#ace goes to publix and is shot in the dick: a story about self discovery

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The first night in their new, real bed was the night they both decided something soft wasn’t going to cut it. Within the day, the comforter was removed and David pushed a firm mattress through the bedroom door.

Adjusting to life after death is a lot different than what survivor self-help books and online sessions seem to talk about. David knows and understand the work lain out - acknowledging problems, accepting the event, not letting yourself relapse to dangerous coping methods. Not obsessing over the dead body. Not consuming yourself with guilt and revenge. It’s the words he read before anything about fog and bear traps happened, but it’s all rooted in the same pain.

He likes to think he’s starving off the older fears better than the new ones. Possibly because John is dead. He made sure to find every piece of information that lingered on the Jigsaw cases - everything that sat in his apartment was gone, but the information remained elsewhere. Old newspaper articles. Obituary reports. Four dead in warehouse including alleged serial killer John Kramer.

It was a victory that felt - worth it. Not the fog. Not the trials. The cut throats and bullet wounds, that’s what was worth it. Upstate, David Tapp is dead, killed in the line of duty. Miami is a lot more simple than he thought it’d ever be, but Ace keeps the house quiet.

Too quiet, if it’s meant to be Ace Visconti talking.

The bed is the home of two men older than most of the lost souls who wandered the edge of the forest that never was. The bed is the home of David Tapp, who followed the train past the Mason-Dixon line with a couple other of the same souls when he got a phone call. The bed is the home of Ace Visconti, and he’s been sleeping in it religiously for three days.

David Tapp returns home in the afternoon, and makes sure to cross in front of the lazy smile of Ace to let him know he’s home, and - that he’s real, first and foremost. The hooks aren’t appearing at the foot of the driveway, and that’s - good. Ace once told him he dreamt they appeared at midnight, and Tapp stayed up the same night to take pictures to prove they weren’t coming back. The smile was the first genuine one of their life after death since breaking the fog’s barrier.

The sun lingers in the sky like it doesn’t want to say goodbye, dimming the streets in a good haze and making the insects sing in the trees. When David opens the door, Ace’s bare back greets him. He moves around their bed and checks how he lies, and a phone is close to Ace’s tired face.

”Did you shower?” David asks, tepid.

”I was supposed to, wasn’t I?” Ace says like it isn’t a question at all, and breaks his mouth to a lazy smirk, looking up at David removing his cap. “Don’t come crawlin’ up next to me, big guy, or else you’ll stink like rat-bitch.”

”I don’t think I was planning on to,” he replies, the laugh that finds it’s way to him the scoffed memory of old humour. David lays the uniform cap on his personal bedside dresser, atop the old clock. Digital, but ancient - they managed to find the same kind of clock he had for years in a thrift store, and its stayed with him ever since. A sense of familiarity.

David sits on the bed, nonetheless. He removes his shirt, an eggshell blue uniform belonging to a mall. He’s halfway through the fourth button when Ace whistles lowly.

”You're gorgeous, gorgeous, but I don't think I’m up for that right now.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a comedian.”

”Oh, I try.”

When the shirt comes off, David leans down to pick up a white, more loose shirt. The same one he slept in - don’t knock him for lack of trying. “You should get up. Did you eat what I left out for you?”

He can hear Ace roll over, on to his back. “Thought about it. I’ll just have whatever’s for dinner tonight.”

David turns around. “Alessandro.”

Ace looks at him - he lowers his phone down against his bare chest, and the lazy smile he’s been wearing all day starts to fade, like the daylight outside.

”You don’t have to go using real names here, David,” he says, remarkably soft. David turns further into the bed, and lays down on his side.

”If it makes you listen, I think I have to.” A hand drags up the shoulder closest to him, and traces to his jaw. - as light as he can make it, because it’s been years since his hand grazed over the skin of another, even when the fog took everything else and left him with a gambler and his heart. “You have to leave our room eventually.”

”Just feeling under the weather. You know how things are... how they get.” Ace, though pushing his voice to be more distant, more neutral - leans to the touch, turning his head into his hand. “Must be the heat. Haven’t felt the heat like this since - well, you know. Couple summers ago.”

David’s smile is a lot sadder than Ace’s, and lasts even shorter than his. “You can talk to me.”

Ace’s mouth remains upturned, but like the humour in his words, it disappears eventually. His eyes roam to the ceiling, watching - nothing. The plaster is swept in meandering waves, low peaks to give their bedroom as much of art depth as a Miami designer can budget. But watching the waves of paint gets away from the subject, rather than looking at David.

As much as he might want to.

”Yeah,” he says, absently, without a real answer. David lays properly on the bed, supporting himself by his arm, and roams his hand down Ace’s body to curl over the knuckles of one of his own. David runs a thumb against Ace’s skin, and he can feel Ace change how he rests, an open palm to lock their fingers together. The silence is a better answer than anything that could be said, and David understands.

Humour is a great deflection tool. Self destructive behaviour is too, but he supposes it could always be worse, if Ace felt strong enough to grab what David is making and found the casinos again. Jobs are easy for an ex-detective, not so much an ex-gambler. 

Ace finally looks at David again.

”Denson called,” he says quietly, and it is then David realizes his eyes are looking past him, into the light of the outside sunset. Uneven stare. Readjusting to reality.

“She did?” David leans up a little to catch Ace’s eyes, then lowers back down when he follows with that stare. “She back in Pennsylvania?”

”Think so,” he says again, just as quiet, but with his eyes on David so focussed he might just disappear to golden ash and auric haze. “Said she’s moving back to her family. Sounds like she wanted a comeback.”

”Kate’s not the only person who can get back on her feet,” David says, and Ace’s next smile is a joke of its own.

”You’re right. Park? He’s talking to his old man again. Imagine waking up and deciding you want to be rich again, and being able to.” He laughs, and it’s uneasy, but sold like it’s perfect. “Can’t relate. I would love to, though, I swear it. If I could get back to it, darling, I’d give you everything—”

”What we have now is enough, Alessandro.” David brings Ace’s eyes back to him - this time with a hand directly, touching Ace’s cheek and holding him there. His stare looks past the shrouds of humour and the deflection - he would kiss him if he was furious with impulsive decisions, but David Tapp is nothing if not careful. “You’re still enough.”

Ace doesn’t speak. He looks like he wants to, but reaches his hand to David’s arm, first. When he does — “Man. Brute force your way to my heart.”

It’s a lot more sincere. Ace is the one who moves - the hand on David’s arm reaches up, and he guides him in, kissing him slowly, then deep, searching and - hoping. There’s a lot that he breathes against him, but David holds it in silence, leaning against Ace with a careful consideration. When he parts, he lays his head against Ace’s chest. Ace’s hand finds the back of his neck.

”Do you want to get up?” David asks, and he can feel him try to shrug.

”Yes, but...” Ace pulls his phone up, which had slipped off his chest at some point. “—Well, nothing’s out for dinner. We’ll have to order something.”

”That’s fine,” David says, pulling himself a lot closer, pinning half of Ace’s body under the covers that he’s made his home. His arm lays over Ace’s chest, and Ace’s hand finds his bicep. “For now. We’re going out tomorrow, since I’m off.”

”I’ve yet to reintroduce myself to the bakery sections of this state’s grocery chains,” Ace muses, and David looks up at him when he rolls his eyes, with an unreadable expression.

Unreadable to any man not named Ace Visconti, that is.

”The only thing that’s going to bring me back to life is a giant cookie cake, babe.”

That isn’t to say he’s vulnerable to the stern behavioural command that it gives, though.

”I’m going to lose you to your eating habits before I lose you to nightmares.” It makes Ace grin. Brute force to the heart, and brute force to whatever makes him laugh.

”That'll be quite the way to go,” Ace says, and rolls David to his back - the blankets press between them, and Ace has a hand to his chin, holding his head in place before he leans his mouth against him. “Indulging my pretty face in pasteries while my lover watches on in horror.” A kiss; stronger, on Ace’s terms. When David reaches around to hold him, his skin is warm, warmer than his own hands, all from being tucked under heavy blankets. It feels nice to kiss him from below without sunglasses knocking into his face.

Ace holds him there. The passion lingers, and it doesn’t get much farther than Ace’s legs between David’s and the revelation that he’s not wearing any clothes. But - the life that blooms back in Ace, even if for a moment, is worth every moment halfway between man and blanket. When Ace leans back up, he smiles down at David. David’s smile is warm in return.

”Get dressed,” he says, quietly.

”Of course. Can’t have my youthful body lay bare, lest I catch myself in the mirror and fall victim to vanity,” Ace replies, sitting up as best he can without crushing David too much. “—Or make you think twice about wanting to stay dressed.”

David leads the blanket after him, covering half of his body. “I’m charmed.”