothing is happening. Cereal, perhaps.

"You know, I am making breakfast," says Lawrence. His voice is still gravelly from sleep. Adam suspects this is the first thing he's said today. He digs out the lucky charms and tips them into the bowl.

"Yeah. But I figured you'd be making something just for yourself." Adam goes rummaging in the fridge and finds the almond milk he'd beseeched Alison to buy. (I'm serious, if you don't believe me, I'll have some plain milk and you can see what will happen to the bathroom after.) Then he pours a generous amount into the bowl. "My parents used to call me Hoover, actually."

"That much food can't be good for you. Not in the state you're in."

"Don't worry, dad," Adam stuffs a spoon into the bowl and plops down in one of the chairs at the dining table, "I hadn't eaten for hours when I got dragged into the trap. My stomach can handle it."

"Mhm." Lawrence sends Adam a skeptical expression and brings out the pans. He sets them down - cast iron, Adam notices - on the table, having balanced his plate and fork on the crook of his elbow. He sits down across from Adam. "But now you don't have to worry about food insecurity. I see no reason for you to gorge yourself." He reaches and serves himself.

Adam arches his eyebrows at Lawrence. "Spoken like a man who's never worried where his next meal would come from."

Lawrence raises his hands. "Fair, fair."

"Besides, the food at the hospital was so godawful bland that this is a feast." He points at the cereal bowl.

"It's lucky charms."

"So?" Adam drains the sugar-milk and heaps the eggs and hash browns into the bowl. "Yay, breakfast slush."

The feeling that he's being watched gets worse, and Adam looks up to see a completely different look in Lawrence's eyes than he's ever seen before. Like an owl eyeing a mouse, imagining how the mouse's bones might break if the owl struck it right.

Adam averts his eyes and, true to his anecdote, hoovers up the food. 

"It's not going to run away," says Lawrence.

Adam looks up, mid-chew, and wonders if Lawrence is trying to joke. Then he nods slowly and masticates the food slower. The rest of breakfast is mercifully silent and they both avoid each others' eyes.

As it usually is, whoever makes the food doesn't have to do dishes - so Adam is usually the one on dish duty. Lawrence is off somewhere getting ready. Finally, he's left alone with his thoughts. Then he realizes that the table was set for two now, not the four Adam had gotten used to over the last six months. 

"Was wondering when you'd be done," calls Lawrence. "I need to shower."

"So why didn't you tell me?" calls back Adam. He rolls his eyes. "Weirdo!"

"Sticks and stones."

Adam leans against the counter, ruminating. Something's wrong. Then again, something was always wrong. Had to be to make Alison go and take Diana with her. It can't have been easy. Alison loves Lawrence... as far as Adam knew, anyway. What line had been crossed, and by whom?

Something knocks against the wall, startling Adam. Lawrence stands at the threshold from the hallway into the living room/dining room/kitchen area, his hair wet.

A bead of water runs under Lawrence's collar. His shirt's top two buttons aren't latched.

Adam breaks the staring contest. 

"Did something happen while I was out? I mean, something probably did, I just wouldn't know because I could sleep through an air raid siren standing up," says Adam, unable to stop himself from talking.

The corners of Lawrence's mouth rise, but only a little. It doesn't reach his eyes. "I was thinking, actually, that we should go to this group."

Adam turns his head. "Yeah?"

"It's a Jigsaw survivor group."

"Oh, Christ."

"Don't slag off on it if you haven't tried it. You should probably get out of the house more, other than for work."

"I mean no offense, Larry," Adam peels himself off the counter to better see Lawrence, "but that sounds terrible."

"Could be cathartic. If it doesn't work out, we could always do something afterwards." Lawrence drags his eyes from somewhere low up to Adam's eyes. A shock runs through Adam.

Relax. He's not even implying that, thinks Adam. "Sure. Deal. When is it?"

"Today. Seven. I'll pick you up."

Adam nods. Lawrence shuts the door and locks it behind him.

Now he is alone.

Lawrence seems to be a regular fixture at the Jigsaw survivor group. People flock to him like seagulls to a stray French fry. Adam succeeds in sneaking along the wall to the refreshments table. Perhaps it's a testament to how close him and Lawrence have gotten that Adam doesn't have to rack his brains before making Lawrence's coffee the way he likes it, as well as his own. For fun, Adam grabs a donut. 

He turns and almost walks into a woman.

"You're Adam Faulkner-Stanheight," she says. She's blonde, tall, skinny - like a latte. Has a few scars at the corners of her mouth. 

The Reverse Bear Trap must be a favorite of Jigsaw's, thinks Adam.

He nods. 

"We've heard a lot about you. Primarily the news," says Latte. 

"I'm sure everyone has," says Adam. True crime never stops. "If you'll excuse me -"

"You're with Lawrence, right?" she asks. 

Adam pauses and nods, his eyebrows knitting.

"Ah. I suppose it's sort of perfect that you both come in. You're a matched set!"

She chuckles. Adam smiles tightly and retreats to a chair next to Lawrence. On second thought, Adam pushes the chair closer to Lawrence with his foot, then passes Lawrence his coffee. 

"Thanks."

"No problem." Adam leans into Lawrence's side and whispers, "The people here are fucking weirdos."

"You fit right in," says Lawrence. He smirks at Adam.

Adam rolls his eyes. "I ought to pour this in your lap."

"What a waste. I bought these myself, you know. I even iron them myself."

"What a man you are."

They crash their drinks together, miraculously not spilling anything. 

Finally the meeting starts. 

It's as Adam thought: People who couldn't move on and are looking for some sort of meaning towards their kidnapping. What gets him is that they're almost reverent towards Jigsaw.

"Every day... every day I'm so thankful I survived. Now I can hug my children and they know how hard I fought just to stay here," says one woman. She bears a striking resemblance to Latte, or perhaps Latte's features are so indistinct, they're all starting to meld together in Adam's mind.

Adam tries to surreptitiously get crumbs off his shirt and flannel, and fails miserably. 

"I'm so thankful," she says, and starts to get choked up.

"It's a gift. Every day is a gift," says Latte. 

Adam sits back, bracing his heels on the foot cap. This is fucking weird, he thinks.

Then everyone else agrees. 

Everyone else, of course, bar him and Lawrence. He imagines how they must look now - Adam with his shaggy, too long hair and helix piercing, and Lawrence, always impeccably dressed, with a cane and a trenchcoat. The pauper and the prince.

"Adam, do you have anything you want to say?" asks the apparent leader - a white man with no apparent injuries. He has the sort of smug air around him that raises the hairs on the back of Adam's neck. Granted, being smug and having no apparent injuries doesn't make someone not a survivor of Jigsaw - hell, Adam's prosthetic is well hidden, and heaven knows he's a smug twit - but his entire affect is completely off.

Adam blinks. "Not particularly..." He glances at Lawrence - and he can see that Lawrence doesn't like him either.

"Go ahead. We're all friends here," coaxes the leader. Everyone else murmurs agreement - again, except for Lawrence.

Red flag. Whenever someone says that they're all friends, they're a bunch of snakes in the grass, thinks Adam.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm good."

The gory details start to bore him after a while. It's always the same formula - a person kidnapped for not appreciating their life enough, then they're forced to mutilate themself or another person, or they die. Most die. This whole group could fit inside Adam's room, that's how small the percentage of people who survive is. What's the point of having a survivor group unless you all try to help each other move on after such a traumatic event. (Must be a marker of how much Adam's grown, post bathroom. He used to be the scholar on unhealthy coping mechanisms.)

Lawrence glances at Adam out of the corner of his eye, starting to smirk. Then it clicks - Lawrence wants him to say something.

You're such a shit-stirrer, he thinks, and hopes Lawrence can pick that up telepathically. 

"Really? I mean, we all know your story. It's a terrible tale of survival of the fittest," continues the leader. 

Darwinism has always raised Adam's hackles, but now this guy is pissing him off.

Adam feels himself starting to color. 

"I'm sure you do," he says, resisting the urge to get more aggressive. "Can't imagine anything more befitting that idea than playing possum, then beating the shit out of and bludgeoning a man to death to save this guy." With a thumb, he points at Lawrence.

The leader's smile wavers.

"Remarkable, how you're such an optimist. it takes strength," says Lawrence, with a wide grin. It looks more like he's baring his teeth.

The leader blinks. "Thank you."

Everyone but Adam claps. Even Lawrence does, but Adam knows it's mocking.

Lawrence leans into Adam's side. "He's such a tool."

"No, actually, I do have something that I want to say," says Adam, once the clapping has died down. "You all are so goddamn weird for thanking Jigsaw for... mutilating you all. He's left you all permanently disabled and you thank him because it makes hugging your children that much better? Or whatever the fuck kind of justification you all have for it."

The place is dead silent, thick with tension.

"How about we not just suck his dick about his philosophy, okay? Sheesh."

Latte is the first to speak up. "I don't see that you lost anything. Lawrence is missing a leg."

Adam stares, simmering.

Then he pulls his pant leg up to reveal his left leg's metal prosthetic. 

"Oh, wait, is this not enough for you?! Hang on, I've got more proof that I lost something!"

Adam starts pulling off his flannel, then makes work of his shirt, ignoring everyone's protests.

Lawrence only watches with thinly veiled amusement.

Adam yanks his shirt off and tosses it on the ground. "See this?" He points to the bullet wound and scar tissue. "Wait, wait. A bullet wound and scar tissue doesn't mean I've lost anything!" 

Then he rotates his right arm, showing off its limited mobility, and compares it to his left arm. 

"You want me to strip more, dense motherfucker?" he asks, leaning forward. "Because if that's the case, I'd like a 20. By the way -" He grins, truly on a roll now, and points to his right shoulder. "You wanna know how I got these scars? Dickhead here shot me." He points at Lawrence, who almost snorts. "Oh, and I almost forgot!" He points at his leg. "Gangrene. Yeah, I pulled against the chain so much I cut off blood flow to my foot and boom! It's completely gone. Shame. I survived one of Jigsaw's games and all I got was this stupid prosthetic and scar tissue." Adam pulled on his shirt and his flannel. "You guys should've seen the scene when the paramedics came, by the way. Man. I think one of them passed out because of how bad it reeked in there. My foot was completely green. Nasty. I think I should've at least had the chance to keep my foot in a jar of formaldehyde. You know. It would remind me of how good it is to be alive, missing a foot or not."

"That's enough," says the leader, looking vaguely green.

"We're not -" Latte stutters, trying to avoid using Adam's words.

"Just say that you're not sucking him off for permanently disabling some of you, it's fine. We're all adults here. I hope." Adam waves a hand. "If some of you aren't, I promise I'm a good Christian boy."

Latte blinks at him slowly. "... Sure."

"I dunno," says a guy with a glass eye. "Before him I was nothing."

"Had both eyes, didn't you?" asks Adam, sitting back and folding his arms. Lawrence makes a strangled noise next to him.

"And yet, you're the one who got rescued by paramedics, didn't you?" asks glass-eye-guy. "Lawrence here at least had the nuts to cut his foot off."

"Lawrence was also - sorry, dude - off his fucking rocker. He had a breakdown. You don't know what the fuck happened in there, okay?" How dare you make him a brave man rather than a desperate man?

Perhaps the idolization of the group is getting to him.

"We had to earn our way out."

Adam almost tells this guy to swallow some painkillers and booze, but catches himself in time. Don't tell him to kill himself, he repeats.

"That's enough, Theodore," says Lawrence smoothly. He must use it on his patients quite frequently.

"I love that you think I should still be in there, wasting away in the dark with a dead body and backed up toilets. That's some grade A weird shit right there, dude. You need therapy, not a circlejerk," says Adam. "I assure you all, you are not some special little boy or girl - or neither, I don't judge - who got saved and is now a new person because of it. You're all schmucks. Except you, Lawrence, I'm okay with you except when you take all the hot water showering."

Lawrence raises his empty coffee cup. 

"Anyway, I'm fuckin' out of here. I know I wasn't supposed to survive, but I did." Adam stands and retreats, still grinning because otherwise he might cry, "Guess that makes me more of a survivor than any of you fuckers. Your coffee is shit, by the way; it needs a new set of beans, not to be rebrewed into oblivion. I don't even think that that piss-water should count as coffee."

Then he slams the door behind him so hard that one of the (many) crosses shakes.

Outside, he can't think of anything else other than to light one up. There's no rain, but it's humid as hell. It makes both his shoulder and his leg hurt. Adam takes his flannel off and ties it around his waist. He feels weirdly exposed in ratty jeans and a black tank top.

"Those things will kill you," says Lawrence, after Adam keeps struggling with the flint.

"I can only hope that you'd be my oncologist," says Adam around the cigarette.

Lawrence huffs and takes the lighter from Adam's hand, and lights it. Adam leans in, now overly aware of how close their faces are. Then once it's lit, Lawrence takes his thumb off the fork and hands it back. Adam pockets it.

"I hope you don't take it too hard," says Lawrence, finally. "I overdressed. This weather's horrible."

"Frickin' sucks." Adam takes a long slow drag. "I'll try not to. It's just hard not to internalize that people think you should've died in there because you didn't cut off your foot, crawl out of hell, and hope a good samaritan helps you. I don't think they'd help me if I was in your position. They'd just step over me."

"Don't say that."

Adam gives him a look, then returns to traffic watching. "I mean, you're the bigshot oncologist. People recognize and give a shit about you."

"People recognize and give a shit about you too."

"Parasocial relationships don't count. They only think they know you. They only know the person you project." Adam throws down the butt and crushes it underfoot.

There's an odd expression on Lawrence's face. "I don't mean people in general, Adam."

Adam glances up at Lawrence and flushes, then looks away. "Where were you going to take me? Hopefully not to a secondary location. After that, your chances of survival are slim to none."

Lawrence gives Adam a look, then manhandles Adam to his side. "There's a nice spot here. Casual. Kinda '50s, but it's cute."

"Can't think of anything cuter than violent racism," mutters Adam.

"That's not what I mean."

"No, I know. I just like to bother you."

As they walk, mercifully unbothered by true crime fans, Lawrence finally says, "I think I came back wrong."

"What?"

"Came back wrong. From hell."

Adam looks up at Lawrence, then back down. "Everything feels worse when you just saw some guy who you actually give a shit about get absolutely ripped into. I'd feel pretty bad if I was you too."

"Adam."

"Let's just eat and not worry about those twats for a bit. It's not conducive to great mental health," says Adam. He holds the door open for Lawrence.

The bell dings as the door opens. 

They seat themselves and peruse the menu. Then the cook comes over and takes their orders. Adam orders a plate of fries and a chocolate milkshake. Lawrence just wants water.

"... I get what you mean about coming back wrong. Somehow in the bathroom, it was peaceful. You know, when you weren't going bananas and screaming at people," says Adam, finally. "Still, we knew what to expect. Got to know each other, even." He drums his fingers on the table, avoiding Lawrence's eyes. "It was awful and we knew that there was a clock ticking, but we didn't have to act maliciously. We didn't until the literal very last second. We spent forever trying to figure out ways to get out of the chains without cutting our feet off. In the end, our feet are gone, so fat lot of good that did us."

It did feel sort of pointless once he was conscious. Just what had Jigsaw gotten out of it? Shouldn't their captivity proven that people choose to be kind? That they value their own and each others' lives?

"Think it matters that we tried, though," says Lawrence, his eyes soft.

"I mean. Sure." Adam shrugs and dips three fries into the milkshake. "But we lost them anyway. And in there, it was just you, me, and fake dead body between us." And he shoves the fries into his mouth. "Not great for rationality."

Lawrence raises his eyebrows. "You're quoting Spongebob?"

"The point is... everything seems worse now. Too loud, too bright. People are always up in our faces wanting autographs or selfies or some weird shit. Like we're zoo exhibits, not people. It feels terrible. I get why high profile victims go into hiding now. It's so dehumanizing."

Hair is probably the first thing that changes the way a person looks. The right cut can elongate a short face; give dimension to a round face, and so on. The wrong cut can make someone feel worse about themselves and be incredibly unflattering. In this case, Adam grows his hair out. He did have long hair growing up - especially in high school - but it was such a bitch to take care of that he just gave up and cut it short. It takes approximately forever (or just eight months), but now that he looks generally different, he feels better. Still gets recognized in public, but it's like he shed the memories to a degree.

Lawrence's new hobby also seems to be to yank at the hair at inopportune times. One tug here, a pull there, at the ends or midlengths. He doesn't pull hard, he just pulls. Adam half thinks it's to get a reaction, like how a boy will pull at someone's curly hair to see what happens. (It makes him think of Anne of Green Gables.)

The grown out hair doesn't really do much to make Adam feel better once it surfaces that a prominent surgeon and her husband, and, most importantly, Jigsaw and his apprentice Amanda Young, are all dead. Not sure how you can change your appearance to make yourself feel better about that. 

"Didn't you mention Amanda once?" asks Adam. The oil below hisses and pops. "Chill out, bitch. You're just oil."

"Means you should turn the heat down," calls Lawrence.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." (He does turn it down.)

"That's Doctor Obvious to you," sniffs Lawrence. "And yes, I did. The bathroom, when I was talking about how the PD thought I was Jigsaw." 

Lawrence's throat bobs.

"And they brought in Amanda, having escaped from a trap five months before, to tell her story to see if it got a reaction out of me."

"That's just fucked, then," says Adam. He brings the pan out to the table and sets it onto a trivet. "Working for the guy who put you into a trap designed to kill you. Can't imagine how fucked she felt that she just kinda... latched onto him."

Do people really change after a trap? Instead of valuing her life, she decides to dangle others' lives in front of their eyes. Then again, something must be wrong with me if I don't feel very different either.

Lawrence's eyes shift. "Yeah."

"Shame. How old was she?"

"Not too old, I think. Papers said 27. Got shot in the neck."

"At least it was quick. Or it would've been, at least." Adam shakes his head. "It's weird, having all of this dredged up again. People would tell me that God could be really helpful - you know, have someone to talk to who's supposed to be nonjudgmental - whenever they'd see me. But then God just let this all happen. If he's supposed to be all loving, why does he let this happen? People get their heads blown off, children and adults kidnapped and left for dead, or forced to mutilate themself or others, or die. He could stop it, couldn't he?"

"Those are human acts. Not acts of God," says Lawrence. 

Adam picks at the hash browns. "But doesn't he - in Exodus, I think - say that he'll harden the Pharoah's heart, until he lets the enslaved ancient Jews go? So, clearly, God has some kind of influence over humans and the earth. It's horrible either way you slice it. ... At least, with a cruel god, they're equal opportunity to shit on the people who need it and people who don't. But a neglectful one... they can do something, and they choose not to. That's much worse to me."

They sit in silence, picking at their breakfasts. 

"I knew Lynn too. The doctor and her husband. She was so sad." Lawrence sniffs. "She should've had a chance."

Adam looks up. "Do you think she didn't?"

"A high pressure environment with a serial killer and his most likely unstable apprentice?" Lawrence shakes his head. "No."

Adam returns his gaze to the plate. "At least Jigsaw's gone. He won't be hurting anyone else. Did the papers say who he was?"

"John Kramer. Weird, because I treated him. I'm surprised he made it for almost two years."

He reaches for Lawrence's wrist. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm more sad about the fact that his suffering was prolonged moreso than the fact that he's dead."

"Did the papers say anything else?"

"Lynn and her husband's daughter is missing. She was probably taken to a trap."

Adam's stomach drops. "So he's not above hurting children, either. I mean, we knew this. But it was... indirect."

"That's like consoling someone by saying at least they have a bed to sleep on, even if it's made of bricks," says Lawrence. His tone is still even. "You don't need to talk to me about how he wasn't above hurting a child. I know."

Adam withdraws his grip. "Sorry."

Lawrence's face turns stormy.

Adam shrinks. Again, he says, "Sorry."

Lawrence's face relaxes. "You don't have to apologize. You didn't mean anything by it. And, besides, I'm not mad at you."

Adam nods. It's hard to believe Lawrence. There's a difference between the way he looks at Adam (like a female praying mantis, luring her mate in before she bites his head off mid-copulation) and how he looked just now - like he wants to see what someone's insides look like.

He reaches out and pats Adam's forearm. "Really. It's okay."

Adam nods, skin still pricking. "I need to shower."

When Adam returns to the living room, damp but clean, Alison and Diana are on the couch talking with Larry like nothing's changed. His stomach grows cold at the sight. He'd seen it once or twice through Lawrence's windows, but it's different when it's your house too. 

"Adam," says Alison.

Adam nods and comes more into the living room. He can't shake the feeling that he's intruding. "Alison. Diana. What, uh, what brings you two here?"

"We heard about the Jigsaw guy," says Diana. It's remarkable how quick she's grown, and it's only been a year and a half. "So I wanted to come over and see you two."

"That's very nice of you, Diana."

He gives a nervous smile to her parents. 

"How are you both doing?" presses Adam, unable to stop talking. He's starting to get the sense that Lawrence is finding his squirming funny.

"We're doing good," says Alison. He can appreciate that she's trying to be civil. "Things are better now, with us both. Like Diana said; she wanted to be sure that you both were okay."

Lawrence stares at Alison, gears ticking in his brain. Finally, he says, "I appreciate that."

"I know that you two might not be crazy about groups, but this one nearby's formed after the last one imploded. Said they welcome everyone touched by Jigsaw."

"The last group tried to imply that because I can hide my prosthetic and otherwise ... didn't do anything drastic to escape ... that I was unworthy of living. So." Adam clenches his teeth. 

Alison snorts. "That's crap."

"It's all a bunch of people -" He glances at Diana, winces, and continues, "feeding into horrible toxic mindsets anyway. The only person who I'd like to talk to about Jigsaw would be a shrink."

"That's fair. I don't think a lot of groups would consider me and Diana survivors of Jigsaw, just because we weren't tormented directly." Alison shakes her head. 

"Cheers to the fact that the bastard is dead," says Adam, then he glances at Diana, eyes wide.

Diana, however, is in her own world.

"Yeah, why not," says Lawrence, looking like he's trying to mock up a smile. 

"Sure. Let's - uh - let's celebrate," says Alison. "I wasn't thinking of going out anyway. Too many people want to bother us. It's a miracle we got here without being hounded by true crime press."

"Why do you think we have tinted windows?" asks Lawrence. He and Alison share a smile - wan, possibly hoping that if they smile enough, they'll convince themselves that something's worth smiling about.

"I guess if we wanted to we could go somewhere," says Adam. "A roller rink or something. Not some support group."

"That'd be fun," says Alison. "We can wrap Di in bubble wrap, Lawrence."

Adam glances at Lawrence and Lawrence deflates. "Okay."

Perhaps, while things aren't the same, things aren't too different either.

"You're sure? You won't just push off with the cane and roll around?" asks Adam. "Like a boat?"

Diana laughs at the mental image. Lawrence is not amused.

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry," says Lawrence.

Alison nods and pulls Adam and Diana to the skate rental spot. It's mercifully empty, save for a few kids skipping school. 90s and early 2000s R&B are playing over the speakers. Aaliyah's voice is weirdly comforting.

Diana rises, shaking a little in the skates. Alison has her secure in her grip.

"You're fine. You push off like this -" Alison glances at Adam, hoping he'll demonstrate. He does and Diana nods in understanding. "And you can stop by pressing down on the toe stop." Adam demonstrates this too and Diana nods again. "If you want to change directions, you can just lean. If you feel yourself fall, just bend your knees."

Adam pushes off and onto the hardwood. Now the rink is playing 702.

It's almost meditative, going in circles and listening to the music. That's all he has to focus on. (That and avoiding Alison and Diana.)

Lawrence is only watching, no discernable expression on his face. 

"Can't imagine how fucked she felt that she just kinda... latched onto him."

Lawrence's eyes shift.

Adam's stomach drops and he almost forgets to change direction so he doesn't crash into the wall.

Of course. The late nights. The blood around his nail beds. Random bruises or scratches. It all makes sense.

Perfect, terrible sense.

He swallows and tries to move quicker to forget everything. But he can't. 

The knowledge that Lawrence is working with - for? - Jigsaw settles in his stomach like he swallowed a rock. Slowly he comes to a stop on the carpet, in front of the seating. Lawrence isn't far away. He pushes off - it's much harder to skate on carpet than it is solid wood - in Lawrence's direction. Even though it's a bitch to skate on carpet, it's a lot easier to stop.

He stands in front of Lawrence. 

"How long have you been working for Jigsaw?" he whispers. Now they're playing Lauryn Hill. 

Lawrence doesn't respond, he only stares and searches Adam's face. 

"Answer me, Larry. When? How long?"

Still, he is infuriatingly silent. 

"You don't see a problem with it or something? He ordered your wife and daughter to be tormented by that douche Zep," continues Adam, trying desperately to keep his voice down.

His face gets hot, then his entire self. 

"I know what you are," hisses Adam. "One wrong step, and I'll fucking bury you."

Lawrence blinks, placid. Then he rises - still intimidating. Adam's first reflex is to find some way to make himself bigger, but he can't, because then Lawrence will see that and latch onto it and dig at it until Adam does something they both regret. No matter that there's only about an inch or two difference between their heights now; Lawrence's new talent seems to be making himself larger than he actually is.

"No," says Lawrence, finally. Still calm. Either it's a trick of the imagination, or his voice has gotten deeper - more like a growl. "You won't bury me. Pathetic attempt at bluffing, Adam. I expected better."

Adam's fingers curl slightly.

"What makes you think I'm bluffing? Huh?"

"Go ahead. Tell everyone here what I do. Even my little girl." Lawrence jerks his head to Adam's right.

Adam glances over Lawrence's shoulder to see Alison leading Diana, skating backwards. 

He looks back at Lawrence. Lawrence was watching, the same shrewd look on his face. Again, Adam thinks of Little Red Riding Hood.

"You can't do it," whispers Lawrence.

Adam averts his eyes, cheeks coloring. He hates that Lawrence knows him so well. 

Then Lawrence grabs Adam by the jaw - not hard, but firm - to make their eyes meet. Adam swallows again. Something flickers in Lawrence's eyes and it's gone before Adam can identify what it is.

"You may hate Jigsaw. You may hate what I do. But you hate the idea of taking me away from Alison and Diana even more than that. And above all -" Lawrence raises his eyebrows, "you don't want me gone. You'd lose your shit if you were alone. Where does that leave you, Adam?"

They stare at each other.

At long last, Lawrence releases Adam's jaw. 

Lawrence dusts Adam off. "There. Now we're clean again. Why don't you go skate with them?"

White hot rage rises in Adam's stomach. "Don't change the subject. Doesn't it eat at you to do his bidding?"

Lawrence almost drops his shoulders in frustration. "He's a dead man, Adam. There's no bidding for me to do. Besides, what kind of doctor would I be to decide that he shouldn't have been treated because I don't like what he does?"

"A decent one."

"There is no decency in this world."

"The man who called 911 for us would argue different. He's a decent person."

"You don't know him. You only know what he did for me, and you by extension."

Lawrence is so infuriatingly calm, it makes Adam want to pummel him. Lawrence must sense this, because he makes his first expression today: A smirk. 

"Look, Adam. We're walking the world holding our noses. The sooner you understand that, the better."

Adam clenches his teeth. This might be the most furious he's felt in ... ever. "You're wrong. That's the way Jigsaw thinks. I suppose you two got along quite well now, looking down at people from your high horses. You're just another one of his sick little sycophants."

Lawrence is still letting Adam's barbs slide, like water off a duck's back. "The world doesn't change unless the people do. John wanted that. That's why he did what he did."

"Amanda didn't change, did she? She just went from one addiction to another. I would think that Doctor Lawrence Gordon would know better than to listen to the ravings of a terminally ill man," snaps Adam. "What did he have again? A frontal lobe tumor from colon cancer that metastasized? Well, I'm no fucking doctor, but even I know that he was not in his right mind. You're a - generally - perfectly sane and reasonable man, and a doctor who's spouting his shit fountain. Make that make sense, motherfucker!"

"I can't, since you don't want to understand," says Lawrence, venom finally creeping into his tone.

Adam feels gratified to have finally picked at some sort of wound that he'll finally get the reaction he's been looking for.

He half expects Lawrence to tear his throat out.

"No. Go ahead. I'm curious about your rationale," he goads. (On second thought, he might be enjoying their proximity and their tension just a bit much.)

"There's no camera here for you to dissect me with," derides Lawrence. "That why you hide behind it? What did John say? What does the voyeur see when he looks in the mirror? What do you see, Adam?"

Adam tilts his head. "He called you the Knight and me a Pawn. I don't know a damn thing about chess, but I do know he was playing us like barbie dolls. Far as I'm concerned, his word means as much as the shit on my shoe."

"One Knight is worth three Pawns. ... Disposable." Lawrence goes red in the face. "What John forgot was that Knights and Pawns are powerful used together, and that Pawns can be promoted."

"And that already tells you he was full of shit, Larry."

Then Adam pauses. The full meaning of Lawrence's words wash over him like cold water. 

Knights and Pawns are powerful used together.

He's saying he needs me, thinks Adam, and his throat goes dry again.

"You need me, don't you?" asks Adam, almost whispering. He feels himself smile - Scott always called it the 'Jack Torrance grin'. "You need me. That's the funniest goddamn thing I've heard."

Now he really thinks Lawrence is going to tear his throat out. He kind of wants it. It seems a natural escalation, especially given that the scar tissue on his chest exists because Lawrence shot Adam. A fitting end - Adam again becomes a bystander, and Lawrence gets more blood on his hands. 

Instead, Lawrence grabs Adam by the shoulder and presses firmly at the scar tissue. The pain lances through his shoulder and radiates down to his fingertips - sharp, warm, and aching - and either Adam's really fucked up or they're both enjoying this moment way too much. He grasps Lawrence's wrist tight enough he can feel Lawrence's thundering pulse. 

Adam bites down a groan of pain. The pain intensifies. The noise slips out when he can't find the energy to hold it back.

Lawrence releases Adam's shoulder almost instantly, like he's been shocked. He may be pain free, but now his chest is cold.

Lawrence retreats back to seating.  

He tries to catch his breath, then decides to pretend that all that hadn't just happened and skates back onto the hardwood. Alison and Diana are skating obliviously.

"You guys hungry?" he asks, following alongside Alison. Diana is skating between them.

"Yeah!" says Diana, grinning from endorphins. 

Adam ruffles along in his pockets for a spare dollar. "Go get something from the vending machine." 

Diana skates away. Alison watches her like a hawk. 

"Is everything okay?" asks Alison. 

"Does Lawrence seem... off to you?" At this, his shoulder starts throbbing again.

Alison glances at him, then tracks Diana. "Yes. But I wouldn't really know, given that I haven't lived with him for almost a year." She looks at Adam out of the corner of her eye. "But it must be worrying enough that you're asking me."

"You've known him a hell of a lot longer than I have."

Alison shrugs. "He may as well be a different person than the man I married."

They skate in silence. 

"I didn't relish it," she finally says. "The divorce. But I couldn't do it."

"I don't blame you."

What have we done to each other? thinks Adam. Then he glances at Lawrence, who is still watching them. No. What will we do?