Fic: The Last Man
Title: The Last Man
Rating: PG
Pairing: Adam/Lawrence
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: Angst. Some OOC. Character death.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to either Saw or Never Let Me Go.
A/N: Crossover Saw/Never Let Me Go (crazy right). Unbeta-ed.
Summary: Lawrence is the doctor. Adam is the donor.
Lawrence doesn’t normally spend any time with donors; that’s what carers are for, but with the ethical dilemma of donors having come to a head some years ago, most donors and carers alike have phased out. There are only so many donors left, and fewer carers. Therefore, Lawrence is forced to make rounds and care for donors himself, a notion that the medical field still shudders at.
Donors aren’t people; Lawrence has never needed any reassurance of this. It is simply a fact he grew up with. When he treats donors, he finds it hard to slow himself down when he knows in another week they will make their donation and either complete or be shipped to another location to wait for their next one. In reality, none of the donors are cared for with much more finesse than to keep them alive and their needed organs healthy. They may eat well, and be given the best meds, but the amount of bruising visible on bodies doesn’t arise simply from illness.
There is no handle with care label for donors. Lawrence remembers. But sometimes it happens when a girl, just a twenty-something girl, looks at him without commenting on his burlesque handling of her, he pauses to think how human she looks. They certainly cannot be told apart from the originals.
He’s used to doing a surgery nearly every other hour, but nowadays Lawrence’s schedule is less. The hospital is slow to pick the new independently grown organs coming in from farms now. He’s becoming bored and frustrated. Maybe that’s why when this donor comes along, he pauses.
The name on the file is Adam F. He’s the first donor in weeks to come in the hospital. The surgeon is almost glad to see a donor. Reading over the file, he notes that he probably will be seeing Adam a lot; he has already given one donation, and hasn’t fared well since. The test results clearly point to this next donation being Adam’s last - it isn’t uncommon for them to complete after only two donations, but Larry thinks it’s certainly a waste when three aren’t secured.
Adam’s looks only confirm this - on first glance the doctor finds almost a rotting body. It’s too thin, too pale, and looks ragged all around. There are scars along his arms, small, round ones from puncture needles. There is the obvious one, cut along his side in a purple line with the suture dots still visible. The worst ones are those he cannot see, of course.
The donor immediately is weary of Lawrence. Larry is sure he likewise realizes that this will be his last stop. Adam automatically twists away from whichever side Lawrence happens to be at, sulking like a child. The flinch every time he touches him shocks Larry although it’s not the first time a donor has reacted in such a way.
“Did you ever have a carer?” he asks today. Adam shakes his head, refusing to look at him. He’s struggling to stay sitting up in a chair next to the window; in the sunlight, he looks even worse.
Lawrence swallows thickly. Taking into account the shaking arms bracing his weight and the harsh blue veins that stick out as a result, Adam makes Lawrence feel old, and somehow, the weaker of the two.
He exits briefly, returning with a wheelchair. Adam doesn’t even have the words to protest being picked up and folded like a kid in the doctor’s arms. Lawrence wraps a blanket around Adam while the kid looks at him completely baffled, and a little afraid too.
The hospital is fortunate enough to have a small garden in the back; it’s more like a couple of grassy slopes than it is a garden, but Adam doesn’t look picky. He leans his face so far back in the light that he eventually slides out of the chair onto the greenery; Larry moves to help him up, but a look from Adam stops him. Instead he sits next to him on the ground.
Larry doesn’t know what to say to a donor. Fortunately, he’s spared.
“Ever wish you were never born?” Adam asks, not with any particular tone of voice. Lawrence shakes his head; he doesn’t shake his head for no, he hasn’t - instead he shakes his head thinking that Adam never was born.
The day of Adam’s second donation draws near. Lawrence tries to stay away from Adam, but he frequently walks by the door, watching a nurse take blood or threatening the donor that they’ll put in a feed tube if need be. Adam continually fades away with complete submission to his fate. Normally Lawrence catches him staring out the window, whatever the time of day it is, rain or shine, with a lack of expression.
When Larry walks by and notices the blinds have all been shut, Adam still staring like he can see through them, he gets angry.
“Who closed these?” Larry opens them all up. The sun is setting.
“Nurses. For not complying with their every wish,” Adam grunts. Lawrence doesn’t want to ask if he just couldn’t get up himself to open them, or if he didn’t want to.
Not to be indebted to a physician, he adds, “Didn’t have to do that.”
It just slips out. “What are friends for?”
Both Adam and him freeze for a second. Adam can’t conjure up much emotion when he says that he wouldn’t know.
Lawrence doesn’t try to hide the fact he checks up on Adam more frequently than need be any longer; the nurses stop pushing the donor so much. They leave the windows alone and don’t force feed him any longer. It’s really only Lawrence left coming in and out of the room.
The day of donation is then twenty-four hours away when Lawrence sadly thinks he’s failed. Adam looks even worse than the day he came in. He looks like he received negligent care if any at all. Lawrence was supposed to be the one who cared for those weeks. Just those few weeks. Clearly, Adam knew better than to expect much.
Gently counting the protruding vertebrae, the surgeon feels the bones beneath his fingers and knows it is a body that feels the same pain as his. He knows Adam has lived only a short life, one devoid of friends. Without anyone caring for him in any capacity.
So Lawrence decides to do his job. When he comes back just over an hour later, he wakes Adam up and tosses some of his street clothes at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Caring. Now put them on. We’re leaving.” Lawrence paces the floor, he has all of Adam’s hard files in his hands, any physical proof that Adam was ever there. He’s sweating, heart pounding. Donors are kept track of. Just one of the facts Lawrence knows, like the fact that they will eventually somehow suspect him and it’ll be the end of his career.
It’s a small voice that calls his name. Adam stares at him, completely still, the pile of clothes untouched next to him. Calling his name again, Adam reaches for him.
Larry’s heart sinks. He takes the hand and clasps it to his chest. “You can leave here, Adam. You could have a real life. I can get you the papers, I can get you a job. They might never find you, even if they did, enough time would have passed that donors are obsolete. They wouldn’t bother you then.”
“We both know I wouldn’t make it a day out of this hospital,” Adam snorts. “I’m pumped up on enough drugs to keep a herd of livestock kicking.”
“I can get you the meds too.”
“I know you can.” Adam pulls him to sit next to him. He can barely hold himself upright, so when he leans into Lawrence’s side, Lawrence isn’t surprised. He is no longer surprised to feel how warm he is, how human. How extremely loveable, and in need of it too.
“You’ve already done more for me than any other person.” His voice is a whisper, completely faded. It’ll never be anything more again, he knows. “There’s just one more thing you can do for me.”
Here he struggles, bracing himself against Lawrence as he pulls away marginally, then pulls up to kiss him.
“Tomorrow you’ll operate, then go on with your life. And I’ll complete, even though I never even began. Then you’ll forget about me, like you forgot about the others, because all I am to you is a postponed ethical dilemma.”
“I won’t forget.” He protests, but already it feels like Adam is gone. It just feels like Lawrence is equally gone as well.
“I wish you wouldn’t remember me like this,” Adam half-heartedly jokes, raspy. “I used to be quite the looker before my donations started.”
“Don’t I believe it.” Larry plays along, but his voice sounds full. Wet.
Adam slowly lies back down, Lawrence helping. The smaller man tries to make room for the doctor to lie next to him, but Lawrence settles for sitting half on the bed.
“There won’t be many others left after me.”
“No. You may be my last.”
Adam nods, eyes heavy. He falls asleep before sunrise. The nurses come before he wakes up; he never does. They put him under immediately. Perhaps this is their great act of humanity for him.
The last time Adam ever sees the sun is a Wednesday afternoon. It’s as sunny as can be, even though the windows are tinted so he can’t see the full effect. There’s enough sun for him to hear the birds that must be singing, and somewhere there is a dog barking, or a child screaming. He’s alone for most of the day, except for when Lawrence stops by to give him chocolate or something else he’s not supposed to have. The doctor looks upset; it’s almost enough to make Adam desperate, except the sun is never ending and he can’t look away.
On a Thursday morning Dr. Lawrence Gordon operates. Adam completes. He is the last donor Lawrence ever sees.
When Adam’s heart begins to flatline, there is no scramble to restart his heart rate. The nurses patiently wait for Lawrence to finish harvesting the last vital organ. When he’s done, he waits for them to leave.
Usually donors are left opened. With no one to claim the bodies, there is no need to soothe over physical appearances of death.
Lawrence opens the heavy blinds in the operating room. He turns Leigh’s head to the window, and he stitches.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Adam/Lawrence
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: Angst. Some OOC. Character death.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to either Saw or Never Let Me Go.
A/N: Crossover Saw/Never Let Me Go (crazy right). Unbeta-ed.
Summary: Lawrence is the doctor. Adam is the donor.
Lawrence doesn’t normally spend any time with donors; that’s what carers are for, but with the ethical dilemma of donors having come to a head some years ago, most donors and carers alike have phased out. There are only so many donors left, and fewer carers. Therefore, Lawrence is forced to make rounds and care for donors himself, a notion that the medical field still shudders at.
Donors aren’t people; Lawrence has never needed any reassurance of this. It is simply a fact he grew up with. When he treats donors, he finds it hard to slow himself down when he knows in another week they will make their donation and either complete or be shipped to another location to wait for their next one. In reality, none of the donors are cared for with much more finesse than to keep them alive and their needed organs healthy. They may eat well, and be given the best meds, but the amount of bruising visible on bodies doesn’t arise simply from illness.
There is no handle with care label for donors. Lawrence remembers. But sometimes it happens when a girl, just a twenty-something girl, looks at him without commenting on his burlesque handling of her, he pauses to think how human she looks. They certainly cannot be told apart from the originals.
He’s used to doing a surgery nearly every other hour, but nowadays Lawrence’s schedule is less. The hospital is slow to pick the new independently grown organs coming in from farms now. He’s becoming bored and frustrated. Maybe that’s why when this donor comes along, he pauses.
The name on the file is Adam F. He’s the first donor in weeks to come in the hospital. The surgeon is almost glad to see a donor. Reading over the file, he notes that he probably will be seeing Adam a lot; he has already given one donation, and hasn’t fared well since. The test results clearly point to this next donation being Adam’s last - it isn’t uncommon for them to complete after only two donations, but Larry thinks it’s certainly a waste when three aren’t secured.
Adam’s looks only confirm this - on first glance the doctor finds almost a rotting body. It’s too thin, too pale, and looks ragged all around. There are scars along his arms, small, round ones from puncture needles. There is the obvious one, cut along his side in a purple line with the suture dots still visible. The worst ones are those he cannot see, of course.
The donor immediately is weary of Lawrence. Larry is sure he likewise realizes that this will be his last stop. Adam automatically twists away from whichever side Lawrence happens to be at, sulking like a child. The flinch every time he touches him shocks Larry although it’s not the first time a donor has reacted in such a way.
“Did you ever have a carer?” he asks today. Adam shakes his head, refusing to look at him. He’s struggling to stay sitting up in a chair next to the window; in the sunlight, he looks even worse.
Lawrence swallows thickly. Taking into account the shaking arms bracing his weight and the harsh blue veins that stick out as a result, Adam makes Lawrence feel old, and somehow, the weaker of the two.
He exits briefly, returning with a wheelchair. Adam doesn’t even have the words to protest being picked up and folded like a kid in the doctor’s arms. Lawrence wraps a blanket around Adam while the kid looks at him completely baffled, and a little afraid too.
The hospital is fortunate enough to have a small garden in the back; it’s more like a couple of grassy slopes than it is a garden, but Adam doesn’t look picky. He leans his face so far back in the light that he eventually slides out of the chair onto the greenery; Larry moves to help him up, but a look from Adam stops him. Instead he sits next to him on the ground.
Larry doesn’t know what to say to a donor. Fortunately, he’s spared.
“Ever wish you were never born?” Adam asks, not with any particular tone of voice. Lawrence shakes his head; he doesn’t shake his head for no, he hasn’t - instead he shakes his head thinking that Adam never was born.
The day of Adam’s second donation draws near. Lawrence tries to stay away from Adam, but he frequently walks by the door, watching a nurse take blood or threatening the donor that they’ll put in a feed tube if need be. Adam continually fades away with complete submission to his fate. Normally Lawrence catches him staring out the window, whatever the time of day it is, rain or shine, with a lack of expression.
When Larry walks by and notices the blinds have all been shut, Adam still staring like he can see through them, he gets angry.
“Who closed these?” Larry opens them all up. The sun is setting.
“Nurses. For not complying with their every wish,” Adam grunts. Lawrence doesn’t want to ask if he just couldn’t get up himself to open them, or if he didn’t want to.
Not to be indebted to a physician, he adds, “Didn’t have to do that.”
It just slips out. “What are friends for?”
Both Adam and him freeze for a second. Adam can’t conjure up much emotion when he says that he wouldn’t know.
Lawrence doesn’t try to hide the fact he checks up on Adam more frequently than need be any longer; the nurses stop pushing the donor so much. They leave the windows alone and don’t force feed him any longer. It’s really only Lawrence left coming in and out of the room.
The day of donation is then twenty-four hours away when Lawrence sadly thinks he’s failed. Adam looks even worse than the day he came in. He looks like he received negligent care if any at all. Lawrence was supposed to be the one who cared for those weeks. Just those few weeks. Clearly, Adam knew better than to expect much.
Gently counting the protruding vertebrae, the surgeon feels the bones beneath his fingers and knows it is a body that feels the same pain as his. He knows Adam has lived only a short life, one devoid of friends. Without anyone caring for him in any capacity.
So Lawrence decides to do his job. When he comes back just over an hour later, he wakes Adam up and tosses some of his street clothes at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Caring. Now put them on. We’re leaving.” Lawrence paces the floor, he has all of Adam’s hard files in his hands, any physical proof that Adam was ever there. He’s sweating, heart pounding. Donors are kept track of. Just one of the facts Lawrence knows, like the fact that they will eventually somehow suspect him and it’ll be the end of his career.
It’s a small voice that calls his name. Adam stares at him, completely still, the pile of clothes untouched next to him. Calling his name again, Adam reaches for him.
Larry’s heart sinks. He takes the hand and clasps it to his chest. “You can leave here, Adam. You could have a real life. I can get you the papers, I can get you a job. They might never find you, even if they did, enough time would have passed that donors are obsolete. They wouldn’t bother you then.”
“We both know I wouldn’t make it a day out of this hospital,” Adam snorts. “I’m pumped up on enough drugs to keep a herd of livestock kicking.”
“I can get you the meds too.”
“I know you can.” Adam pulls him to sit next to him. He can barely hold himself upright, so when he leans into Lawrence’s side, Lawrence isn’t surprised. He is no longer surprised to feel how warm he is, how human. How extremely loveable, and in need of it too.
“You’ve already done more for me than any other person.” His voice is a whisper, completely faded. It’ll never be anything more again, he knows. “There’s just one more thing you can do for me.”
Here he struggles, bracing himself against Lawrence as he pulls away marginally, then pulls up to kiss him.
“Tomorrow you’ll operate, then go on with your life. And I’ll complete, even though I never even began. Then you’ll forget about me, like you forgot about the others, because all I am to you is a postponed ethical dilemma.”
“I won’t forget.” He protests, but already it feels like Adam is gone. It just feels like Lawrence is equally gone as well.
“I wish you wouldn’t remember me like this,” Adam half-heartedly jokes, raspy. “I used to be quite the looker before my donations started.”
“Don’t I believe it.” Larry plays along, but his voice sounds full. Wet.
Adam slowly lies back down, Lawrence helping. The smaller man tries to make room for the doctor to lie next to him, but Lawrence settles for sitting half on the bed.
“There won’t be many others left after me.”
“No. You may be my last.”
Adam nods, eyes heavy. He falls asleep before sunrise. The nurses come before he wakes up; he never does. They put him under immediately. Perhaps this is their great act of humanity for him.
The last time Adam ever sees the sun is a Wednesday afternoon. It’s as sunny as can be, even though the windows are tinted so he can’t see the full effect. There’s enough sun for him to hear the birds that must be singing, and somewhere there is a dog barking, or a child screaming. He’s alone for most of the day, except for when Lawrence stops by to give him chocolate or something else he’s not supposed to have. The doctor looks upset; it’s almost enough to make Adam desperate, except the sun is never ending and he can’t look away.
On a Thursday morning Dr. Lawrence Gordon operates. Adam completes. He is the last donor Lawrence ever sees.
When Adam’s heart begins to flatline, there is no scramble to restart his heart rate. The nurses patiently wait for Lawrence to finish harvesting the last vital organ. When he’s done, he waits for them to leave.
Usually donors are left opened. With no one to claim the bodies, there is no need to soothe over physical appearances of death.
Lawrence opens the heavy blinds in the operating room. He turns Leigh’s head to the window, and he stitches.