Break me down replace this fear inside
Take this nothingness from me
I want to find
I want to shine
I want to rise
Break me down

When Adam was 2 and a half he sat in the living room, his mother in the kitchen, his sister at pre-K, his father at work. He had wanted something on top of the table, a vase or something to that effect; so instead of going to his mother and asking, he simply climbed the table. A hour later when his mother saw him he had a gash on his head that was bleeding and yet Adam had a huge smile on, playing with his prize. She knew watching him, he was never going to be the weak one in the family. A runt in size yet he would never turn to others for help, he'd never tell anyone he needed anything, he'd never be needed.

25 years later Adam stood out side of room A-4700; Linda had been moved since the first time he'd seen her almost two weeks ago. Now she was getting better, the surgeries worked, and she'd be back to normal by November, or so everyone hoped.

Lawrence was being recognized as the shocking and amazing doctor who had saved this young woman's life. At first, when the surgery was only in it's first steps nobody cared, here was a man who was doing a suicide maneuver; oh but when it worked there reporters and photographers lining up from the doors of the hospital to ICU. Adam could only laugh.

Then there were the midnight calls from "fans", from interviewers, from the people who had rare disorders and wanted Lawrence to treat them. Then there were the conferences. Lawrence would sit behind a long table, Adam would usually stand somewhere nearby and watch as the interviews attacked him with questions and the photographers couldn't stop the flashing coming from every corner of the room.

No matter who was there, when it was, or what the questions were it always ended up in the same painful place; the bathroom.

First they'd ask ten, maybe twelve questions about Linda, about where he learned the operation, and why he did it in the first place. He smile and waved (like the friggen prom queen he is) and gave the politically correct answers. Then one reporter would stand and let loose the first of the real questions.

"Aren't you the doctor Gordon who was in that Jigsaw trap?" Lawrence would turn red, Adam would laugh. Then the fun would really start. "Lawrence Gordon?" "Did you really cut off your own foot?" "How did you escape?" "Is jigsaw still out there?" "What is the most horrific thing you did?" "Why do you think he choose you?" "Do you have both feet?" "Is it true that he had somebody holding your wife and child hostage?"

And Adam would only watch and stare at Lawrence, letting them take their toll on him, letting everything sink in again and again. It was true Adam loved Lawrence, that was the truth, but Adam always felt the vindictive hatred seer through him when that came up. It was the painful memory of the gun echoing in the small bathroom, it was the warm blood trickling down his shoulder, it was the smell when he first opened his eyes, it was the puke that rose in his mouth when he saw that bastard lying "dead" in the middle of the room, but most importantly, it was the lies, "We'll be okay, I promise."

Now, Lawrence was in another conference, and Adam believed that if you saw one, you saw them all and that he gave about as much emotional support as Alison so he disappeared upstairs, to the patients to see Linda. In the past two weeks, she was getting better, and we all know the rules about ghosts. If you're not dying you can't see them; unless you meet the other qualifications, and Linda met none of them. Every day Lawrence checked up on her Adam came with him. She could see him perfectly on some days and other days she couldn't even see him if she tried, soon she wouldn't be able to see him at all.

(Adam, tell her everything, tell her every single inch of your soul that you've been waiting to tell her, just let it all out because after this she won't ever see you again and do you really want her to think things about you that aren't true?) Adam stood there, his eyes fixed on the numbers on the door.

Linda, we need to talk. I tried to talk to you on the first night and I just couldn't get it all out but I have to talk about this.

He went against his nature, against everything in him and he walked into the room, head held high, chest out and walking as if he was so proud, so confident, so arrogant.

Linda…

She was sleeping, breathing shallowly, still but he knew somewhere in his heart or his mind that she could hear him. He was, after all, all in her mind. She might not remember what exactly he had said, when he said it, or even who had said it but he knew and that was all it was going to take. He let out a low sigh and began.

Linda, I'm sorry I have to tell you all this now, but I might never get another chance….

--

Two hours later Lawrence arrived in the room, Adam was shaking, alone, holding the still sleeping Linda's hand, gasping for air. Lawrence wanted to wrap his arms around Adam. He wanted to grab the boy that stood on the side of the bed, now missing bed rails, and pick him up and run back to the apartment and throw him on the couch, nuzzle his neck, feel something between the two. He wanted to kiss Adam and try to dry the tears that couldn't come out if they wanted to. He wanted to erase all the scars, even the ones he had no real right to even see. He wanted to peel away everything causing him to hurt, and seal up the wounds.

He was a doctor, with an oath to fix the broken, but here standing in front of him was the broken. Dead and yet dying again and again and he could do nothing but stand around and watch through glassy eyes.

--

"So what were you doing in there anyway?" Lawrence asked, his voice low as he threw on Adam's jacket and slammed the locker shut, his eyes trying to remain focused ahead but always finding their way back to Adam's.

I had to say something…Soon she's not going to be able to see me at all. When she can't I want you to tell her that … I … we.... no I just left one day and you haven't heard from me since. Okay?

"Adam, why are you going through all – "

YOU DON'T FUCKING GET IT! He sighed, his eyes flaring; he was (seeing red? You can't "see red" so you're just pissy right? Snapping at him simply because he's here?) not in the best mood ever, Lawrence continued slowly, cautiously.

"No, I don't know so I won't go butting in where I'm not needed. So I'll just leave it there and I'll tell her if you want. " He left, he had punched out about 20 minutes ago and he had gotten changed and was trying to avoid Adam who hadn't been the same since visiting Linda. His eyes were grey, lifeless more so than usual. He looked dead; although he was he rarely looked different than he had when Lawrence had known him to be alive.

Walking home was quiet, the wind blowing, tousling Lawrence's hair from one side to another as Adam stalked slowly behind, in his own world of no wind or air or physical pain yet all the heartbreak anyone was possible of having. Lawrence kept returning to the passing thoughts he had in the hospital room.

(He's broken Lawrence, he'd broken and even though it's not all you're fault you can help. You're the doctor, you can stitch up all the wounds, you can fix him, and you can do it. You know how to do it you just can't and why can't you? Lawrence you can't fix me.)

Lawrence stopped, in the middle of the road, unaware of where he was, unaware of anything, the wind seemed to stop, and he turned, his eyes meeting Adam's, the pitch black wrapping around them like a blanket.

Lawrence, you can't fix me. I'm not here for you to fix me.

"Then what are you here for?" Lawrence asked, his voice sharp and clear, cutting through Adam's heart like it was cutting through the night. . Blue eyes searing into Grey eyes.

(because I LOVE you Lawrence. I FUCKING LOVE YOU. I WOULD DIE FOR YOU AGAIN.)

But Adam couldn't open his mouth, he couldn't say anything. And after a few minutes Lawrence turned and kept going as Adam just stood there, looking at the ground, damning himself to hell.

--

Lawrence popped the tab on anther can of diet coke, bringing it to his lips and taking a long sip before changing the station. Nothing was on tonight, nothing was ever on and in two weeks since moving in he found his shape indented into the couch. He set the soda down and kept flipping, Adam sulking silently someplace close by.

"Adam, come on. Stop being a prissy bitch." It seemed so empty even with the TV turned to 40, no matter what sound was filling the small space it wasn't Adam and therefore it wasn't really there. For years Lawrence tuned things out, but Adam, he couldn't tune out. No matter what he said out loud to anyone, no matter how he denied it, no matter how much he bitched Adam about it, he loved it. He loved not being able to tune out the person who needed him and who (you need back; you need him so bad you have no idea. You won't admit it will you? Why not?) didn't want help.

"Adam?" He called out again, the silence was deafening, seemed to fill every inch of the room, his heart seemed to pound. Where was he? He had to be here someplace, he was just in a mood and he'd be out of it soon enough. Was something wrong? Thoughts raced around his head, pictures filled his subconscious. He thought he would go crazy any time now when the phone rang causing his chest to heave, and he ran a hand wearily through his hair.

"Jesus Christ…almost gave myself a friggen heart attack." He said, letting the phone ring a few more times. He looked at his phone, wondering who would be calling him at this time of night, who would even be calling him, not the hospital. Adam peered out from the bedroom, looking slightly upset but better than he had been.

Who is - never mind.

They both looked at the phone, subconsciously knowing who it was and why and yet neither or them saying anything, just watching the phone ring, vibrating on the table.

You'd better pick it up. But he didn't want to. He knew who it was and picking it up made it all definite, made it all too real, made things run by him too fast. It hadn't even been a month and yet…

He picked it up, and without even seeing who's name was on the caller ID, without even hearing a word he already said the words he had dreaded saying and had feared would becoming sooner rather than later.

"Hello Ally."

Misfit: Hey guys, I wanted to write a lot more on my long break but I haven't gotten around to it. I tried to keep it all in once tense but it's just like I don't know where my mind's been lately. I'm dealing with a lot of personal issues. XD. Let's just say its me and my bf, and all my friends who know what's going on keep calling me Adam. Well, hope you like this chapter more than the last one, I know once again it's probably not my best but it's not my worst. The next chapter might have a little more comedy in it. XD