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"Why did we pick Chili's again?" Adam asks as he pulls into the parking lot, trying his best not to fuck up his parking. Amanda forgets why she let him behind the wheel, but she's too hungry to care.
"Because we're broke but don't want shitty fast food," she answered as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
"So we're eating... at a shitty restaurant instead?"
"Do you want to go to Applebee's instead?"
"Ew, hell no."
"Then stop whining." She opened the car door and stepped out.
It wasn't often they lingered in public unless necessary. Compared to Lawrence and Mark, they were both considered recluses, preferring to set up traps and plan out things with John rather than putting on a facade of normalcy. Lawrence had a job as a doctor still, and Hoffman was a detective pretending to run in circles around the Jigsaw case with that weird little FBI agent. Strahm, if Adam remembers. Something weird was going on between those two; he'd bet his life on it. But Adam and Amanda didn't have anything outside of John.
Adam wasn't getting much money in the photography business, so the gigs slowly started fading until he gave up looking, and Amanda hadn't held down a job in years. That left them with a lot of free time, in which they slowly formed a bond over time. If you had told Adam he'd somehow be bonding with the woman that kidnapped him and almost fucked him over by messing up his trap, he'd call you crazy. But, instead of killing him, Amanda had saved him after John abandoned him.
Trauma bonding, maybe? Whatever medical term Lawrence liked to spew to describe their relationships with each other.
Yet, they decided to crawl out of the hole that was John's hideout and interact with human life that wasn't other demented, scarred serial killers. Frankly, it was an excuse to get some better food too. Most of the time they fed themselves with fast food or frozen dinners. John cooked for himself, leaving the others to fend for themselves. Lawrence took Adam out occasionally for dates, but Adam felt too much like a mooch sometimes. Amanda got dinner every now and then with Lynn, whom she swears she's not dating, but anyone with a room-temperature IQ could see that was a lie, but she still wished she could go out more often.
So, they had scraped together some money and headed to Chili's upon Amanda's demand.
Adam pocketed the keys before heading after her. The seating was easy enough; taking a booth tucked in a corner so they could talk freely without anyone nearby wondering if two crackheads had wandered in and started babbling nonsense about traps and puppets. The waiter was nice enough, but Adam forgot her name quickly. Jessica? Jane? It felt like he knew a million people with the same name at this point. What a repetitive world they lived in.
"White peach tea, please," Amanda got for her drink, barely looking up at the waiter.
"I'll have a coke," Adam told her before the lady walked off. He too grabbed a menu, squinting at the smaller text.
"I'm telling you, you need contacts," Amanda told him yet again. "You squint like you walked in a cloud of cigarette smoke."
"God, you sound like Larry," Adam groaned as he brought the menu closer.
"Well "Larry"," Amanda sarcastically repeated the nickname, "is right. C'mon, Adam, seeing you read a drive-through menu is already painful enough."
"That's why I memorize what I want!"
"Not the point!"
"Just look at the damn menu, Mandy," he sighed, and they went back to looking over what to order.
"You want to split the chips and salsa?" she offered, still looking over what to order.
"Sure," Adam hummed, absentmindedly scratching at his shoulder. Though his bullet wound had been healed for some time now, on random days it liked to itch like a thousand mosquitos had bitten him there.
By the time the waitress rounded back over, they told her they still needed time to order, but they'd like some chips in the meantime. She shared a glance between them, smiling slightly before walking off. Adam raised his eyebrow.
"Do you think she thinks we're on a date?" he asked Amanda.
"God, Adam, don't—" she sighed.
"Okay, first of all, I was just observing. Second of all, fuck you mean 'don't'?" I'm a nice guy to date!" Adam argued.
"You're just not my type, Adam. Besides, you've got a.... older man waiting for you back home."
"You're phrasing it like I'm dating a dude in his 80s who sits in a white van watching playground kids!"
"Well, he's like twenty years older than you! I don't judge, but he is a bit old." Amanda crossed her arms as they lightly bickered.
"You say that while we live with John. He looks like he was classmates with Moses," Adam scoffed.
"That's a new one," she hummed, "But don't talk about him like that."
"Also, you're dating a married woman-"
"She's separated and getting a divorce!"
"Aha!" He pointed a finger at her face. "You admit she's your girlfriend!"
"I don't-" she stuttered. "I'm not- We- Ugh, just shut up and order!"
Just as soon as the fighting started, it ended, like most of their squabbles did. They had long since defused from actual, emotionally vulnerable fights where they hurt each other and reopened wounds just to see the other bleed, falling into the pattern of arguing like siblings who spent too much time around the other. Both of them were single children, so they had relied on stories of how proper families functioned and how their colleagues described them to see if their "sibling-esq" relationship was accurate or not. Hoffman had said they argued like two alleyway cats once; no actual danger, just a hissing competition.
Hoffman liked to bust their asses. Maybe because they were younger or he already feuded with Amanda, and so Adam, by extension, would be criticized given their closeness. Besides, he had his own little "boys night" with Lawrence even if they looked like they wanted to murder each other afterwards.
When the waiter came back with their drinks and chips, Amanda looked up.
"Think your boyfriend would like this place?" she shoehorned the statement in, clearly looking for an excuse to get rid of any speculation that they were dating.
"Don't think so. Doesn't seem like it's up Larry's alley." Adam fought back a cringe at his equally unnatural comment, seeing how the waiter's face fell with their comments.
Eh, if she were homophobic, at least they'd never see her again. Or they could leave a shitty tip.
"Are you... ready to order?" the waiter cleared her throat.
"I'll take the margarita grilled chicken." Amanda put the menu up.
Adam sighed. "Cheese enchiladas, please. No onions,"
The moment the woman had left their table after writing down their orders, Adam leaned in closer.
"The hell was that, Mandy??" he questioned her, keeping his voice down despite the nearest seated table being four booths away from them.
"I did what I had to," she said flatly, reaching forward to grab one of the salty, crispy chips to dip in the salsa.
"Yeah, but be more-" Adam's train of thought was cut off by a guttural screech that filled the restaurant as if a banshee had walked in and made itself known.
Amanda's expression twisted to pure confusion with a hint of curiosity, brows furrowed as she looked around to identify where the scream was from before another long, ear-piercing wail rang out. She turned her head quicker, leaning forward to see where it was coming from, before she landed on a table tucked behind part of the wall that had a family at it, a young child screaming her lungs out while the adults ignored her. The small girl ran around the table shrieking like it was a game.
The apprentices exchanged a look, subtly watching the scene as they began eating their chips. The other customers around them are seemingly trying to ignore the fiasco or giving said table the stink eye.
"Thank God Diana isn't like that," Adam mumbled as he ate a chip, listening to the crunch.
"You met her?" Amanda barely gets out before another scream rings out.
"Lawrence talks about her sometimes."
"Well... Lynn doesn't talk about her kids much, but I hope she doesn't let them do shit like that."
Before the girl can shriek like a bird again, her mother finally scolds her and tells her to "sit the fuck down." Who talks to a kid like that? Regardless, the girl took a seat. Amanda sighed in relief and went back to snacking on the chips.
"I don't know what they put in the salsa, but it's like crack," Adam said before catching himself. "I mean... Uh."
"Well, they're not really the same, but they are pretty good. Besides, my lane was heroin, not crack,"
"Too classy for it?" Adam arched a brow.
"I'd say you seem too classy for hard drugs. You do look like you smoke weed, though."
"Oh, you're too kind," Adam huffed in amusement before eating another chip.
A beat of silence passed them before Adam spoke up again.
"Speaking of... our partners, partners in general," he began, and Amanda cocked her eyebrow at him.
"Go on," she baited him to continue. At this rate, they'd probably fill up on chips and only eat half their food, but that meant bringing home leftovers for lunch tomorrow, so it was a win-win.
"Do you think Hoffman's fucking that FBI agent?" Adam asked her.
"Okay, blunt," Amanda snorted.
"I'm serious!"
"I know, and I think so too, but I don't want to think of Hoffman naked, let alone fucking someone. It's like trying to imagine a naked ham getting fucked," she complained.
"I think my comparisons are rubbing off on you," Adam grinned.
"Don't flatter yourself," she said, fighting back a smile. "But seriously, hearing you make a sexual comment or two about yourself isn't torture, but Mark is a different story."
"Yeah, fair point." Adam nodded. Thinking of Hoffman having sex was... an intrusive thought that made Adam shudder, and not in a good way.
"Knowing them, they'll probably kill each other eventually. Would get Mark out of our hair at least," Amanda commented as their food quickly arrived, and all jigsaw thought was thrown out the window temporarily as they started to dig in.
It wasn't a five-star meal, but it was much better than fast food or frozen dinners, so much better.
"Well, whatever happens, happens. Mark's kind of a dick, so it's hard imagining someone wanting to date him," Adam said after cutting off a piece of his enchilada to eat.
"I said fucking, not dating. Big difference," Amanda corrected, shoving a bite of chicken in her mouth.
"Is that why you don't want to call what you have with Lynn dating? Because I don't think if you're having sex with someone, they get you flowers-"
"This is about Mark, not me," she warned him.
"Okay, okay, sorry." Adam threw his hands up in defeat before going back to eating. "Just saying, you go out on dates and shit too. You're doing stuff me and Lawrence do."
"I mean... okay, you're not wrong." Amanda sat and thought for a minute as she ate another piece of chicken. "Kind of funny, huh? I mean, we both bagged a doctor who cheated on their spouse and has a kid."
The fact Lynn would be put in a trap eventually as well hung in the air, but that went unspoken between them as to not ruin the moment.
"Guess we're alike in our tastes," Adam snickered.
"Except she's a brunette," Amanda continued, "and she's only eight years older than me."
"Again with the age??" Adam groaned.
"I said I don't judge. If you want a sugar daddy, I'm not judging."
"Hey, I do not love Lawrence just for his money-" he was cut off.
"I know you don't, Adam; I was joking. The fact we're at a fucking Chili's right now is proof enough you're not a gold digger," Amanda replied, already feeling full despite most of her chicken still being on the plate. They'd need some to-go boxes.
"I know it's a joke; it's just... I don't want to be a mooch, okay?" he admitted.
Amanda softened a bit. "Well... yeah, I relate. I don't feel... great about having to rely on John a lot. I try not to make Lynn feel like I'm only after her for money too. Guys in the past acted like I only wanted their cash despite the fact a few of them were more broke than me."
"Don't know what it is with guys thinking girls want their fortune of twenty cents," Adam tried to joke to lighten the mood, and thankfully he got a small smile from her.
"The dates are nice, I'll admit, even if I feel a bit crap about how high the bills are at fancier places," Amanda said, sipping her tea.
"You're telling me. One time I was out with Larry, and the bill was over a hundred dollars. Felt like crap the whole night after, even if he barely cared."
"He loves you, Adam. As horrifically cheesy as it is to see," Amanda teased him lightly, having seen her fair share of their casual PDA around the safe house.
"I think Lynn loves you too, Mandy. I know relationships haven't been great for you, but I think she's different," Adam told her earnestly, seeing Amanda process those words.
"Well, if you stop beating yourself up, I'll stop beating myself up." Amanda struck a deal even though they knew it wasn't that easy.
"Deal," Adam smiled, "But I'm pretty sure we need to-go boxes. I'm stuffed."
"You need to gain some meat on your bones, Adam. We probably both do," Amanda said but was already flagging down the waitress.
The bill could have been worse. They managed to pay it by the scrape of the neck before hurrying out of the restaurant with their leftovers. This time, Amanda would be the one to drive them back home while Adam kept the leftovers on his lap. He was itching for a cigarette but didn't want to smoke in the car. The scent would stick to the inside of the vehicle, and he'd never hear the end of it.
"Didn't Mark call you a twink once?" Amanda asked out of the blue halfway through the drive.
"Yeah?" Adam turned, confused by the question.
"Just thinking about it because I saw him eating a honeybun earlier. Hostess makes Twinkies, so it was just a random train of thought."
"Jesus, I am rubbing off on you." Adam looked out the window. "But I don't consider myself one. First of all, I'm a lot hairier than he thinks. You think I care enough to go get a Brazilian wax?"
"Do you think he fits any archetype?" Amanda continued their random banter.
"Not really. I'm no expert, but nothing comes to mind," he shrugged. "And I don't even want to think about his sex life, so don't go there."
"I could never get behind being into completely hairless people, honestly. Just seems uncanny." Amanda turned the wheel as they talked as if they were young adults shooting the shit like life was sweet instead of apprentices of a wanted serial killer.
"You know what's uncanny? That puppet John has," Adam brought up.
"Billy?" she asked.
"Yeah, him. Not to be insensitive, can you imagine having that fucking toy as a baby? It'd give you nightmares from birth."
"John is a creative person." Amanda left it at that.
Maybe, in the midst of shit, life wasn't too bad.