Dr. Lawrence Gordon

These police officers were persistent.

To his ire, they had been waiting in his office. Lawrence knew he would need to have a stern talking to his secretary.

"How can I help you gentlemen?" He had remained pleasant, smiling and with a jovial bravado despite the tension.

When they had shown him his penlight, claiming it was found at the scene of one of those heinous Jigsaw murders, Lawrence immediately conjured up the phone number to his lawyer.

Yet the alibi, of all the time windows they had given him, had been the one secret he had been desperately trying to hide. He had clung to it, until he found himself in that miserable old building with the cheap Maxwell House coffee and being subjugated to witness a poor woman's ramblings of murder, blood, screams, and terror.

The one survivor who had made it. How horrifying of an ordeal.

When his lawyer finally arrived, he had caved and agreed to give Carla's identity. The shame he had felt had been suffocating.

And after all of this, Detective Tapp had the audacity to imply he was akin to a child predator.

"The sewers run in these neighborhoods too, Doctor."

He did not like the implications. The suspicion. They were groundless.

For some reason, this detective was adamant that he was the Jigsaw Killer.

Inconceivable.

When he got out of the car and reached his door, he had to shake off all the stress from that day.

"Daddy!" Diana ran up to him and he went to scoop her up and pull her into a big hug.

"Honey!" He smiled, glad to see her. He intended to erase all of this nonsense about the Jigsaw Killer, Tapp, and everything. It was all over. He was clear.

Now, he could get on with his life in peace.

Mark Hoffman

"Told you I felt lucky," Will grinned back at Mark as the security guard rubbed his bald head with a shy face.

"I couldn't just erase the footage, not when I know you guys would likely want to see it. Kept it safe," he explained. "Dr. Jill's always been sweet. I hope you catch these two."

"I believe we can identify the second suspect," Will replied, "you did good, keeping this safe. Thank you."

Mark had withheld the sneer of triumph as he recognized the small waif-like woman who was shivering and watching as Cecil Adams marched toward the clinic doors.

Amanda Young.

So she was a witness when John's wife was attacked?

No, she was one of the perpetrators.

Mark did not know the full story but it was clear that the sudden death of his future child had taken a toll on John.

While staking out a future victim, some doctor in the rich side of town, John had been especially angry. "He holds no appreciation for the life he's been blessed. The child others would kill to have, alive and well, with them, he takes for granted."

This was a valuable piece of leverage, especially these days, when John gave Amanda the royal treatment and worked him like a dog.

It was the last day, and just in time, they were set to close.

But Mark wasn't sure what to do with this evidence just yet.

"Well, it's near the end of the day. And I've got a plane to catch early tomorrow," Will murmured, checking her watch with a tired look. She looked back at Mark. "I'm satisfied. We have Cecil's autopsy report. Can I leave the rest to you?"

He smiled, glad she made it easy for him. "What, you trusting me with paperwork?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, maybe not."

"I'm just kidding. Come on, let me take you home. Need anything at your office?"

She shook her head. "No, I already cleared out."

That felt like a punch to the gut but he pretended not to care as the two of them left the clinic towards his car.

"Have you seen my glove? I thought I had it in your car last week."

Mark kept a straight face. "Nope. Haven't seen it."

Will sighed. "Damn. It's my favorite pair."

Mark knew exactly what she was talking about, the small tan suede leather glove that he had found between the seat and door of the passenger side of his car the other day. "Sorry, Will, tough luck."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Just an excuse to go shopping." She gave a rue smile. "Anyway. I'll see you around?"

He didn't want to rush her. They could stay in that car for the rest of their lives for all he cared.

But she would need to go. The more he clung, the more she'd repel. Mark had to coax her when the opportunity arose.

For now, he had to let her go.

"I also just realized," Will added, "the perpetrator resembled Amanda Young. The resolution was poor but I think you should consider a Jigsaw angle to this."

No doubt about it. She had to go.

She was too damn sharp for her own good.

"Yeah, I'll let Kerry and the others know. You have a safe flight. You'll be missed."

She nodded and they rode in silence. Mark appreciated the sound of her sighing and knowing she was there, just within reach to touch.

But he doubted there would be any hug, any kiss, any lasting contact for their goodbye.

"Where you staying, while in San Diego?"

"Just a cheap motel for divorces and vagabonds."

"Classy." He was fishing, wondering if a certain male agent would be her roommate.

"Don't plan on staying there much. I'm hoping it won't be for longer than a few weeks. There's promise, based on the case file recovered. But it went cold so long ago, it's going to take some time getting up to speed. But they never did run the fingerprints through modern databases. The FBI databases." She didn't elaborate but Mark could read between the lines.

FBI. So she was in direct contact with him, then. Likely working closely.

He squeezed the steering wheel to remember himself.

"If you jump ship permanently, you better come back for a proper send off."

"Oh. Yeah."

The surprise in her voice, as though she had not even considered leaving forever, put a smile on his lips. But there was hesitancy there. And Mark, especially knew, how things didn't always go according to plan.

Despite having known of him for years, he didn't know Strahm well and had no time to perform a decent reconnaissance of the agent.

But he knew enough with an internet search to know Strahm was a likeable man with an impressible resume. Mentions of his late wife. Collegiate athletic accomplishments. Mark didn't like how shiny Strahm was compared to him.

"I'm only a phone call away. If you need me, for something."

The olive branch extended, Mark treasured it and intended to take her up on that offer. "Yeah, don't go changing your number on me now."

She laughed. "You're not so bad that I have to memorize a new phone number."

"Ouch."

"It's a compliment."

"Sure."

He reached her apartment, pulling up to the curb. "Good luck, Will." It pained him to turn to her, keep his face pleasant. "I know you'll close the case. Stay sharp out there."

Her eyebrows turned up and a bittersweet smile blossomed on her face. "Oh, Mark." She leaned forward and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him into a close hug. "I'll miss you."

He shut his eyes tight and desperately tried to take in every detail, to the scent of her shampoo to the warmth of her breasts pressed into his chest. He was going to miss her too. Damn it.

She pulled back and gave him one last smile before getting out of the car and waving him off.

He waited for her to get into her apartment building and he pulled away from the curb.

When he got home, the silence was deafening but also reassuring.

It was his first night off in weeks. John hadn't given him any instructions yet.

Amanda was his primary focus and John's preoccupation with her gave Mark some breathing room.

He walked past the couch, where the grates of his air vents greeted him. He carefully unscrewed them with a quarter in his pocket and removed the box.

Opening it, at the very top was Will's glove he had stowed away. He went to sit and go through his trinkets of her, these articles being all he had left of her now.

A napkin with her lipstick kissed when she had blotted her mouth years ago.

A handheld note in her girlish, flirty handwriting.

A lock of her hair, tied by twine, from years ago.

Bobby pins, hair ties, one of her socks. A bottle of nail polish she had left at his house, back when they lived together.

He sighed, the invasive fear that this was all it would ever be festering in his brain. He didn't want that to happen.

And these days, he was learning how… easy it was to be in control.

That was the one good thing being forced to serve Jigsaw had taught him, was learning to be the puppet master to others. He was picking up on how some people were driven by their vices. Lust, greed, insecurity. John always found some ironic way to use it to test them and if they chose to succumb to their weakness, they would lose their right to live.

Supposedly, those who could suspend themselves of their preclinations would transcend to truly finding the means of cherishing their life.

In the future, Mark wanted to live his life, which he so cherished greatly.

He closed the box. First thing's first.

He needed to figure out a way to hold no possible tie to the Jigsaw Killer before he could get Will back.

Someone else would have to take the fall, without a shadow of a doubt. It wasn't an impossible feat. Mark was well versed at staging evidence and defining a case narrative to be within his favor. The resources were there.

It was John and Amanda he was worried about. John would be too smart and find his way to talk out of whatever conviction he had, not to mention the lawyers he likely could afford.

He figured Amanda could take the fall. The first survivor? Yeah, and so far the only survivor still. The latest two currently being tested - Mark suspected would die as well. But based on John's track record, only Amanda had what it takes.

It would certainly convince a jury.

Exhaustion came over him, making his eyes heavy. He needed to sleep.

He'd figure it out later. But first, he needed to crash.

But these days, sleep didn't come, no matter how tired he got.

He sat on the couch and turned the TV on, not paying attention to the glowing screen.

His thoughts were currently digging up buried memories.

"Knox, you look like hell."

"Fuck you very much, pipsqueak."

"Jesus, it's nine in the morning. You can't just drink here, Grissom will have your ass."

"He won't mind it, so long as you don't make a big deal of it, boy."

Knox had been hunched over his desk, gripping the lone picture frame he always kept on his desk, of his wife holding their infant son. "She's leaving me, Mark."

"Christ, I'm sorry."

"Told me I'm not the man she fell in love with. That she was tired of being married but being alone. And that she's afraid I'd get Timmy killed. The fucking nerve." He had pressed his thumb and front finger into his eyelids, looking on the verge of breaking down, amidst the sea of detectives who paid him no mind out of respect.

"Maybe she'll turn around. Marianne knows you love her."

"That's the thing, she said I never show it. And she wants a safe life out of the city. I can't give her that."

"There's still a chance," Mark had said back when he was younger and naive. "Just buy her some flowers. Take her out. Hell, I'll watch Timmy."

"No, I don't think it's going to be an easy fix. Not even if I had the cash to buy the biggest diamond earrings in the state. No, she's done with me. And it's for the best." Knox leaned back in his chair, shoes on the desk, nose facing the ceiling, and he took another glug from the bottle. "She'll keep Timmy safe. I can't guarantee doing that anymore. Not with Rosello watching my back. I'm trapped, Mark. Trapped and fucked." The phone began to rang.

Mark opened his eyes, realizing that noise was his cell phone alarm going off. It was John. It was time to get back to work.

Peter Strahm

He flipped and kicked off the concrete wall, exhaling out of his nose as the bubbles geysered down his chin and he flew through the cold water. Fifty-six. Nine more.

The silence enveloped him with only the gentle rush of his limbs heard as he swung his hand out and exerted each stroke as though he was trying to outpace a shark.

Whenever he needed to escape his thoughts, he chose to outswim them.

Fifty-seven. He saw the black T marking the end of the lane and he flip turned once again. He noticed the person in the lane beside him had finished. The pool was likely closing soon. He needed to hurry up.

Lately, he had a lot on his mind.

And the one thing that had taken up all the real estate in his head was Will Maddox.

She was arriving today, and he would have to break some news to her.

He still wasn't sure if it was good or bad.

There had been fingerprints found at her childhood home that belonged to no one in the Maddox family. He had been running them through every database the FBI currently had.

And they finally got a hit.

Philip Rhodes. Born 1958. Long rap sheet. Served multiple sentences throughout his lifetime. Armed robberies, assault, grand theft. And he was currently serving a sentence in Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego since 1992 for second degree murder.

Will would likely feel a wide range of emotions. Anger, at the incompetence of her hometown police department for never being the ones to identify his involvement. Disappointment, that there would be no arrests done at her hand. Hope, that all of this would be resolved as quickly as it had begun.

For Peter, he hated to admit that he felt only one emotion. Disappointment.

He knew it was wrong of him, wanting her to have stayed with him for much longer, if the reason was because her mother's murderer was still out there and she was desperately trying to find him.

Yet his personal feelings for her and wanting her close had complicated things.

Peter angrily flipped and kicked with all his might, flying down the lane before he rose up to begin stroking again. The flawed part of him considered delaying telling her.

It would be wrong. He knew this.

But the man wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to just spend more time with her. And with both their jobs, their schedules, and all the problems life kept throwing their way. And this damn Jigsaw Killer that would likely need her attention soon, he had very little legitimate reason to stay involved with her. He just needed time to convince her to join the FBI.

He wasn't proud of these thoughts. But he was so damn tired of feeling so damn alone.

No, this is for her own good.

He knew it was, because he had gotten a disturbing letter in the mail a few days ago.

No return address, all printed with no handwriting to be traced.

It had been to his damn home address, which had made his gut twist with anxiety.

Watch yourself, Special Agent.

Nothing particularly threatening. But it sure wasn't a damn Christmas card. And there had been one more thing in the envelope. Peter had thought for a second a bug had gotten mailed to him.

But when he took it out his heart had stopped.

It had been three strands of copper hair. Peter had already put the pieces together.

It had to be Will's.

Peter felt the sharp cramp in his left calf and he ground his teeth as he forced himself to the edge of the pool and waited for the pain to subside. He had overdid it.

He took his goggles off, rubbed his eyes, coughing.

Peter had no evidence for this. Even dusting the envelope and card for prints had born no worthwhile fruit. But he just knew who had sent that card.

The only other man who had the means of acquiring such an intimate part of her. And the motive to try to scare him.

As if that bastard could.

It only made Peter more determined to get Will away from him.

Will Maddox

Something was off with Peter Strahm.

She wasn't sure but he seemed more on edge than necessary, clicking his pen, glaring down at the yellowed paper of the case document.

When he had picked her up, he had put his hand around her, asking her when the last time she got a hair cut was.

It had been a strange question.

Months ago, she answered. She rarely needed one because her hair took forever to show length.

He then asked if she had noticed anything strange - anything at all.

But Peter never explained the reason behind these questions. Only that he was glad she was safe and hurriedly brought her to Quantico.

And then they had a brief debate on her sleeping arrangements.

"I have plenty of space, a private guest room. This isn't a ploy," Peter had added intensely, "I'm only concerned for your safety."

Normally, Will would have pushed back. She would have kneejerked with anger at this sudden domineering and micromanaging.

But it was nice to have a man fawn over her for once.

After several half-hearted back and forths, Will decided it would be fine to stay at his house. She pushed down the nagging sense of discomfort at how she didn't know exactly why Peter felt so concerned for her, finding herself also partially thrilled at being able to learn more about him.

And, she would only admit this to Allison and Lindsay, she was hoping something more would come out of this.

Despite his high strung ways, she still thought he had nice forearms and a strong jawline and she still had blood flowing in her veins and needs she hadn't addressed in a long time.

And it wasn't as though they weren't romantically involved - but the long distance had made her feel at ease with no strings attached.

Now, there was a distinct, unspoken pressure. An expectation of moving forward with things.

The fact that they were both in his dining room, the remnants of Chinese takeout shoved to the other end while folders, papers, and pictures covered the walnut table, and two glasses of well used glasses of red wine, this would have been Will's ideal datenight.

That is, if the contents of the case file itself did not bring back such painful, horrifying memories of the worst moment of her life.

"Were they investigating your father's business rival?" Peter flipped a page. "Yeah, looks like it. But the guy had an alibi."

"The case had not been completely neglected. But they just ran out of angles to explore." Truthfully, Will had no idea where to start. It was the first time she was seeing the autospy report, the neighbors' witness statements, and the crime scene photos.

Seeing a picture of the blemishes across her mother's corpse, her nude body on the gurney, had almost broken her.

And then there were the pictures that sparked memories long buried.

One particular one was her, wrapped in a blanket, crying while holding onto Bram who couldn't even walk yet. And the pain clouding her mind at these recollections made it hard for her to make a confident decision on what strategy she should take.

"Hey," Peter put his hand over hers and squeezed it. He felt warm. Comforting. He smelled of musk and leather. "Let's take a break."

"Yeah." She wiped a tear that almost escaped her eye and got to her feet. "How about a walk around your beautiful neighborhood?"

He had a wide smile. "Love to."

The night was surprisingly warm. The east coast had a warm front, the weatherman said. The night was full of mist and street lamps to illuminate the gated community. She could see her breath but as they walked the first street she needed to unbutton the top of her jacket and felt sweat begin to form.

"Surprisingly humid, for late November." A trash can blocked her path and she stepped into the road to go around.

"That's Virginia humidity, for you. You get used to it." Strahm followed her.

The roar of a loud engine had her turn her head, blinded by the bright headlights. She felt herself being pulled from the edge of the sidewalk, pressed to Peter as a yellow sports car zoomed by, the two of them almost falling over into the grass.

"Asshole," Peter muttered before releasing her. "Nobody obeys the speed limit here."

She was blushing, his touch thrilling and the absence leaving her chilled. All of this brought a shiver up her spine and Peter went to take his coat off.

"No, I'm fine," she reassured him and leaned into him, linking her arm around his elbow. She always had a soft spot for men who were quick to act. "I'll warm up as we keep moving. Do you run here?"

"No, I'm more of an indoor athlete. Been swimming this winter."
Maybe it was her long dry spell but a part of her began imagining him in swim trunks and she turned away to hide her pervy smile.

Peter lived in a nice neighborhood. Manicured lawns, expensive cars in the driveways, and plenty of scenic trails to walk through. They reached a grand roofed deck built by a pond, a few ducks roosting at the water's edge. The moon was almost full and there was an impressive amount of stars above.

"It's so beautiful here," Will sighed, staring out at the silver water and deep blue night. "I feel like I could stare out here forever." She turned to Peter. "I admit I'm a little jealous. You can't get this kind of peace and quiet unless you drive hours from the city, fighting traffic the entire time."

"Well if you ever need a place to get away, you're always welcome here, Will." Peter rested his forearms against the rail and looked outward. "My house gets a little too quiet for my liking. It's nice to have company. Especially when it's someone as charming as you."

He was a smooth talker and Will was not used to being on the receiving end of it. Her long term relationship with Mark, of course, had been rich and physical and full of ease. Mark had his strengths. But charisma wasn't one of them.

And then she felt his hand on her cheek and she was being pulled into Peter, and he was leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on her mouth. It was chaste but had fired heat in her belly and she found herself throwing her arms around his neck and pressing upward into him, willing for this man who tasted different and nothing like Mark to help ease the rising pang of longing she had for him.

Peter happily obliged, hands running up her back and his tongue grazing her lower lip as they both grew rushed and heated with their mutual explorations.

Help me forget, Peter, she silently thought. She wanted to forget about her past. Her mother, dead and gone forever. Her father, who lost so many years. Bram, who had to endure it all. Angie, taken too early. And Mark, who she loved and failed to help when he needed her.

But with Peter, he was the one who assured her he would be there. And she wanted, more than anything, to move on.

He went to pull from the kiss but she pouted, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down once more for a firm kiss that resulted in her nipping her teeth into his lower lip. He hissed in surprise, straightening to look down at her with heated curiosity.

"How deep do these woods go?" She had suggestion thick in her voice and her hand lowered down to his belt, his thigh, willing him to understand that she needed this.

"Acres." He had caught on, suggestion in his smile.

She reached and grabbed the ends of his fingers, pulling him from the deck and towards the thick trees and brush. "Think we'll run into anyone if we go in?"

"Not if we go deep enough," he responded, a man lured by his loins.

She jogged, pulling him with giggles as he trotted behind her, holding onto her hand and they broke through the heavy twigs. Most of the leaves had gone already, but it was cold enough to drive the bugs away.

Her heart thudded with anticipation as they hiked over drying leaves and soon found a spot where a large tree rested and everywhere they turned they could barely make the distant lights houses.

Like hormonal teenagers they took to each other, his hands running through her hair while she moaned into his mouth and pulled out his shirt from his pants, sliding them onto his chest.

He let out a gasp of surprise from her cold hands but instead returned the favor by squeezing his fingers under her waistband and gripping her bare butt as if he was determining if a peach was ripe enough.

He picked her up and pushed her into the tree, tasting the nape of her neck while she looked up to the stars and the branches overhead, losing herself to the feeling of the cool air and Peter's hot kisses.

"We don't have to rush if you don't want to," he whispered and she laughed.

"Peter, I dragged you here. Do you want to stop?"

He smirked back at her. "Not particularly."

"Good, because I'm too horny to stop." She reached to lift his shirt to admire the subtle abs running down his stomach and dropped to her knees to kiss and lick each groove, drunk with his physique.

He let out sighs that melted into gasps when she dragged her teeth down to the patch of hair that rose from his groin. Her hands were running up his legs, across the firmness that pressed through his jeans, and she proceeded to unbuckle his belt, struggling to unbutton his pants.

He helped her, breathing heavy, his features barely visible in the dark when she looked up at him. He was a silhouette amongst the stars and she preferred it that way, finding this anonymity exciting, new, and distracting.

"Fuck, Will," he cursed when she pressed her lips and gently prodded his boner through his underwear, enjoying the noises he made and the twitching she caused with her touch.

"You're so hard, Peter, so hard and hot," she spoke low and slow, freeing his member so she could run her tongue up from the base to the hilt.

She took him all in her mouth and began suck his head, squeezing the rest of him with her free hand and began to fill herself with him, getting him slick and wet with her spit.

After long seconds he put his hand on her head and pushed her off of him. "You're going to make me cum if you keep doing that, Will." He pulled her sharply up to her feet, spun her around to face the tree and went to pull her yoga pants down.

She leaned against the dense bark, bending down as she braced the cold and then felt the warm slickness of his tongue run against her womanhood. She hummed in pleasure, loving the feeling of how his fingers dug into her ass and his eager lapping of up and down her lips, his fingers dancing around her clit.

She was wet and wanting, whining with soft mewls. "Peter, please, fuck me, I need your cock inside of me."

He stopped his teasing and got to his feet, another pause having her turn to see why.

The faint glint of a metallic wrapper and the crinkle of plastic and she watched as he carefully rolled the condom onto his dick, spat in his hand and began to lubricate himself.

"Always prepared?" She teased, not able to see his face for a response but felt him grab her hair and pull her head to face the tree.

"Only when you're in town, Will," he responded, but his tone had little humor in it. He eased on pulling her hair, running his fingers down the small of her back. "I can't believe it's finally happened. I can't believe it." He sidestepped her legs apart with his, widening her as he dragged the tip of his cock to her opening.

"Have you always wanted to fuck me?" Her stomach was tingling, licking her lips, eagerly waiting for him to fill her.

"Ever since I saw you in that tight little red dress, all those years ago." He pushed himself into her for a moment but did not force it. It had been a while, for her and probably for him as well. He seemed the type of guy to not sleep around. "And when you'd drink from a straw or pack a banana for lunch, it was fucking painful to watch and do nothing."

She smiled, remembering the occasional glances she thought she'd imagine. She lowered her head and pressed herself onto him, feeling him go deeper, and he pushed her butt forward. "Nuh-uh, princess, you're going to have to wait a bit, know what it's like to have something so close but just out of reach."

"But I want it," she whined, pouting, turning to him.

"Then say please," he pulled her shirt up and lazily grabbed a breast, squeezing it and pulling at a nipple.

She winced at the sharp pleasure. "Please, Peter, please."

He made a noise of approval before he began pushing into her again. She let out a cry when he continued farther in than she was ready for, stretching her out, twitching and burning inside of her.

"You okay?" He sounded concerned.

She let out a gasping, "Don't stop!" And he continued to push until he was fully inside of her. She felt as though electricity was pulsing up her spine and it soon melded into Peter's thrusts that were slow and rhythmic, methodical as he was. He had somehow found just the right spot and kept punching his dick at it, overwhelming her.

"Oh, Peter," she let out his name as a thank you as she orgasmed.

He continued his pounding, the sounds of their panting and wet flesh slapping broke the quiet night and Will could barely feel her legs as she clung to the tree and felt Peter drive into her and unravel her.

She was sopping wet, her juices slicking down her thighs while Peter pulled at her breasts, let out deep masculine growls, with words escaping his mouth, such as, "Will, fuck.", "You're mine," and "Your pussy's so tight, you drive me crazy."

He had to pause every so often, not to catch his breath, but to refrain from cuming too soon. "Not gonna finish," he whispered, "I'm not done with you yet."

His dirty talk spiced her mood and accelerated her already heightened arousal, and she tried to match his thrusts, grinding her hips against his, he kept hitting just that right spot that she couldn't think - only feel - and he let out a final ragged grunt and pushed himself all the way inside of her in finality and she could feel him thick and twitching inside of her.

When it was all done, they were both panting, her knees shaking and he leaning over her, hands pressed against the tree as they caught their breath. He leaned down to kiss her neck and she turned awkwardly to kiss him back.

"I love you, Will," Peter said.

Will was buzzing from the wild sex and knew those words meant more than she could register. But she didn't realize what she said until she heard them leave her lips, "I love you too." She couldn't pull those words back and knew it was too late, but it was said. And she almost believed it.