Hey, everyone! It's been a while since I updated this fic, but I'm here now! XD Saw 3D... Biggest pile of non-canon, fan-pleasing BS ever, amirite? I mean, did the idiots who made it even watch the first movie? Lawrence was nothing like he was in Saw I! Hell, I refuse to even acknowledge him as "Lawrence," because he wasn't. The real Lawrence was sweet and loving and caring, and never would've helped Jigsaw or not given a shit about helping Adam.

So, if you want to wash away that awful non-canon from your heads, you can read this! There's no smut in this chapter, I'm afraid, but there IS lots of angst! Adorable, adorable angst! This chapter is a flashback, though. Just saying that here because I don't really make that completely clear below. Anyway, enjoy!


Adam lay huddled in the room that had become his prison, probably his tomb, and sobbed into his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He could barely feel his right arm anymore; the wound that he'd been given there seemed to have paralyzed the skin around it completely. His right ankle, which was bound by a rusty, metal chain, felt numb and sore.

And his chest... Oh, God, his chest hurt. It wasn't a physical pain. It was a burning, emotional sting that tore his very soul. In fact, if the young man had been melodramatic, he would have said that it was his heart that ached, not his chest.


Adam whispered the name for the umpteenth time, mumbling it into his hands even as he continued crying.

He'd always wondered what it was like to fall in love, what it was like to care about someone, more than he cared about himself. Now he did.

Lawrence... He loved him. He didn't know why he did, or when he'd started to develop these feelings - whether it had been when he'd been spying on the surgeon, taking pictures of his antics for a living, or when the two of them had wrapped their arms around one another briefly, their fear consuming them, just before Lawrence had left - he didn't know. He didn't care. All that he cared about was that Lawrence was gone, and he was all by himself, suffering in his affections.

He was scared, Adam didn't deny that. Hell, he was fucking terrified. The thought of dying here, alone, forgotten... It was enough to make him sob even harder than he already had been. But, amazingly, the freelance photographer actually cared more about Lawrence, and what was happening to him, than he did about himself. He wanted the older man to survive, to go back to his family and be happy, even if he himself couldn't live. The old Adam, the one that had never been in love, never cared about anyone but himself, would have scoffed at this. He would have insisted that if he had to die, then Lawrence should, too. God, how times had changed...

Perhaps it was this thought, the thought that he loved that doctor more than life itself, which he'd actually come to appreciate immensely in the last few hours, that made Adam pick up the mini-tape recorder that still sat beside him. He'd been aware of it since Jigsaw had slammed the door of the room, leaving him in the darkness to die, just as he'd been aware of the gun that sat beside him. If the worst came to the worst, he probably would use it. But not before he had made one last attempt to let Lawrence know of his feelings.

If the older man did survive, which Adam, while he hoped beyond everything that he would, doubted, he knew he would try to send help back to him. But if he were to fail... Well, he'd feel guilty. Very guilty. Even though he barely knew him, Lawrence would feel bad. Because he was just so kind and caring...

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Adam pressed the record button on the tape. He'd been afraid that it wouldn't work; that Jigsaw would have stuck tape or something over the holes that allowed for the recording, but he obviously hadn't felt bothered with that. At least he had some decency, then, although it was more likely that the thought simply hadn't crossed the sick bastard's mind.

"Lawrence..." Adam breathed into the speaker, forcing himself to take a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm himself. He would do this. He wouldn't let his feelings die, even if he did. Lawrence would know how he felt, one way or another. "Hey, man..."

He chuckled softly against the tape recorder, feeling his heart melt as he imagined the older man someday listening to this message.

"I wanted to leave you a message. You know... Just in case you didn't manage to send help back."

Funny, he thought. The thought of Lawrence not saving him didn't make him despise the older man at all, even though it should have. He knew his friend would try his best to help him, and if he failed, it wouldn't be his fault. He wouldn't hate him for it.

"If you don't manage, Lawrence... I don't want you to feel guilty about it."

Of course, there was always the large possibility that Lawrence himself wouldn't make it out, that they'd both die here. But unlike Adam, Lawrence actually had people who cared about him, people who would try their best to find him, to save him. He sighed heavily, the tears rolling down his face refusing to stop or slow.

"I don't really have anyone who'll miss me. Not like you. If one of us has to die, it's better me than you, you know? Besides..."

Adam hesitated, a lump coming to his throat as he thought, then continued:

"You're so nice, Lawrence... You care about everyone. Hell, you knew me for barely eight hours and you still tried to help me. Even though I'd been spying on you, invading your privacy, judging you..."

Adam looked around at the pitch-black room, seeing barely anything as his eyes had failed to adjust enough to see much. The ticking of the clock sounded awfully loud, even over the pounding of the blood in the photographer's ears.

"God, I love you, Lawrence."

What a way to confess. Not like in those sappy, romantic movies, which his various girlfriends had dragged him to, where the characters spent at least half the movie trying to confess their undying love for one another. He laughed slightly, the pain in his chest lessoning slightly as he finally said what he'd been brewing over for the last... Well, however long he'd been in here.

"I love you, Lawrence."

His body began to shake uncontrollably as he sobbed, unable to do anything, to hold the man he so desperately wanted.

"More than anything, I love you."

How could love make you feel so... crappy? Being separated from him, from Lawrence, was practically tearing the younger man's insides apart with grief.

"I love you so fucking much."

Adam continued murmuring into the recorder, the same words over and over again. "I love you, Lawrence. More than anything, I love you." Even those stupid, romantic movies he'd been forced to sit through in an attempt to get laid hadn't been this... pathetic. He hadn't meant to make the message this long, but he couldn't help it. In some weird way, the message he was recording made the young prisoner feel a tiny bit better. If Lawrence survived...

Please... Please, God... Let him survive.

...If Lawrence survived, he'd find this message eventually, and then he could stop feeling guilty. He could realize Adam's feelings and be at peace with the world.

"I love you... I love you... I love you..."

He didn't stop, even after the loud clunk noise on the recorder informed him that the tape had run out, that whatever he said from here on out, Lawrence would never hear.

"Please, Lawrence... Live. Be happy. Do what I can't."

Finally, his energy completely gone, Adam allowed his head to slump forward, onto his chest, and the tape recorder to drop gently from his hands and land beside him once more. He did nothing to stop the heavy drooping of his eyelids, or the fogginess that was slowly but gradually beginning to fill his exhausted brain.

So... Adam thought blearily as he slowly lost consciousness. This is death... Not too bad.

His body went completely still, his breathing barely audible.


"Adam! Adam!"

Strong, warm hands gripped the young photographer's freezing body, shaking him desperately in an attempt to wake him.

"Wake up!"

"Hmmm?" Adam mumbled sleepily, shifting slightly as he slowly came to.

"Oh, thank God!"

Adam grunted in annoyance at the loud voice, but the feeling of the speaker's warm hands against his body was very comforting.

"Hey, Anderson! He's awake!"

Blearily, Adam strained his eyes to see where he was, what was happening. He was lying against a wall, being held upright by a uniformed man, a cop, probably. Many other uniformed people were in the room, as well, searching it as though they were looking for someone else. The room itself was very grimy, almost like a prison cell. And there was blood everywhere, including on him.

"Where the fuck..." Adam muttered, his brain struggling to make sense of the situation.

Another uniformed man knelt down beside him, his face serious and grim.

"Adam?" he asked coldly, then continued on without waiting for an answer. "Where's Jigsaw?"


"Don't ask him that now, Anderson," the cop who was supporting Adam snapped angrily. "We need to get him out of here, to a hospital."

Adam's eyes widened and his breath left him as he gasped. Jigsaw. Yes, Jigsaw. The man who had locked him up here, left him to die. He began to struggle in the other man's grip, furiously, desperately, his fear making him completely irrational.

"Look what you did, Anderson!" the cop yelled, struggling to contain his burden. "You scared the shit out of him!"

Adam didn't care who these people were. For all he knew, they could work for Jigsaw. They could want nothing more than to keep him locked up in here, forever.

He was fighting like a madman, hitting, clawing, kicking, everything he could think of. If he could just break out of the other man's grip, maybe he could escape. And then he remembered the chain. Terrified, the freelance photographer looked down at his right ankle, expecting to find it still shackled. But it wasn't. Somehow, his bonds had been removed.

Adam stopped struggling, just as Anderson added his weight to the victim's body, trying to assist his coworker in restraining him. Breathing hard, scarcely able to believe what was happening, Adam lay back, looking at his companions with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Fuck, Adam..." the first cop said, letting go of the younger man and rubbing his bruised arms. "You can be really violent when you want to be, can't you?"

The other cop, Anderson, ignored his colleague and brought out a small bottle, seemingly filled with water, from his uniform. Wordlessly, he held it to Adam's lips, still supporting his body with his other hand.

"Drink," he ordered tonelessly, and Adam complied, drinking fervently from the bottle and quenching the horrible thirst that he hadn't even known he'd had.

In just a few seconds, he'd completely drained the bottle, and Anderson, satisfied, drew back, taking his hands from Adam as he did so. The wall supported him, so he didn't fall, but still the freelance photographer felt much colder without other warm hands on him. But the water he'd been given was also making his brain work faster. Slowly, he realized what was happening, who these people were.

"You're gonna help me?" Adam asked huskily, addressing both the men sitting in front of him. Anderson looked impatient. He got to his feet, waving dismissively at his coworker.

"Martin, you talk to him. I'm gonna check this place out a bit more. Maybe that fucker is still here."

Adam watched, dazed, as Anderson and about half a dozen other members of the force left the room, leaving only a few remaining.

The addressed cop, Martin, turned his attention back to Adam, his expression gentle and understanding.

"Hey, Adam," he said, moving his right hand out to grip the victim's shoulder. The younger man felt his body relax somewhat as, once again, it felt warm pressure against it. "My name's Jason Martin. I'm a member of the Rence Co. SWAT Team. We came here to rescue you. Well, and to look for Jigsaw, obviously. Lawrence told us-"

"Lawrence?" Adam interrupted sharply, feeling his heart-rate increase tenfold at the mention of his friend's name. "Lawrence sent you? Where is he? Did he make it out all right? Is he..."

The young man stopped, unable to finish the last question. In his mind was the thought of being rescued... The relief and gratitude he felt was overwhelming. But also in his mind, and this thought was much stronger than the other, was Lawrence... Lawrence, weak, bleeding, barely-alive, alone, dying...

"Lawrence is in the hospital, Adam," Jason said gently, his hand on the photographer's shoulder tightening a little. "He was stable. He kept repeating your name, though. He told us where to find you. He begged us to..."

"Lawrence..." Adam breathed quietly, closing his eyes. He suddenly felt exhausted. Almost all of his energy, which had come rushing back to him in the adrenalin of all the panic and excitement, was gone. The warm feeling of Jason's hand on his numb shoulder was comforting, and the water he'd been given had nourished him. He was very tired.


AW! Sorry Adam, but you shouldn't be so hot when you're scared and angsty! Adam seems like the sort of person who'd try to get a message to Lawrence in case he died, even though, contrary to what the stupid sequels would have you believe, he does survive, just like Lawrence. :) In any case, I hope this update was up to standards, and that I'll be able to update a little faster from now on. Thanks for your support and patience!

And don't worry; there'll be more smut soon!