Work Text
Strahm sits at his desk, swirling the coffee stirrer absentmindedly around his mug. Typically, Perez would make both of them coffee, but today he made an attempt to do the same for her… it was shit. He lets the wooden stir fall to the side of the mug, defeated, his focus now back on the desktop in front of him. Several tabs were open, each with various news stories he had dug through the archival evidence area to obtain.
There’s a knock on the door, and his focus on casework is instantly lost.
Perez peeks her head in, glancing from the computer screen to Strahm, “I have someone I want you to talk to.”
“For
me
to talk to?”
“Not interrogate… just talk,” She smiles at him, almost hesitant. “He’s hopefully—” Her eyes dart behind the door, where this mystery person is clearly standing. “—going to help us track down the successor.”
She nudges the door open the rest of the way.
Next to her, a scrawny looking man stands behind it, one of his hands fidgeting with the bag slung over his shoulder. A camera hangs around his neck.
From an initial glance, he seems outwardly timid, but Strahm can easily pinpoint that’s some sort of cover, intentional or not, hiding something
more
that he isn’t letting on.
Perez speaks again, “Adam survived the bathroom trap,
and
he’s an excellent photographer.”
He offers up a small smile, his hands awkwardly grasping each other, “I agreed to do this, the flattery isn’t necessary.”
Strahm simply glares at him, attempting to take in and analyze every aspect of the man in front of him. His hair is grown out, like he hasn’t had time (or bothered) to get it cut recently. His jeans are too long, cuffed at least twice, falling over his beat up sneakers. His eyes seem dull, like he’s seen too many things he’d rather not discuss.
His demeanor is what throws Strahm off the most though. It’s evident the trap likely changed him, as it did for Amanda Young and Daniel Matthews, one far more prominently impacted than the other, with her obvious association with Jigsaw. Though, unlike either of them, Adam seems intent on placating himself. Something far angrier seems to permeate the anxiety that is so evident in the man.
That alone intrigues Strahm beyond belief.
Then, he suddenly realizes why he remembers the man, aside from him being one of few survivors of Jigsaw’s traps.
“You’re the voyeur.”
Adam’s eyebrows scrunch together, “Excuse me?”
Strahm waves his hand, almost dismissively, “You followed Lawrence Gordon around for days, feeding into that ex-cop’s bullshit delusions.”
He grimaces, glancing to Perez for any semblance of support, “Yeah. That’s me.” His hands grip the strap of his bag, nails digging into the fabric.
Perez shoots Strahm a look, telling him to
back the fuck off
. That look alone is the main reason why the two of them became partners, not many people are able to reign the man in, and even she fails when he gets too snappy.
Strahm stands up from his chair, approaching Perez, acting as though Adam isn’t there, “Who is he going to be following around this time?”
Mumbling, Adam says, “I’m right fucking here, dude.”
Briefly, she glances between the two of them, before saying, “Detective Hoffman.”
Strahm’s eyes widen, and he has to stop himself from grinning wildly. Sure, he certainly had his suspicions, but he didn’t think any of that was enough to launch a proper investigation on the other man… not that bringing on a stalker-for-hire was really a proper investigation though.
“I have some photos developing back at my place, if you want to see who you’re working with.” He shrugs, as if to appear more noncommittal than he actually was.
His invitation is clearly extended to both of them, but Perez quickly looks to Strahm. She knows him far too well.
Through mostly gritted teeth, he says, “I’d love to.”
Something flashes in Adam’s eyes, a recognition of sorts for Strahm’s demeanor, “Great.”
“Adam, uh- why don’t you go wait in the lobby? Agent Strahm will be down in a second,” She glares at Strahm, with Adam just nodding before turning and heading down the hall. “Don’t be a total jackass to him. We need his help, Peter.”
“We have a team of perfectly competent photographers, why do we need some lowlife who happened to survive a trap?”
“That’s exactly why we need him.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, indignant. “He’s seen this sort of shit before.”
“How did you even contact him?”
Deadpan, she replies, “We’re the FBI.”
“Ha.”
Perez is exasperated with him, evident from the deep breath in that she takes, “Look, he knows his shit. It’s better than sending someone inexperienced out.”
So, Adam is something like a sacrificial lamb.
If he gets caught, maybe Hoffman would miraculously let him go, since he won… or whatever. Attempting to figure out the intricacies of Jigsaw's ideology was not something he particularly enjoyed delving into.
He groans, dragging his hands down his face, “Fine, whatever.” A pause, peeking between his fingers. “Why can’t you just go to his apartment instead?”
She gives him a look, “You need to get out of the office.”
Indignant, he spits back, “I get out.”
“To
crime scenes
.”
He tosses his hands up in mock defeat, “Fine, whatever, I’ll go look at the pictures.”
“Good.”
“
Good
.” If it was anyone else, he’d be snarling and baring his teeth, but Perez was always different. He didn’t need to be like that around her.
“Tell me if it’s worthwhile, alright?” A small smile accompanies her words.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves dismissively as he gathers his coat and bag, slinging both over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She waves, ducking out of the doorway and around the corner of the hall to her own office. He watches her go, pressing his lips together tightly as he assembles a rough plan for how this… event was going to go.
Strahm takes the stairs down to the lobby, easily spotting Adam’s disheveled look among the well-dressed people in the lobby. His loose button-up and baggy jeans juxtaposed next to a woman who looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine was a
little
amusing.
He looks up when he hears footsteps, standing up to greet Strahm, “Hi.”
A nod is all Strahm offers in return, briskly walking outside without bothering to wait for Adam to follow. He’s going to. Strahm’s aware of that.
As he climbs into the passenger side of Strahm’s car, he offers, “I can give you directions.”
“That’d be appreciated.”
Following multiple wrong turns under Adam’s guidance, they arrive at his apartment building. It’s different from the one he had seen in the crime scene photos from Adam’s kidnapping.
Still a shithole though.
“My place is down the hall.” He gestures for Strahm to follow him; unlocking the door, entering the apartment, and taking off his coat in one well rehearsed motion.
Significantly more awkwardly than Adam, Strahm hangs up his coat and bag on the rack next to the door. He looks at Adam expectantly, though he’s not particularly expecting much.
“In here.” Adam gestures to quickly urge Strahm into a room off the entrance hallway, shutting the door behind them.
They’re standing in total darkness, and Strahm’s fight or flight reflex is about to kick in. More specifically the fight option. Then, Adam turns on the light, the room flooding with a deep red color and revealing the darkroom.
Slowly, Strahm turns in a circle, taking in the cramped space. It’s… interesting. He’s never really taken the time to indulge in any information regarding the photography process; they just wind up on his desk and he’s perfectly content with that.
Adam watches Strahm. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he pulls a couple photos off the line running wall to wall, “I took these last night.”
He hands them to Strahm, and their hands brush for longer than either of them would like. Strahm notices Adam’s chipped nail polish and half heartedly bitten down nails, juxtaposing his own meticulously filed down ones, the tops of his nails barely grazing his fingertips.
As he fans through the photos, they all have Hoffman as their focus, but the location changes from a dingy alleyway to a dimly lit sidewalk to a warehouse entrance where Hoffman eventually disappears behind a door. He hums in approval, giving Adam back the photos.
With a twinge of unease, he asks, “Are they what you were hoping for?”
“Perez brought you into this, not me.”
“You’re partners though, right?”
“Doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything she does.”
Adam rolls his eyes, mumbling “
asshole
” under his breath as he slots the photos, as well as a few others that had already dried into a manilla envelope, “Here. Can you deliver these to her,
special agent
?” The way he says Strahm’s title is laced with a deep sarcasm, making it clear that Adam’s already abundantly over his attitude.
Strahm takes a step closer to him to impose his height on the shorter man. It’s a cheap tactic, sure, but it’s typically effective.
He bares his teeth, looking down at Adam, “You can accompany me back to the office to do it yourself.”
Adam scoffs, “Oh, bite me.” He shoves the envelope into Strahm’s hands. “What’s your problem with me anyways? I just want to help you, man.”
“You’re a nobody that happened to get wrapped up in Jigsaw’s game,” he rolls his eyes.
Adam grimaces, the wording reminding him of something similar he and Lawrence had discussed within the bathroom, “Well,
maybe
I’m a nobody that can help your ass figure out if this Hoffman guy really is setting all this shit up.”
Strahm falters. He’s not used to people just admitting they’re nothing. His interrogation techniques are debatably successful, especially in regard to this case. He is more than willing to go distances he likely shouldn’t… not in the form of torture, but more so that he’s willing to say things he likely shouldn’t to spurn a reaction.
Being well versed in reading others’ emotions works in his favor in his position, and right now, every ounce of anxiety Adam was showing earlier is gone. He’s angry, and Strahm is well aware that he has every right to be.
That doesn’t mean he’s going to stop pursuing this emotional lead.
Adam speaks again, taking a step away from Strahm, “I’m here now because I’m a nobody. That’s why I fucking survived in the first place… that’s why I was in that fucking trap!” He turns away, like he’s ashamed of the outburst, and suddenly, Strahm feels some level of newfound pity for the man.
Turning the file over in his hand, Strahm softly says, “I’ll drop this off for you.”
After a moment, Adam finally looks at him again, though his eyes don’t meet Strahm’s, “Thanks.” He reaches for the light, and opens the door, ushering Strahm out into the hallway.
“Look, Adam, I-“ He trails off, at a loss for words for what seems like the first time he can remember. “I’d like for you to help us. I think you would be a helpful asset for this case.”
Now, Adam locks eyes with him, his expression twisting up into a confused grin, “You sound like a robot when you say shit like that.”
Strahm lets out a breath, “Oh, thank god.” He pauses, gesturing vaguely along with his words, “Look, whatever way I say it, I do think you’ll be helpful in furthering our physical evidence.”
Adam nods, a smile lingering on his face, “You’re pretty assured of yourself, Peter.”
Strahm grimaces at the informality, ignoring the fact that his own face is flushing, “Don’t call me that.”
“What, would you rather Petey?” Adam fucking
giggles
at his own joke, and Strahm suddenly has the urge to rip his own hair out. He’s not used to having to collaborate with anyone who doesn’t respect his authority, but by the looks of it, Adam hasn’t respected authority… ever.
He takes a shaky breath, attempting to compose himself, “That’s so much worse.”
“Oh, I
know
.” He has a wide grin on his face, and he takes a step closer to Peter. “Special Agent Petey Strahm.”
“Fuck off.” He shoves the envelope back into Adam’s grasp, lightly pushing the man away from him.
Adam laughs, his cheeks tinted pink as he looks at him. Strahm doesn’t particularly enjoy the implication of either of them blushing,
especially
himself. But, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to address it.
“Unless you have anything else to show me, I can take your photos back to the office with me,” expectantly, he holds his hand out for the folder.
For some inexplicable reason, Adam’s mind reels, trying to come up with something,
anything
for the two of them to discuss to prolong Strahm’s stay.
He blurts out, “Do you really think it’s Hoffman?”
“What?”
“The successor or whatever.” He shrugs, attempting to be nonchalant. “Do you think it’s him, or are you just following a lead for the sake of it?”
That elicits an incredibly obvious grimace from Strahm.
“I have a strong inclination to believe that he is the one setting the traps,” is the response he offers, attempting to be as vague as possible.
Adam gives him a look, deadpan, “So, yes?”
He hesitates, not because he’s unsure in his statement, but he isn’t entirely sure he wants to clue Adam in on his emotional stance on all of this. Against his better judgment, he says, “Yes. It’s him.”
“You sure are sure of yourself.”
Strahm stares down at him, his gaze unwavering, despite the heat rising back to his face, “I have to be.”
Adam shrugs, “Cops follow bullshit leads all the time, like the guy who hired me before the fuckin’ bathroom.”
“Ex-cop.”
An eyeroll accompanies his words, “Whatever. Once a cop, always a cop.”
Strahm gives a firm nod, “Well, the FBI functions differently, we need proper evidence to warrant advancing on anything. We don’t
bullshit
anything.”
It’s a deliberate jab at Eric Matthews, who Strahm had the displeasure of reading about following his involvement in a trap. The corruption in the force didn’t start or end with that man, but fuck, his rampant misuse of power made Strahm question if Jigsaw might have had a point in involving him.
Adam has a small smile on his face, like he doesn’t totally believe Strahm, “Hm.” He glances at the folder, now in his hands again. His fingertip trails along the opening absentmindedly, and he asks, “Agent, would you like to stay for dinner?”
Strahm’s mouth falls open, and he
knows
Adam is getting exactly the reaction out of him that he desired. He stammers, before managing out, “Outside of work hours, we should have no contact. You’re hardly an agent.”
Adam doesn’t look at Peter, a smirk blossoming on his face, “I can keep a secret.”
His mouth twitches. Adam, evidently, knows how to read him like a fucking book, and dear god, is that embarassing. He simply says, “Fine.”
“Woah, man, don’t sound so excited,” he finally looks up at Strahm, his face still flushed, “Do you like pasta?”
Strahm just nods, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from the other man. This is going worse than literally any field work he’s ever done. He simultaneously wants to claw his own eyes out and… well, he doesn’t particularly want to disclose what he wants to do with and
to
Adam.
Adam leads him into the kitchen. The rest of his apartment is quite cozy, clearly decorated by someone who wanted to make the most out of the space.
“Feel free to sit wherever,” he says, seeming nervous. Strahm is thankful he’s not alone in the feeling.
Instead of sitting, he simply leans against the kitchen counter, watching as Adam assembles ingredients. There’s a beat of silence between them, before Adam turns to him, his head tilted like a dog’s, “Are you just going to watch me the whole time?”
Suddenly defensive, “Is that a problem?”
Adam shrugs, offering the other man a lopsided smile, “No, I was just curious.” He turns back to the components of whatever sauce he was making, checking to make sure he had everything. “You’re pretty fucking weird, it’s kind of funny.”
He crosses his arms, indignant, “What the fuck does that mean?” His eyes never leave Adam.
Turning back to face Strahm again, Adam says, “You’re just so…” He pauses, balling up his fists and clenching his muscles to make a display of Strahm’s ever present attitude. “You’re angry, but I can’t tell at what.”
What an insightful thing to say, coming from the man who had an unpaid bill due a week and a half ago still hanging on his fridge.
Looks are exchanged between the two of them, before Strahm manages out, “Do I need a reason to be angry?”
He’s tense, and he knows Adam can tell that his words are getting under his skin. In his field of work, he’s supposed to be the one reading others. He is supposed to do the interrogating. Yet, Adam, existing on the outskirts of society, has seemingly become well versed in reading people without them even realizing.
Strahm hates it. He hates being seen.
The voyeur takes one look at his mostly miserable life and equates it to one full of anger and loathing. He’s not entirely wrong in his assumptions.
That’s the part that Peter hates the most.
Adam’s voice, now more tender, breaks him from his thoughts, “I guess not. There’s plenty of shit to get mad about in the world.” He smiles again. It’s different than before, like this time he’s realized that Strahm is actually paying attention to him. “I’m angry too. I guess I’m just better at acting like I’m not.”
Strahm’s eyebrows furrow with concern for the other man. He shouldn’t be feeling any of this for some low life photographer, but here he is, in the man’s kitchen, watching him cook a meal for the two of them.
He is completely and utterly out of his depth.
Adam hums, moving another pot to the stovetop, now standing closer to Strahm than he was before. Their proximity is suffocating, especially with the heat rising from the burners.
Strahm rubs his hands over his face, trying to recollect his thoughts. Doing anything to attempt to stop the boiling feeling in his own gut, paralleling the pot of water on the stove.
If Adam realizes anything is wrong, which he likely does, he says nothing. It’s not his place, and he’s well aware of that.
In the silence, Strahm blurts out, “How do you do it?”
“What?”
“Take photos of people… follow them around. Do all this
bullshit
.” Strahm spits out the words like he’s angry.
He doesn’t know how else to be.
“I follow around rich husbands cheating on their wives, or businessmen exchanging private information for cash.” He sharply jabs the spoon he’s holding into the bottom of the pot, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping it. “I don’t stalk honest people. They’re all shitheads who deserve to be exposed.”
A brief pause. More stirring.
“Plus, some of us need to make ends meet. That’s why I agreed to help
you
.”
Strahm knows he means the FBI in general, but his words seem so pointed, he almost wants Adam to be talking about him specifically. He feels sick.
Now mumbling, Adam says, “You should get a fucking reason to be so pissed off all the time. Maybe then you’d know how to hold a conversation.” He holds out the spoon for Strahm to take, not making eye contact. “Here. Try it.”
There’s a moment of hesitation before Strahm takes it, Adam watching his every move, his every change in expression. It’s oddly vulnerable, and he isn’t quite sure how to feel, but what he does know is that Adam is a surprisingly good cook.
He nods approvingly, handing him back the spoon.
“Good,” Adam takes back the spoon, rinsing it off in the sink. “If you didn’t like it, I’d probably kick you out and have leftovers tomorrow.”
Then, Strahm laughs. He
really
laughs.
Eyes wide from shock, Adam just stares at him. It’s a sound he sort of assumed he’d never hear, but god, he’s somehow weirdly fond of it. Like it’s something he’d want to elicit out of the other man more, if given the opportunity.
Between laughs, Strahm replies, “There’s still time to do that.”
Adam turns back to the stove, mouthing a silent “wow,” before grinning, “You’re way more tolerable when you’re not being a jackass.” His deepening blush confirms the truth behind the statement.
“Is that meant to be a compliment?”
He’s smirking as he says, “Something like that.”
Strahm wants to grab his arm, touch his face, anything to get Adam’s attention back on him. It’s a desperation that he doesn’t know the origin of. He’s never had the opportunity to lose what structure of himself he had built up as an agent around… anyone.
The only person who was different was Lindsey. He could be himself, but their relationship still thrived off their differences. She was often more collected, properly in touch with her emotions, and able to use that to her advantage with any impulses she may have. Peter was impulsive and reckless, but that always relied on his logic. Everything he did was calculated to some degree, even if it was monumentally stupid.
He thrived on his ability to understand things; from his ability to piece together crime scenes to linking seemingly inconsequential pieces of evidence together. His logic was his best chance at figuring out anything, but now, he has no idea how to understand the man standing next to him.
“What are you thinking about?” Adam’s voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to disturb Peter's reverie, like he actually cares about him.
The boiling feeling eats at him, “Nothing.”
It’s true, in a terrible way.
“Okayyy…” His voice is laced with suspicion. “Well, food’s done.”
He grabs two bowls from one of the cabinets, putting pasta into both.
The domesticity of it all feels so foreign to Peter. He can’t remember the last time anyone had made him food like this.
“Thank you,” he cringes at the sound of his own voice.
Adam’s eyebrows furrow, his mouth quirking up into a confused smile, “What?”
“I said thank you.” A pause. “For the food.”
“I heard you. I just didn’t expect you to say it.”
Peter scoffs, smiling, “Now who’s being an asshole for no reason?”
“I have plenty of reasons.” He smiles back, his eyes crinkling up endearingly.
Endearingly?
Fuck.
At that revelation, Peter jabs his fork into his bowl, stabbing through several pieces of pasta.
Once again, if Adam notices, he says nothing. The worst part of his silence is that he definitely noticed; he’s always observing in some way. That’s what voyeurs do, afterall.
The rest of their meal is eaten while awkwardly standing in Adam’s kitchen, silence finally falling between them.
Glaring into his pasta bowl, Peter continues to self reflect, which Adam’s presence seemed to be spurning a lot of. He didn’t know whether to thank him profusely or to bash him over the head. The latter Adam had experience with, so perhaps the thanks would be adequate.
“You’re always scowling.”
Not fully paying attention, Peter finally looks up from his bowl, “What?”
He shrugs, taking a bite of pasta, “I noticed that you look angry, even when you’re not. It’s like… resting bitch face, but even worse.” His own expression was a mix of a smirk and something far cockier. “Resting Strahm face.”
“Oh, fuck off.” He finds himself smiling again, rolling his eyes as he finishes off his meal. “You should get in your own head more instead of trying to figure me out.” As with many things he says, it comes across far angrier than originally intended.
“Hey, if we’re working together, I should get to stake claim up there.” He points with his fork to the middle of Peter’s head. “My own little, uh- Adamtropolis, right inside your head.”
Peter just looks at him blankly, whatever joke is being made flies mostly over his head.
Adam doesn’t seem to mind though, simply taking Peter’s dish from him, continuing to babble, “Typically, I’d make you do the dishes, since I cooked, but this—” He gestures to the dishes, now in the sink. “—is how good of a host I am.”
“Thank you again.” He’s hesitant to say it again, like saying it more would somehow make it mean less.
“I told you, you saying thank you weirds me out.” He shakes his head, walking into the living room. “It’s like… when you can tell actors broke character, but the director doesn’t want to do another take.” A short pause for emphasis. “Super obvious and kind of fucked up.”
“You’re saying that me thanking you is fucked up?”
He grins, “Yeah.”
“Great.” An overly dramatic sigh follows.
Adam ignores him, a useful skill he’s picked up incredibly quickly. Perez would be proud.
He hums an unfamiliar song as he leans over the sink, scrubbing each of the bowls before setting them in the drying rack on the counter. Then, he turns to Peter, wiping his damp hands on the sides of his jeans instead of using the hand towel hanging on the oven door’s handle, “You ready to take your photos and go?”
Peter nods sharply, and watches as Adam slips by him and into the living room. He simply follows the other man through the small space and into the entry hallway once again.
“Here. I’ll have more for you later this week.” He offers the folder to Peter, eyes flitting between the folder and his face. With some hesitation, he asks, “Would I be able to come to the office before that? To… uh, discuss Hoffman’s schedule.”
Peter nods again, taking the folder, “I’d like to have a record of it for myself, if possible.” He tugs on his coat and slings his bag over this shoulder.
“I can provide what I’ve got.” He winks, any double meaning intentionally ignored by Peter. Smiling as he opens the door, he says, “Well, have a good night, agent.”
There’s a bit of hesitation in Peter’s reply, “You too.”
With that, he heads out the door without another look, and as he checks his watch, he only now realizes it was hours after he originally planned to leave.
God, Perez is going to hold how painfully right she was over his head forever…