A/N: Hey there! Guess what? I know I said this in the last chapter, too, but it is officially time for the third, and in my opinion, the hardest trap for our little sweethearts! And how's that going to turn out, you might ask? And my answer is: I've wanted to write this since I started the fic, so if it doesn't turn out well, I might cry!

12: Way Too Human

It's hard to panic when you can't register what you're supposed to panic about.

And right now, it's just like right after Adam saw Lawrence climbing and red, dripping mouths opened in his palms.

He can't kick and scream, can't even hate Jigsaw, can't even miss Lawrence, since it's so obvious that this isn't happening. Things like these don't happen.

People aren't this cruel. People don't force other people to either bleed to death or lead the person they love the most, the one person who's ever loved them and ever stayed, into a definite death, they don't force other people to guide the loves of their lives into the lion's cave.

All in all, this doesn't happen. This is a dream, a nightmare. A movie. Directors and audience. Stanley Kubrick.

So Adam doesn't really get why he's so scared, doesn't get why his hands start to shake so violently that not even the beltscan hold them still.

Jigsaw is still, though. He doesn't move a muscle, looks like something from Madame Tussaud's. Okay, good. There's a solution. Jigsaw isn't real, he's a doll. All in all, neither of this is for real. It's all a wax cabinet, and Adam's a doll, too, he doesn't have to worry about dying, doesn't have to fear that his wax heart will stop beating. So he can send Lawrence home without really lying, because Lawrence can't come here. He's the only thing that's real, after all.

Lawrence. Adam's heart is made out of wax, so it's okay, but it still aches at that thought.

Lawrence is the only thing, the only thing ever in Adam's life that's been real, that hasn't been a bad dream, that hasn't gone away and hasn't bitten his hand when he's tried to touch it.

Lawrence is real, so he needs to live.

Adam's just a wax doll, so he just has to melt to be forever gone. Lawrence is a human, and if he goes away there will be blood, splattering and red, tears, heavy and salty, a pale, silent Diana standing in front of a tomb.

It's not hard for Adam to come to a conclusion.

"Okay."

A light goes on in Jigsaw's eyes.

"What?"

"Give me the damn phone."

Jigsaw lifts the phone, which still lies in Adam's lap, and dials a number. Adam takes a deep breath when Jigsaw puts the phone to his ear and presses it in place with his shoulder.

He's made of wax.

Wax dolls don't feel sorrow.

Wax dolls don't fall in love.

And he does his best to block out the thought that Lawrence is human, and by this, will be devastated, as he hears the signal beeping.

Lawrence startles when the phone buzzes against the wound in his hand. Amanda looks fairly amused when she sees the frightened plea in his eyes.

"You can pick up," she says softly. "This isn't 'Ring,' I'm pretty sure there's no monster in the phone."

Lawrence pretends not to hear her, he's still mad at her from their last coversation, when he presses the big, glowing button, it looks like it's staring at him, and picks up.

"Hello…"

His voice isn't his own. Once again, he's standing a few feet away from himself and watches.

He so badly wants to believe that the poor man he sees isn't himself.

In the other end of the house, Adam can't fight anymore. He tried to use the time when the signals went through to close mouth, eyes, nose, make himself completely airtight, but when he hears Lawrence's voice, there's no use.

He can't help that he weeps.

Can't help that when he hears the shadow of a voice he used to love, the voice who was a warm, red cave he could crawl up in and hide from everything he's waist-deep in right now, something inside his wax-heart snaps and tears spill over, runs from his eyes and gather up in the corners of his mouth, try to get into his own voice and make it soft and mushy, despite his desperate efforts to keep it firm.

He knows what he has to say. And if he says that with the tear-dripping thing that is his voice now weather he likes it or not, it won't have much effect.

"Lawrence…" He begins, realizes that his voice is way too soft, like a sponge, and then starts over. "Lawrence, where the fuck are you?"

That was good. Sharp tone, a little quippy. He's not wax anymore, he's steel now.

For a second, Lawrence thinks that Adam's kidding. His mouth hangs open for seconds before he can't think of an answer.

"What do you mean, where am I?" He says, tries to sound annoyed, only sounds begging. "Adam, you have to tell me where to go now! I'm in some corridor, there's a painting on the wall, Amanda won't tell me where to go…"

He sounds like when he was six. Mom, Tommy took my candy.

Adam inhales, it's jittery and shaky and makes him think of a rubber band someone's stabbed with a needle, but when he exhales, he actually is able to make it sound like a sigh.

He's steel. Steel.

"Lawrence, you fucking idiot," he moans, "please tell me you're not in some goddamn haunted house looking for me?"

He wishes he could put a hand over his mouth, then it'd be so much easier to stifle the sobs.

Now, when his hands are tied, the only one he can trust to keep his façade up is himself. And that's not a comforting thought at all.

Because without Lawrence, he is nothing. Without Lawrence, he is wax. Wax doll.

Lawrence is completely quiet for a few seconds. He's quiet in a perplexed, dumbfounded way that doesn't fit him at all, and Adam wants him to stop that.

He wants Lawrence to say that everything's going to be okay in that tone he just rolls his eyes at normally, but right now, would be a blanket around his shaking shoulders, band-aid on his raw wounds.

Fuck, that damn preppy doctor is all he's got!

Adam inhales again. Don't think like that. Not good. Stop it right now, be wax, be steel.

"What do you mean?" Lawrence asks, almost menacingly, and there's a sob that Adam can't hold back. He can only hope it sounds like a dejected chuckle.

"Lawrence, for God's sake," he cries out. "You bought that crap? I'm at home right now! I'm fine!"

Lawrence shakes his head, almost laughs, and puts his hand over his eyes. If Adam actually thinks he's that stupid, maybe he should leave him here.

"Adam," he says, stricter now. "You're full of it. Tell me where you are, and I'll get there."

"No, Lawrence!" Adam yells, frustrated.

His voice is faltering now. Like old wood. Not steel. Not one bit.

"These people want to hurt you," he goes on, and now, he's actually telling the truth, he's begging subtly from the bottom of his heart. "You broke their rules the last time we did this, remember? You thought they'd let you go unpunished? Just come back home, and you'll be fine! If you keep going, that's when you'll really get in trouble! Just come home and I'll be there!"

The tears are pouring, gushing, and it's worse than when the blood did so, because this is a sign of his weakness, a sign that he's already lost. He will tell Lawrence where he is, he will lure Lawrence into the grave with him, because he loves him so much, loves him too much to lie to him.

"Adam!" Lawrence growls, furious now, that fucking little moron won't get away that easy.

"What?" Adam hisses back.

He's mad now, too. Mad at Lawrence for not believing him, mad at himself for being such a fucking pussy.

"I love you," Lawrence blurts out, he hasn't even noticed that he cries, too, and Adam feels every trace of steel melting away, along with the wax, and all that's left is him, only him, and he's nothing but a human, a stupid, fucking, weak human, a human who's head falls down between his quivering shoulders, a human who's crying like a baby and who's way too fragile to handle something like this and who's so desperately, mind-numbingly in love that he can't even think about how stupid he is right now.

So much.

So much for trying.

Damn you, Lawrence. You know I can't fucking disagree with you now, you sneaky bastard.

Jigsaw has to pick up the phone from his lap again. It fell down when Adam's head drooped, and one look on his face is enough to make Adam think rationally again.

But not enough to turn him back into steel.

He's crying too hard to be steel right now. Crying too hard to hide it from someone who knows him as well as Lawrence.

"I know… I never said it," Lawrence goes on when Adam's shoulders are still enough to press the phone to his ear again, and hearing his home, his safety, sobbing helplessly too far away for Adam to comfort him is like another cut on his arm. "But it was just because… I knew you wouldn't let me! But didn't I show you, couldn't you tell? Fuck, when I was touching you and kissing you and making love to you… Couldn't you…"

Adam's voice is too cracked to be used, his shoulders are shaking and tears mix with blood and vomit on his shirt.

Get it together.

Adam inhales. Needs air.

For him.

The phone slips against his ear. Lawrence's sobs are crackling.

For God's sake, get it together for him.

"Maybe…"

Adam knows the tears are too permeated in his voice now for Lawrence not to hear. He's not going to stop trying, though.

"Maybe I loved you, too," Adam stutters out, and the words are even more foreign on his tongue now than fourteen years ago. "But it couldn't…"

Another sob. Everything can go to hell now.

"Oh, fuck, forget it, Lawrence!" Adam hisses. "You can't come here, you hear me? He has a trap, and your hand… It'll…"

It's like his tears are words. They pour out of his eyes, one by one, and he can't talk anymore, can't even breath, can only feel the sentences that slips down his cheeks, all the salty little things he could never say.

Lawrence can't talk, either. He can barely stand, and Amanda seems to have so much fun, the grin on her lips is wide. Lawrence tries not to look at her, Adam's sobbing, like knives in his head, is bad enough, because he's not there, he can't comfort him. Can only wish to.

Can only talk, and hope it sounds comforting even though he cries harder than he's ever done in his life.

"Adam…" Lawrence stutters out. "Oh, my dear, sweet, Adam, my beloved little Adam, don't cry… Let me come to you, let me… Let me be your soul driver…"

Adam is still crying. But maybe it gets a little softer. Maybe.

"Remember all the fights we've had over the stereo, Adam?" Lawrence goes on, suddenly remembering himself. "Remember all the times I've put on a Bruce Springsteen-album and you've said he sounds like a vacuum cleaner and tried to turn it off, and I've held the remote high over my head? Remember that, Adam?"

And maybe Adam laughs. Maybe.

"Remember the songs I've made you listen to?" Lawrence asks, even chuckling, himself, and Amanda almost looks angry.

Adam is still crying. But it's less violent crying now, more still, peaceful sobbing. And Lawrence feels his cheek drying, he's sure of that.

Because he remembers, too.

"Remember the line…" Lawrence begins, seeking through the mess in his brain for the folder named 'Bruce Springsteen.' "'If the angels are unkind, or the season is dark, or if in the end, love just falls apart, well, then, baby, let me be your soul driver…'"

Adam doesn't answer. But he remembers, too, Lawrence can hear that.

Can hear him remembering the fights over the remote, remembering the endless beers and the phone calls to Chinese restaurants, the crappy TV-shows, the still, sweaty love making, the nights on the couch when neither one of them said anything but when they still knew they'd never be able to live without each other.

And maybe that's why Adam then speaks up again, with a new voice, soft and vulnerable, reborn from the insecurely edgy one he used to have.

"Where… Are you right now?"

Lawrence looks around.

"It's… A corridor. There's a painting on the wall in front of me. It's a ship, it's… Titanic. When it's sinking."

He hears Adam's nod.

"Okay…" He says, and his voice really is small. Almost dejected. "Then, there should be a door a few feet ahead that you should go through."

This is what Jigsaw wants him to do. Adam doesn't care.

ARGH! Adam's so STUPID, isn't he? Well, on the bright side, if he's this stupid, it might be easier to get him into bed! (Random) Anyway, review, I tell you!