A/N: Damn, long update. Sorry about that, but I've been a bit dry… Anyway, now that you know how Adam's doing, it's only fair that you get filled in on Lawrence's situation!

5: Hammer, Nail, Scalpel

In a weird way, Lawrence is still convinced that this isn't happening.

That he's fallen asleep in the on-call room and that this is all a nightmare. That he's going to wake up soon, rub his temples and get back to work. That he'll go home later, that Adam's going to lay on the couch, still in his pajamas, that he'll take him out, watch 'Funny Games.'

He stopped believing that the world he created for them – the world where they never have to fight, everything is easy – would remain untouched long ago. He knows it's not possible, he's seen evil in its purest form, knows it can crush everything that's beautiful like Corn Flakes are crushed between Adam's teeth in the mornings.

But still.

He never thought it would go this far.

When he wakes up, he's got no idea how long it's been. Maybe Adam's already dead, maybe he's already dead himself. But he still wakes up, his head is throbbing like it usually does when he actually has fallen asleep in the on-call room, his stomach seems to retract and then swell up, the world spins around for a second until it comes together as an open car door and Amanda's black jeans.

"Come on," she says and nods towards a big, old house that looks like it's about to fall apart any second now.

"I feel sick," Lawrence whimpers.

Pitiful. Like a kid.

Like a kid, he crawls for someone who wants to hurt him.

Someone that might've killed Adam already.

"Throw up, then, if you have to," Amanda says calmly. "But don't even think about running away. He's already with John. His pretty little arms can be sliced up right now."

Now, Lawrence has to look at her. Even though she's still floating up and down, even though he wants nothing more than to close his eyes. Go to sleep.

"What?"

Amanda shakes her head. Like she doesn't want to give away the punch line.

"Just come on."

Lawrence stumbles out of the car and follows her up to the stooping house. Even though the nausea in his empty stomach has been replaced with a big block of ice.

"What do you mean? Will he get…"

The block of ice is coming up his throat, and he has to stop and put his hand over his mouth.

But along with the vomit, he also swallows that last word.

The word 'hurt' can't get past his lips. Because that's the worst thing that can happen, and if he thinks about it, he'll drop to his knees, he'll throw his guts up and he'll cry, like a kid, Amanda's going to win with the visions she plants in his brain. And he won't grant her that.

"That's up to John," Amanda says and unlocks the rotting door with a big key she has in her purse.

"Who the hell is John?" Lawrence snaps and walks into the house.

The humid air smells of mildew. And it's dark, but Lawrence can still see the same smile on her lips as he did in his own apartment.

"That's another person you remember slightly different from what he's like now."

When she sees Lawrence's face over her shoulder as she locks the door behind them, she laughs. She still has the ability to make it sound like something horrible.

"We'll cover that subject later. You'll be updated, both on John and his little guest. But right now, you have more important things to think about."

And then, they walk into a room. And on a different place, three floors above him, Adam gets just as terrified as Lawrence.

"What?" He says and tears his eyes away from the screen. "What the hell are you going to make him do?"

Jigsaw looks like he'd shrug if he'd been able to.

"Look at the screen, Adam."

"What are you going to make him do?"

The screaming gives him a soar throat. And it's still completely wasted.

Lawrence walks into a room, Amanda follows him.

And even though they see the exact same thing, they react completely differently.

Lawrence just gets paler. His blood gets colder in his veins, the ice in his stomach gets heavier, and for a second, he doesn't think he's going to be able to move.

And Adam widens his eyes, flickers his gaze from the screen to Jigsaw, tugs helplessly on the belts, like he's trying to break loose, tear Lawrence out of the TV and take him away, away from here, or maybe he's trying to help the woman on the screen, blurred and in black and white, but unmistakable.

"What's he going to do?" He hisses to the pale skull next to him. "What the hell is he going to do to her?!"

But the pale skull doesn't respond. It just nod against the TV, look Adam, look what I'm forcing the one you love more than yourself to do, look what I'm forcing him through again.

Look what I'm forcing him to do to the mother of his child.

Yes. Because Allison is on that screen, too.

And she's crucified.

There's no better way to put it.

She's held fast to the moldy wall in front of Lawrence, and spikes have penetrated her hands and her feet, blood is pouring down her arm, stains her blue shirt, dribbles down onto the floor through the hole in her feet, pieces of her nails fall down, down, her eyes stare at Lawrence over the duck tape that covers her mouth, bloodshot, widened, dreading.

And Amanda. Who almost looks amused. Who opens her sharply painted mouth and starts talking.

"This is pretty simple, doc," she says in a soft voice, almost purring, leans closer, tickles him with her breath. "Your ex-wife here has a bomb inside her."

Allison's eyes. Wide and staring.

"Unfortunately, it seems to be right next to her heart, too," Amanda continues, she almost sounds loving now. "And it'll blow up in two minutes. But a big-shot surgeon like you would sure think of a way to get that out of the mother of your daughter to save someone you love, wouldn't you?"

And with those words, she takes out a scalpel, dirty and rusty, from her purse, puts it in Lawrence's pale, stiff hand. Doesn't even look at his frightened eyes, his gaping mouth.

Cut.

He has to cut Allison open.

To prove something that's plain as day.

"You know I love Adam," Lawrence croaks out and waves the scalpel randomly. "Why… Why the hell do I have to prove it?"

Amanda shrugs. Like he's asked her why she's wearing her hair up today.

Lawrence wants to kill her.

"You really want to go over that now?" Amanda says and pretends to look at her watch. "A minute and fifty seconds."

Okay.

Okay.

For Adam.

Lawrence swallows, leans closer to Allison, puts his ear against her chest to discern something behind that terrified pounding.

Cut her open for her. And for Adam.

Yes. There. A small ticking.

Lawrence is only half-aware that he's saying the words he's thinking, quietly and squeakily, as his fingers fumble over Allison's chest, shaking and jittery but practiced, searches through her from the outside and searches through his own brain, that's turn into a cold, hard stone, tries to find the smallest trace of knowledge from a life that now seems so far away.

"… Obstruction reasonably be placed between the front and back artery and then I have to cut right here…"

Allison screams something behind the tape. Maybe she wants him to cut right now, maybe she doesn't want him to do it at all, but either way, Lawrence makes a cut in her shirt, exposes her white lace bra, looks into her eyes with a gaze that doesn't get a grip on hers.

"Allison," he says, almost firmly. "You can scream. But I need you to be very, very still right now. For me. Okay?"

He doesn't wait to check if she approves, because time is running out and he feels Amanda's looks on him, looks of mirth mixed with terror and my god! Is he really going to do it? even though he's switched off every emotion he has, whenhe puts the scalpel to the ticking and presses.

Allison screams.

Even behind the tape, she screams, loudly, high-pitched, heartbreaking, her blood is gushing, squirting, slippery and warm on Lawrence's hands because this isn't an operation, nothing is sterilized, Lawrence doesn't have any gloves, any coat, any mask, any time, just a ticking, a dreadful ticking and red warm slick on his hand and Allison's heart, her living, beating heart that's pounding, embedded in the red flesh and Allison's screams that's torn into shreds

for Adam

by the silvery tape over her mouth

for Adam okay but it's not happening not for real

and finally, finally, Lawrence finds the ticking,

Adam is at home we're going to watch Funny Games later because this isn't for real

finds the rectangular, blinking little thing, pinned, slipping between the thick, throbbing arteries of his ex-wife's heart, he grabs it, tosses it over his shoulder, Amanda catches it, presses two buttons, still like she's doing this every day, and Lawrence wants to kill her again.

"Six seconds to spare," she says, almost merrily, while Lawrence struggles to get his shirt off, get some sort of resistance to the blood that's pouring out of the wound

(that you caused)

in Allison's chest.

"You did very well, doc," Amanda says and knocks on a place in the wall next to her to check if it sounds hollow before she jams her elbow into it, picks out a big hammer from the hole she made and gives it to Lawrence. "Here, take the spikes away. I usually don't like helping people out of these things, but I guess she needs some blood if she's going to come with us."

"She's not going any-fucking-where," Lawrence hisses and yanks the hammer out of her hand. "She's staying here."

"Where you can't keep an eye on her?"

"Where she won't lose any more blood."

He's glad that he didn't remove the tape before she attaches the first spike to the head of the hammer and pulls. It doesn't go fast, and Allison screams again, but finally, after some wriggling and coaxing, the first one is gone, her well-manicured hand falls down to her side.

Lawrence has to work to get the rest of the spikes out. Not just because they go down deep, but also because the doctor-side of him is so scared, so terribly scared that he's going to hurt her even more, every scream that's muffled by the tape is a cut over his heart with the rusty scalpel, long and slow.

He doesn't love Allison. But he doesn't want to hurt her. Not again.

Finally, the nail in her feet is gone, and at that point, much of Allison's blood is everywhere, on Lawrence's shirt that he's pressing to her chest, on his t-shirt that he's still wearing and on the floor around them, but she's free, and Lawrence can tear the tape away from her mouth, let her fall into his arms.

"Allison," he says, almost as tenderly as he once could speak to her. "I'm so sorry…"

She's just lying there. Her heart beats clearly, way too fucking clearly against his own chest, so she's alive, but she doesn't say anything, barely breaths, just half-laying in Lawrence's arms like a lifeless mannequin.

Amanda stares at them with almost detest in her eyes. But when Lawrence looks at her, half pleadingly, half hatefully, she still smiles bitterly and says:

"Very touching reunion scene, guys."

She walks up to Allison, grabs her shoulders, pulls her into a standing position, fixes her wandering, foggy gaze.

"Bitch," she says, not as an insult, but more like a given name, and point to a corridor next to them. "If you walk down that hallway, you'll get to a kitchen. And in that kitchen, there's a door that leads to some stairs. If you walk down those stairs, you'll get to a cellar where there's freezers with bags of blood, IVs, needles and thread, bandages and all that shit that you could use to fix that ugly wound on your pretty little boobs. Okay?"

Allison doesn't respond. Just falters, more and more color disappears from her face, and Lawrence is so worried for so many people at once, images of Allison, Adam and Diana flashes in front of his eyes like his mind was a broken projector. Amanda rolls her eyes.

"You know what? Doesn't matter. Go there if you want to. Die if you like that better. Doctor Gordon, come with me."

She lets go of Allison and beckons to Lawrence to follow her. Lawrence notes that Allison actually does start walking down the corridor that Amanda pointed out, maybe more out of shock than anything else, but still with a surprising amount of determination. But Lawrence still starts to follow her.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Amanda asks calmly.

"Can't I…"

"No."

"But…"

He's begging. This woman has forced him to cut Allison open and she's kidnapped Adam, but he's begging.

"You can do whatever you want," Amanda replies patiently. "But if you don't get to your lover within six hours, he'll probably be the worm food he was born to be once you get there, so I suggest you don't prioritize things without thinking them through."

This is the first time I write something about traps, and my head was on Mars when I did it… Hope I pulled it off. I don't own the idea of the trap, either, a friend of mine does. Damn, I don't own anything at all in this fic! Anyway, review, please!