Archive of Our Own ^beta

"What are you building here, John?" He doesn't look up from what he's doing at the question. He continues to focus on trying to keep his hand steady enough to paint a small red spiral. Billy silently thanks him with his unblinking smile.

"I asked Logan to follow the schematics for the pig pen. Amanda is following some of the players to gather information. I-" John breaks his careful movements to dip his miniscule paintbrush into the red cup of paint beside him. Well made for delicate work. He got it from a model kit shop. "Am painting"

"That's not what I meant." William is an uneasy bird on John's shoulder. He stands just behind him with his arms crossed and weight constantly shifting on his feet.

"What did you mean?" John asks, despite knowing the answer. It would do good for William to make him speak for himself.

"I mean this." He gestures out at the warehouse around them. The space had been overrun by their work, turned into some kind of master minds lair. "With the- the apprentices, the kids, the... me." He adds it on shyly, almost sounding embarrassed to make the list. Now, he avoids looking directly at John. "What are you trying to make?"

"Did your formula say that Gideon was going to survive?" The question shoots directly through William. John almost hears him gasp like it was something John physically threw at him rather than gently muttered as he peered down through his glasses. He hears William shuffle again, turn and look away as he mulls the answer.

"John..." John doesn't reply and he doesn't yield. He silently waits for an answer he knows will come.  The truth always fell out of him eventually, especially after John had cut him open, broken his hands, burnt him, destroyed him so that he may remake himself. The truth would come, especially if John was prying for it. "Yes." He finally relents. "With Jill's history and her health, and she made it so far along we... we had thought she would come to term fine."

"And she did not, because those around her had no value of life." John sits back to look at Billy, make sure the spiral is even and neat. The doll smiles back at him, rosy cheeks perfectly neat. He's just how John liked him. He fixed the dolls bowtie delicately.

"I'm sorry, John."

"Family is a very difficult thing to obtain, and to keep. If he had been born, there's no guarantee he would survive long, or that he wouldn't have gotten cancer as well."

"You're case isn't genetic. There's no reason he wouldn't have grown up."

"Making a family raises financial issues, health risks. some couples cannot even have a child without intervention," John continues like William never even spoke. "If they do have a child, it is the most delicate thing in the world. A simple accident, one wrong germ, and your family will come crashing down. They grow older and you let them out into the world, and the risks increase. Every moment you have a family is a chance you can lose them." He finally turns in his chair, able to look at William. He's fiddling with the collar of his sleeve. A subtle way to put a barrier between him and John. John watches it with the weary thing he calls a smile. He changed in vast swathes since John had tested him. The likeness to a bird came to mind again. "By the logic of your formula, it would make sense to find a family, rather than make one. Gather those who have proven they can survive."

"Is that what the tests are for..?" His brows furrow. John can see the questions that cross his mind as if he was glass and the thoughts and feelings were merely fish in a tank. What am I, then? Who am I in your family?

"The tests make people value their lives. They don't have an ulterior motive." He had been trying to instill that idea in Mark since he first recruited him. This was not killing.

"But you said-"

"I do not take in every person that passes. Dr. Gordon can attest to the size of the survivors group."

"But you still take in some. You tested all of them."

"They chose what they would do with their new lives." John takes a rag from the table to wipe of paint on his finger tips. Still wet. If he pulled that sleeve from William's meddling grasp, he would have stained it.

"What about," he licks his lips, second guessing himself, "what about me?"

"Am I keeping you here, Mr. Easton?" John says it low, calmly. Like he's speaking to a small child. The tremble is back in his hands as he looks at William over the rim of his glasses.  William's face flies through a myriad of expressions, from something irritated, to concerned, to confused, to perhaps even bashful. He doesn't hold John's stare.

"You keep calling me here."

"And I allow you to leave." John braces himself on the table to stand. William reflexively takes a step back, like John may lunge at him. His test proved him surprisingly spry, considering he was closer to John's age than Lawrence and Mark's . At least, when he was uneasy or down right fearful for his life. He had collapsed in microseconds when his life was spared. John kept Amanda and Mark from freeing everyone for some time after, just to give him the time to sob into the hard ground with repeated gratitude and apologies on his lips.

"Why?" William finally seems to manage the strength to ask the real question. His eyes, but not his body, follow John as he crosses the room to a different table. The one they had set up the audio equipment on. He takes the prepared tape off of it.

"To see what you did with my gift," John answers easily. He hang the tape around Billy's neck. The "play me" written on it may as well have been written in a matching bright red. He was ready.

"Gift?" You can hear the squint in William's voice.

"You see what a life is truly worth now." John taps schematics on the desk. "Not just numbers on a page." With that, he finally goes to couch in the room. Its far from the working space, and there's an oxygen tank sitting on one side, right beside a side table covered in pills and papers and pens. William does follow this time, figuring out John's path of trajectory.

"Is that all it is?" He doesn't sit beside John. He remains on the other end of the crooked coffee table. He has his hands in his trouser pockets. He's trying to look calmer than he is. His feathers were still visibly ruffled. John pulls the mask from its place, holding it to his face so he can breathe deeply into it. His eyes close at the rush of clean air he doesn't have to fight for. His head still throbs regardless, but the fleeting rush is a small comfort. He can feel William watching him breathe in and out in a steady pattern. He cracks his eyes open to look at the other, and William startles, clearly not expecting it. He clears his throat with eyes on his feet. Softly, motions so slow it naturally draws attention, John slides his hand beside him to pat the threadbare cushion there. There was plenty of space for him. The couch could probably fit all of them except Mark and Logan if they were willing to face the squeeze. Mark wouldn't want to be that close to the others anyway, especially Amanda and William. He was still quite terse about the man's survival. Novels could be written about his feelings towards Amanda, and hers for him. William looks at the motion and does a kind of movement with his legs. Like he reflexively goes to obey, before realizing he should consider first. John's hand simply rests on the cushion, watching William.

"Is that all it is..?" He dares to repeat the question, looking through those delicate, barely there lashes. John remains silent. He doesn't need to hold the mask to his face at the moment, but he continues to. It gives the illusion of an excuse on his lack of an answer. William looks at his hand on the cushion again before finally relenting. He takes his hands from his pockets and walks over. He sits beside John, but not close to him. The bird has room to fly away if he gets too startled. John takes the mask from his face.

"You don't go to the meetings," he not-answers. His voice is quiet and cracked. If William were any further away, he wouldn't have been able to hear him properly. He's close enough to still reach out and touch, if John was so inclined.

"Oh, I-um, I don't feel like I should." He wasn't expecting the statement, and he flusters at the shock. He furrows his brows. "I felt like my test was," he clears his throat, "different."

"They're all different."

"Yes but I-" he shuts himself up with a worried frown. John recognizes the expression by now. He's realized the consequences of what he would have said and regrets them before they even leave his mouth.

"Say it." William gives him that self suffering look he was so good at. It gives a silent, pleading John that's so familiar.

"I had to kill all of those people. I didn't- I didn't have to mutilate myself to prove myself."

"Your in the business of life and death, Mr. Easton. Mutilating yourself would have taught you nothing." He choses that point of focus, rather than reinforce that what he's doing is not murder. It didn't send him to the same place of anger that it did when his apprentices raised it. Sometimes he still had to shake that idea out of Dr. Gordon.

"You don't think they'd see me the same way they see you?" Now that was a question. John leans into his mask again as he considers it. William was not John. He did not have the strength for it. Someone as broken by the game as him could not manage it. Lawrence was only used sparingly, almost exclusively for his medical skill. Something about his cloying attachment to Adam made him better for John's use than William. It was almost the same for Amanda. The two had been broken in a careful, specific way. Something John caught like lightning in a bottle with the two of them. He could not mold the pieces of William into something similar.

"I cant say," he answers truthfully.

"I mean," he scoffs at the thought, "Dr. Gordon had to saw off his foot. God." He holds his head in his hand, staring at the floor as if the weight of that had finally settled in.

"Would have you learnt the cost of a life had you done the same?"

"I don't know, John." A defeated little whine of a sentence.

"Oftentimes, the games I make with collaboration in mind end in the players taking one another's lives." They only realized their selfishness when it became too late. William only truly understood when he was faced with his clients widow. "You are not unique in that."

"Why don't you tell them that?" John sits back fully on the couch, staring off across the room as he holds the mask in a limp grip. His arm perched on the arm rest. His free hand sits between them on the cushions. An invitation that won't be taken.

"They have spent their lives not considering their actions where they should."

William doesn't raise any more questions. His head is likely throbbing along with John's. He once jokingly complained about his headaches after visiting John. Even though he seemingly suffers in every way in the elders presence, he continues to come when he's summoned. He doesn't even put up a resistance in the name of pride. John simply calls him and he comes. The idea tends to make him smile to himself. He had himself a loyal pack of dogs behind him. Wolves, some of them.

"I miss conversation." William looks at him with surprise at the confession. John continues to stare forward, head tilted like he hadn't already considered the thought himself. He had rolled it over in his mind ever since he and Jill split, since he started the games, since he started taking apprentices.

"What about the others?"

"Logan and Amanda have made me a father in their minds. Dr. Gordon will resent me until I die, and surely even after that. Mark is a very busy man." Mark's position was partly John's fault. He kept him just as occupied as the police did.

"You don't talk to Jill?" There's a soft note of sadness to his voice. John licks his lips.

"Its better for her that I don't."

"So I'm just someone to talk to?" He's not hurt, he's curious. He hadn't considered that this was John's motivation in calling him. It never crossed his mind and it surprised him. John was not surprised, and he was not hurt.

"I am not capable of keeping friends in this state." It was intentionally vague whether he meant in his role as Jigsaw or as someone with two feet in the grave.

"If they get too close, they're a liability."

"Unless I trust them." William's stare is heavy on his skin. He bathes in it.

"You think of me as a friend..." he's amazed at the thought. John tilts his head the other direction before carefully looking over at the other man.

"Would you prefer something else?" William looks down thoughtfully, something close to a pout on his lips. There's that urge to take him by the sleeve again. Even to just hold the fabric between two fingers.

"I'm not... sure. There's much worse things you could see me as."  Am I your friend? Sits just on the tip of John's tongue. He's learned to shun his impulses however. His life was carefully calculated, down to the minute. What was left of it, anyway.

"Do you feel safe here, William?"

"Not... not particularly. No." His eyes sweep over the large room full of death traps and degraded metal and puppetry and tools and almost religious fanaticism towards the games. He hooks a finger under his watch to twist it nervously. His wrists had mostly healed from his restraints. The scars would always remain.

"Do you feel safe with me?" William looks at him and John keeps his face even. As cold and unexpressive as when he spoke with Detective Matthews. Mark should come back from checking on him soon. He watches William gulp, his Adam's apple peeks above his collar for just a moment before it hides itself once again.

"Would you hurt a friend?" There's a pathetic look in his eye. It was surely the one the widow had been met with in the acid shower. William was a master manipulator, if for no reason other than his profession. He knew what he was doing. John let him believe it was either effective, or missed entirely.

"If he needed it." William's eyes widen, exposing more of that bright blue. It was an odd color among the red and brown and black of the workshop. "I don't need to hurt you, William."

William nearly throws himself off the couch at the bang of the door to the workshop. With all the empty space, any noise so loud almost makes the ears ring. John looks over his shoulder with a sigh. Amanda's small form shadowed by Mark's looming one. Their expressions are equally sour. They must have exchanged words before they came in. William and John's knees are touching with the way they're both turned to look at the pair.

"I'm back, John," Amanda's tone is surprisingly soft, despite her clear irritation seconds before. She sets her bag down on a table on her way to the couch. The irritation seems to seep back in when she meets eyes with William. "Mr. Easton is here again."

"I called him here while you were all gone," John easily explains himself. William still hasn't learnt to not squirm under any of the apprentices' gazes. Never let the dog smell your fear.

"Of course you did," Mark chimes in. He doesn't even attempt civility. Amanda at least pretends like she doesn't care, continues on her path to wrap her arms around John's shoulders and rest her forehead on his wispy white hair. Logan and Amanda have made me a father in their mind .

"How is Kerry?"

"Just about ready to bite," Amanda answers as she pulls away. William is like a ghost in this exchange. In the background, Mark loosens his tie and undoes the first button of his shirt. He must have come straight from the precinct, or didn't have the time to relax a little between then and whatever he had to do.

"That's good." John pats her hand before turning his attention to Mark. "Detective Matthews?"

"He ate his food like a dog. Doesn't have a way to try and kill himself in there anymore." Mark stands behind the couch, though a few steps away. He didn't want to risk contact with Amanda or William.

"He'll be out soon. Thank you." Amanda puts a supportive hand on John's shoulder as he pulls in a breathe from the mask.

"Are you staying?" William is finally addressed again and he twitches at it like it was a physical threat. He gulps, averting his eyes.

"I can go." He moves to rise off the couch, but John grabs him by the pant leg. William freezes in his awkward position, half sitting-half risen, and looks at John like he just shot him. John tugs the expensive fabric once, a silent order. William glances at the other two before slowly sinking back down into his place. John lets him go. As he coughs into the mask. The lot all wait for him to settle, for him to speak. Mark watches with an unamused kind of expression and big arms crossed over his chest. John regains his breath, but his voice is more cracked than before. 

"Stay." William hesitantly nods at him, glancing again at the other two. He's hoping they won't do anything with John there. The older man hopes the same. 

"John, you've already talked so much today." Watching Amanda, William is reminded of all the coddling adult daughters with their elderly parents that had come into his office to beg for a redecision on their treatment. They were all as equally soft and spiteful as Amanda was now. They all spoke in soft tones with a hand on their fathers shoulder before glaring daggers at William from the other side of the desk. 

"I want to finish our conversation." It's a firm tone that leaves no room for questioning. William had received it more than once, and he had heard each apprentice receive it at least once, if not more. Mark takes a step in. Where his expression was flat and mean before, he now smiles cruelly at Amanda. 

"I know you never learned this with your deadbeat parents, but you should give mommy and daddy some alone time." It's the mocking, soft tone of an older brother. It was the cruelty masquerading as kind advice that William received plenty of as a child. He would focus on how much Mark was like his older brother in that moment if he wasn't floored by what he said. Amanda does react however. She flicks her attention to him and his smile grows. Hairline trigger. 

"At least my dad didn't beat me," she spits back at him, trying to get under his skin in the same way. Albeit, the comment has less tact. Mark tilts his head, like he's looking at a particularly interesting bug on the sidewalk just before he crushes it under his loafer. 

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? Scared John is gonna leave for cigarettes too?"

"Kill yourself," she spits at him. She's now entirely pulled from John, focused on Mark egging her on. Mark remains stock still, hands in his pants pockets. He's the picture of casual. He looked like he could be at the water fountain down at the precinct and not in John's tricked out death hutch. 

"Have any tips on how I should? You have more experience than me."

"Stop," John interjects. He's rubbing his forehead with his eyes tightly shut. Amazingly, or maybe expectedly, they both do stop talking. Amanda silently glares up at Mark while he only smiles back. The air between them could cut through titanium. William's hold on the couch is tight. 

"Was just giving her some advice," Mark excuses himself, completely cat with the canary. 

"I don't need anymore help at the moment," John says before Amanda can throw more vitriol at her fellow apprentice. "You can both go." 

"What?" Amanda loses all the air that had puffed her up, looking back at John again. She resembles a bit of a kicked puppy, especially with the choppy hair that's just starting to grow longer. 

"We can talk later, Amanda. Please." She frowns deeply and William feels a chill roll over him when she glances at him again. He just made an enemy without a word. Mark looks positively pleased at the reaction. He's found a new sore spot to torture Amanda with, and its sitting right next to John. The enemy of my enemy. 

"Okay," she relents and all but storms back out. Her platforms are loud on the concrete. Mark watches her go.

"Check on Logan, Mark." Mark's smile falls and he gives one solemn nod, leaving with much more peace than Amanda had. 

"They won't do anything to you without my say," John says once the room falls into an almost peaceful silence again. His voice is still jagged, but no longer tinged with pain. The sound of the two had only multiplied the throbbing in his skull. William blinks at where Mark had been, puzzled. It was just a jab at Amanda, surely. "I have been firm on that." 

"What did he call us?" William asks stupidly. He had heard it perfectly well. It was hard not to hear the two when they went at it. William had briefly been present for the rare instance where John had all his apprentices present. He was happy to leave as quickly as possible. 

"It was a jab at Amanda only having her mother as a child." He comforts in a roundabout manner. 

"Right. Of course." William fails at convincingly dropping the thought. He clearly still sits with it as he turns to face forward in his seat. The hallows of his cheeks are tinged pink and he frowns. 

"Don't concern yourself with Amanda. She's only protective." He remembers Mexico and the heated furry she barely contained for the group. She sacrificed everything to John, and would do it again without even a second glance. 

"And Mark?" 

"You won't be a target unless you make yourself one." He thinks of the box he has in another one of their buildings. Letters and photos and tapes just waiting for Jill when he eventually passed. He considered adding one for William's sake. The sentiment does not comfort William, whose frown only deepens. 

"Right…" 

"As I was saying before," John sighs out as he sets the mask down on the tank, sitting back in his best attempt at relaxing, "there is no need to hurt you anymore, William." 

"Anymore," William repeats. 

"You have been rehabilitated."

"You think so?" There's a tinge of nerves there, like gripping onto the edge of a rug to make sure it's not pulled out beneath you. Deeper, there's something else. Almost like a cat stretching out its head to rub into the generous palm. Men in high positions often had a certain complex. William was painfully average in that regard. John nods once, firmly. He did believe it. William wouldn't be here otherwise. There were two things that kept him eating from John's palm. 

Jigsaw, John, was never credited as a fool. Jigsaw was always befittingly described as hyper-intelligent. John was the same, by extension. He knew the reason William made himself meet John halfway. He was scared that anything else may happen to him, to those around him. If he didn't hold up his end of some unspoken bargain, someone else might end up hurt. William might end up strung up again, cut open and forced to asphyxiate himself. William came because he believed he was afraid. You could train a dog with fear or praise. Vinegar or honey. John also knew there was more beneath that. He knew that William wanted to understand. He wanted to be able to grasp why this had happened to him, why John had resorted to such extents in the end of his life. He was a curious bird that had failed to learn why you didn't get too close to the turbine his entire life. His entire life until John. He was not used to being punished, and the loss of balance made him confused and scared. Fear was easier to understand and hold on to. That is what William chose to focus on. 

"You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Where would I be?" The honest answer would be dead, but they both know that's not how he means. 

"You barely gave me the time of day at your office." Shame crosses William's face. How would he redo the scene now if he could go back in time? "The former you would have blocked the number." 

"I considered it…" John doesn't fight the weary smile, even if it gives him away. 

"And you didn't." William seems to want to excuse himself, stutter out some kind of reasoning, but he just stares at John before giving up. 

"Yeah…" 

"You changed." In a moment of boldness, he lets himself grasp William by the shoulder. His hold is far from strong at this point, and it still trembles slightly, but he grasps the boney shoulder regardless. The fabric of his dress shirt is soft, almost silky. Surely very expensive. He wished he still had red paint on his fingertips. William doesn't flinch away before or after. He does freeze, and John hears his breath halt for a moment when he makes contact. John turns the smile directly on him, letting him know it was something he was saying with pride. William is frozen and unsure at first, before he awkwardly gives a smile in return. It doesn't meet his eyes, but it's an outright nicety from him. John would accept it. 

"I guess so," he agrees, averting his eyes. 

"That is why I won't let anything happen to you." He shakes William once for emphasis. 

"If you're saying it, it must be true," he humors. William didn't frequently joke around John, too scared he might say the wrong thing. It's a light poke at his threatening nature. John's word was worth its weight in gold as long as he was alive. 

"You are safe here, William." He leans into his friend. Still enough space to be platonic, yet close enough to be intimate. Its a soft sentiment that no one else would have been able to hear, had he not already sent them away. William's smile slowly falters as he realizes the proximity. He's wide eyed. "I promise you that." John does not hold him by the nape. It would be too much for the flighty creature next to him. He does squeeze that shoulder affectionately. It's easy to find and feel William's collar bone. 

"That's what friends are for," William jokes again, a new nervous smile coming up. His eyes are failing to be discreet as they dart about John's face and to his other hand. He didn't trust John's promise, not fully. Clutching onto that rug before someone could pull it away. William was a man so trained to being slighted that he shaped everything to avoid it. The power couldn't be stolen if it was only you at the top. John nods. 

"You can believe me, Mr. Easton." 

"This is nicer than I anticipated." William's being generous, but he does admire the room around him. Given the state of the neighborhood, and the police tape still surrounding the home, John can understand. William stands in the doorway of the sitting room with a bag under his arm. 

"It was the most untouched room of the house. Come in." John sits next to the couch, wheelchair like an armchair to accompany the clearly roadside hunk of trash. Opposite to it is the wall of TVs. Only one was on now, the rest simply lying in wait for future games. A small loading icon slid across the screen, missing the corner every time. William does step in, taking the bag out from under his arm. 

"I wasn't quite sure what you would like." John offers a hand and William relents it. He's awkward and uncomfortable, but not like he was in the workshop. This is more like their meeting in his office. John pulls the tapes from the bag, looking through the collection. 

"You have a diverse taste," he mutters as he compares the titles. William chuckles and ducks his head. 

"Well, they're not all my favorites. They're just what I had." John lifts up the VHS of Die Hard to show it to the other. His brow raises a silent question. 

"It's my brother's favorite, but it doesn't really seem like something you'd like now that I think about it." John nods softly, returning it to the bottom of the stack. 

"Not your favorite."

"No, no. Eddy is much more the action guy than me." Edward Easton, first son of the family. Four years older than William and much less notable. Any information to be had was scarce. That fact was all John truly needed, though. 

" Green Acres …" John looks at the aged tape with a note of amusement. Its clearly been around for some time. The cardboard sleeve has begun to tatter and has clearly been taped back together in certain spots. The image of the couple is faded, though still recognizable. 

"If you didn't want to watch a movie," William quickly explains. "Me and my mother watched it together when I was a kid so it felt…" 

"Safe?" John offers. William nods.

"Yeah. Safe." He raises his brows in surprise when John extends the tape to him. 

"Put it in."

"Are you sure? It's just the second season. I burnt out the first season a couple years ago." William takes it, but he's clearly expecting John to change his mind. John simply relaxes back in the wheelchair, hands folded on his lap. 

"The player is just under the TV." William flicks his head in that direction before he walks over. He's taken apart the normal suit he would wear. The tie, the jacket, the waistcoat, they're all missing. He's just down to the slacks and his button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. John watches his back as he takes the tape from its sleeve and pops it into the player. The TV comes to life once it reads. When William turns around, John is extending the remote to him. "Not too loud." William nods and takes it. He sits on the couch, close to John. There's still space between him and the armrest, but John could reach him if he leaned forward. 

"Got it. Have you ever seen it before?" The show begins with a jaunty theme, awkwardly sung by the two leads. 

"I don't believe so." 

"So that's Oliver Douglass," William points to the blonde man on screen, "he used to be a lawyer in New York, but he dreamed of being a farmer so he ends up buying this place out in the middle of nowhere. That's Lisa." The other main character, Oliver's wife as the character verbatim says within the lyrics. "She doesn't like the farm life at all. She's a city girl through and through, but she comes with him because she loves him." John hums and nods along. He's reminded of the version of William he met at the clinic, the one that was so proud of his life-or-death formula. He sees that version shining through again. He just barely cracks a smile and William settles back on the couch once the episode actually begins. 

"You aren't comfortable at the workshop," was how John started once William picked up this time. He can hear the confused frown in the man's voice. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I would like to make you more comfortable."

"Oh…" John knew it was working hours at the office. He knew William was somewhere at that big important desk, likely turned away from the door and stealthily speaking on his personal phone. No one could know who was calling him so frequently. 

"I would like you to meet me at a house I have."

"Alright, I can do that…" He's so hesitant. John can practically hear the gears in his brain turning. 

"I would like you to bring something to watch." 

"What?" 

"A movie, or show. VHS tape." He didn't have one of those new DVD players yet. 

"Why..?" 

"I want to make you more comfortable. I thought it would be a more typical activity." John flips the pencil around to erase his mistake. He was holding the phone in one hand and was sketching in the other. His hand seemed to be wandering more than normal. William was surely to blame. 

"Oh, um, okay." He clears his throat. "Yeah, I can do that. Where am I going?" The sound of shuffling items on a desk, finding a pen and paper to copy an address. John tells him the address of the house from Detective Matthews' test. It had largely been cleaned out, and Mark had assured no one would be checking there again. It was just another condemned, sad house in an abandoned neighborhood. John had gone there earlier that day with Amanda, though he did not tell her what they were doing there. She was not pleased to be kept out of the loop. She would find out in time. John's pack were all bloodhounds. 

"I hope this can be a more enjoyable time for you, William." 

William snorts at the dry, family friendly humor of the episode. If you had seen any sitcom of the Sixties, you had seen them all. This was no different, but it was comforting that way. There was safety in what you knew, what you expected. John could respect Oliver's drive to change his life into something he desired, even if it was often made the butt of the joke. Moreso, he enjoyed sitting next to William. He enjoyed hearing him laugh and explain who certain background characters were and glancing over to see him relaxed with his arm across the back of the couch. He almost looked at home. There was something soft and slow moving in John's blood. He held his own hand in a movement to cherish the sensation. 

"You watched this series a lot." William nods. There's a loose hair that dangles on his forehead, free from his slicked back look. 

"That's how I ruined the first season's tape. I would watch it with my mother every time we saw each other, every Christmas and when her birthday came around." 

"When did she pass?" He didn't have to say it for it to be clear. William's smile fades, or more aptly, dims. 

"A few years ago. It was thankfully rather easy." He thumbs his slacks with the hand on his thigh. His eyes are still focused on the television, but he isn't watching it. "She just fell asleep one night and didn't get back up." John nods with solemn respect. His death would not come with grace. Even if it was from his sickness and not as a consequence of the games, it would not be simple. It would be gruesome and raw. It would be inescapable. "I'm sorry," William apologizes for simply answering the question he was asked. He reminded John of his own mortality. 

"You were very close to her." John does not pretend to watch the show, though it continues to run. He takes the time to look at William. The smile brightens again, if in a sad kind of way. 

"She said I was the biggest momma's boy she'd ever known."

"Your brother didn't compete." William chuckles, shaking his head. 

"Not even close. He thought she was too abrasive."

"Do you talk to him still?" William moves his head in a wishy-washy kind of motion. 

"Not as much as I should. He did come to the hospital though. After…" he leaves it there for John to naturally figure out. He didn't talk about his game if he didn't have to. 

"He risked losing you. It brings people together." John reaches for his mug on the coffee table. The water in the house had a metallic note to it. 

"Do you have any family?" John shakes his head, sitting back properly. 

"My parents are long gone. I was an only child."

"Must have been lonely." Not pitying. But awkward. Maybe he expected a different answer. 

"Much like Jill, it's for the best." They would surely get drawn into what John's life had become, even if they had no idea. A family might get wrongly punished for his deeds. Hiding would also be more difficult. 

"Did you ever want one, as a kid? I know sometimes I wished I was an only child." John licks his lips, staring down at the water in the cup. There's subtle ripples from his tremors. 

"I preferred to be alone." 

"You never got lonely?" John knows he still means the past, still means his childhood, but he can't help but think past that. He knew loneliness, he knew isolation. There were times he felt so separate from every single person around him it made his stomach turn. He had been lonely. He had claimed a need for independence while clinging onto those who had even a chance of understanding him. 

"I never noticed it then." 

There's a quiet moment that follows, cut through by the laugh track. He can feel William staring again, but he's not smiling anymore. John keeps his eyes on the water. He had most certainly been lonely all his life, he just didn't have the word, or the self awareness, to realize. The only time that fog had lifted was with Jill. A few happy years, and then it blanketed him once again after his father and Gideon. He felt like he didn't understand what it was to be a person, or maybe everyone but him had forgotten. It was the worst after Mexico, compounded by crushed hopes and betrayal. Yes, yes he was lonely. 

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" William's voice is soft. John doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. "You need a friend."

"At least before it's over." No emotion slips through his voice. He was not scared of dying. He did not fear the end.

"I'm right here with you." John stares at the hand on his arm. Short fingers with spots of age. The hair on his arm is almost pale enough that you couldn't see it. He follows it up to William's soft smile. His smiles always made his eyes almost close, like he was sleepy. Without breaking their eye contact, John put his own hand on William's, hoping it's warm and gentle. William's is. 

"You are fascinating, Mr. Easton." William scoffs, good-natured. 

"Think you have me beat."

"I appreciate you coming here." William falters, not expecting that. He considers it before he responds. 

"I wasn't sure how I was going to feel when you called me, but it's actually- it's nice." John smiles back at him. That soft sluggish thing in him comes back in droves, suffocating him like a kick to the chest. Thoughtfully, he adds, "I don't know when I last just… spent time like this." 

"Neither can I." 

"Maybe we can do this again." It isn't said glibly. It's not a passive we'll be with you as soon as possible that was so typical of a man like William. He's genuine, and John can only blissfully nod in response. 

"We shall see."

"Maybe we'll actually watch it then." William looks at the TV that still runs in the background. With the nature of the content, it's anyone's guess if it's still the same episode or an entirely new one. John wouldn't care if William demanded they rewind and watch properly. He didn't want to move from this spot. William is still touching him. 

"You should bring your favorite," John mutters as he watches Oliver go on another comically long rant. 

"I'll bring something you like. I want to get a feel for your taste."

"I haven't seen much."

"You still have to have a favorite. C'mon." William squeezes his arm, trying to egg him on. Without his watch on, John can clearly see the scars wrapped around his wrist. It had been an odd mix of pride and annoyance at how simply he had gotten the first bomb off. 

The phone on the table begins to ring and shake across the wood. The small screen shows a name rather than a number. It was unfortunately important. Worse yet, it makes William pull away to pause the tape. John sets the mug down in exchange for the phone. He considers setting it back down when he sees that it's Mark. With a sigh, he flips open the phone to answer it. 

"Mark."

"Big fucking problem. Where are you?" There's the subtle rumble of a car engine in the background. Mark's voice is low and sharp.

"What's happened?" William frankly looks more concerned than John sounds. To hear only his side, the conversation seems almost trivial. 

"They want to bring in the FBI to investigate. Where are you ?" He repeats, enunciating this time as though the problem were John simply not hearing him. 

"I'm not at the shop." He can practically hear Mark gritting his teeth and ringing the steering wheel of his car. 

"I can take you back if you need to go," William offers. It's loud enough for Mark to pick it up because he scoffs into the phone, indignant. 

"You're with your little parasite."

"Mark." 

"Meet me at the workshop if you can stand to be away from the blood-sucker for five minutes." Mark hangs up immediately after, leaving no room for John to speak. Not something unusual from him. 

"What happened?" William asks, but John shakes his head with a tart expression. 

"A hitch. I need to go."

"One of the others brought you, didn't they? I'll take you back." William stands.

"You don't have to do that." He takes the other's proffered hand to pull himself up from the wheelchair. He could handle a small walk to the car. 

"I'm not offering because I feel obligated." William's grip is still as firm as it was years ago. Did a businessman learn to shake hands like that, or did it come naturally? John stares at the hold for a moment before he breaks it. William steps aside as John grabs the remote, shutting off the TV. 

"Lead the way, then." 

William's car is expectedly nice. It looks laughable parked behind the "abandoned" house. When John is sitting in the passengers seat with the bag of tapes on his lap, he can see that it's still almost new inside as well. It was cleanly in a way that said William didn't drive often, and not that he was simply a tidy person. In the backseat there's the pieces of his suit that he had been missing that night. William doesn't turn on the headlights until he's pulled away from the house, aware of how odd the picture must be. The radio was playing some classic rock station too low to hear. 

"Is everything okay with him?" William tries at small talk. His grip is almost white knuckle on the shift. He's nervous. 

"Mark does not adjust well to changes in plans. He's fine." William nods, focusing ahead. At almost ten at night, there's no one on the road to watch out for. 

"I can understand that with what you all… do. The double life can't be easy." John doesn't reply, watching the night pass out the window. It was an uncomfortable change, not being allowed to drive. In theory, he could. Lawrence and Amanda both advised him against it, with the cancer only worsening. He relented after his first seizure. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why is he... like that? Is it something about me and Amanda or is it just who he is?"

"Mark gives very little, and trusts even less. Skepticism has kept him alive, and brutality satisfies him." 

"Some people are just born bullies, huh?"

"Some people learn very early that our society functions on cruelty," John corrects, and he can feel William cringe. He's shoved his foot in his mouth again. Just like the formula. "He learned that lesson, and now he enjoys enabling it." Had John not done what he did, been who he was, Mark likely would have been one of the many rotting apples at the bottom of the basket. One of the many enforcers that drool and pant at the idea of using their power. He would not be helping humanity, other than guiding it further into Hell. It was a small grace that he had John to parody with his sister's killer. "His distaste for Amanda is because of my approval of her. He finds Lawrence and Logan weak. You…" John's hands shift, hearing the crinkle of the paper bag under it. He can just make out the melody of the song. Elvis. William glances at him expectantly. "He sees my trust as misplaced." 

"Right, of course." William nods softly, like he already knew what the answer was. In the dark, John can't see if it's relief or disappointment on his face. 

"He sees my feelings as myopic," John adds. He does not allow his voice to become meek. He does not show shame. 

There's a stretch of silence once it's said. Quiet enough John can actually make out the lyrics crooning out of the speaker and the buzz of tires on pavement and wind flowing over the car. Oh, let our love survive. I'll dry the tears from your eyes. He doesn't chance a glance at the other man. It's enough that he can feel the cogs turning inside his brain. 

"Your feelings towards me?" 

"Yes." William sighs, deeply, from his nose. He holds the steering wheel in both hands now. John almost smiles at it, thinks of William's test. 

"John. What feelings are those?"

"I care for you, more than I had intended." He wishes he had Amanda there, her hand in his. It was something that steadied him. He's glad she's not. William laughs and it sounds pained, like John was twisting his arm.

"This is starting to sound like a love confession." He doesn't believe it. It's laughable to him. Or maybe, he's desperately trying to make it laughable to himself. He isn't sure how he needs to feel. 

"If you would like it to be." William opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shuts it again with a frown that draws out the lines of his face. Passing streetlights make his eyes shine every few seconds. He gulps and it's easy to see his Adam's apple with his first button undone like it is. He runs a hand over his mouth as the weight of a realization runs into him at full force. Collides like he had driven into a semi. 

"That was a date. You were asking me on a date when you called." 

"You could call it that."

"Were they all dates? All the… the conversations? The-the coming into the workshop?" 

"I enjoy your company." 

"Oh my god…" said into his hand again. It seems to be hitting him in waves. The touch pushes his cheeks up into his eyes slightly, like when he smiled. John stares at him, fascinated by a bound bird finding out its blue sky was merely a golden birdcage. "You're… you're in love. With me ." He points at himself and takes the briefest of glances at John. John does a movement with his head like a shrug. Softly,

"Or something like it." William makes a kind of noise like a laugh or a gasp. Both hands on the steering wheel again. 

"Oh my god." 

"That is why Mark is so displeased with you. It is because of me." William mutters something to himself. It isn't clear, but John can assume from what he can hear it was a horrified Jigsaw is in love with me . "If you take back what you said tonight, I will understand." John is not disappointed. He does not allow himself as much. Whatever comes of this, he accepts it. He expects William's horror. He knows what will come from this. 

"I'm not- I'm not taking it back. I just," another heavy sigh, "need to think about this for a minute." John nods, silent, and returns his eyes to the passing homes that have now turned into darkened businesses. They were close to the warehouse. John can't find much energy to spare Mark when he should come in. The throb in his head grows a little louder. He shuts his eyes to try and tune it out. 

"Looks like it's more than just Mark," William speaks for the first time in minutes when he slowly rolls up the gravel path. There's two cars already there, Amanda's likely in the back where she normally stayed. The second is Lawrence's, which means it will be even more exhausting than John had prepared himself for. He hopes Amanda had gone to sleep already. 

"Thank you, William." He gets his hand around the doorknob before William stops him. 

"Wait." John stares at the hand on his elbow, the scar around the wrist like a bracelet. William lets him go just as quick as he grabbed him. "I'm not- I'm not really sure why you feel that way, or um, how I feel about it." He's not meeting John's eyes. He thinks back to the shotgun carousel and his subordinate's order to watch his death. He glances at William's hand again and notes how well it healed. "But…" he struggles for more words. John raises his brows. 

"But," he repeats, calm. 

"But, I uh… I meant what I said, earlier tonight, I mean. I did enjoy it and it would be… it would be nice to do it again. Yeah. And maybe then I can- I can be sure how I feel about your… feelings." He finally meets John's eyes with the last word, mouth a thin line. Even without any light except the dim bulb fifty feet away on the warehouse wall, John can tell that he's flushed. The longer John stares at him, the worse it becomes. John considers if he's sweating. He could grab his nape and see. 

"If that's what you're comfortable with," John replies coolly. William almost deflates at the seemingly nonchalant reaction to his confession. 

"I," he clears his throat, "I am."

"Then I'll plan for more dates." John undoes his seatbelt. Crisp and efficient, like they had just concluded a business negotiation. Both companies found a middle ground that could keep everyone happy. Complete economic collapse was prevented again. Perhaps a merger was in the future. John takes the paper bag from his lap and offers it to William. He gets a hand on it before he freezes. So quick it could have been missed entirely, John uses the opportunity to lean in and peck William. Pulling away, opening the door, and stepping out were all one fluid motion. The car beeps as William gapes at the place John had been. 

"Thank you, William." 

"No… no problem." The words come out seemingly autopilot. John's smile could almost be described as smug as he stood with a hand on the door. 

"Good night, Mr. Easton." He shuts the door without waiting for a response. He slowly makes his way to the door, smile growing the longer he goes without hearing the car pull away. William is still sitting there by the time he gets inside.