#dweetwise

Ace was not the overtly romantic type.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had the charisma to back him up, a backlog of dirty euphemisms and sultry compliments for him to cruise off of when spoken in a low whisper at the poker table, but that was only enough to get him one night of fun, maybe two if he pushed his luck (which he did, quite often). He was plastic flowers and Las Vegas weddings - the fake kind of love that you could easily replace once it got broken. And for a while, he was fine with that. At the craps table, you couldn’t count on a forever, so going from lover to lover was a fate he’d more than settled with. Hell, even if his engagement only lasted a few months (the man had some sense, at least - the last Ace heard he’d gotten hitched with another man much richer and happier up in Illinois), it made for one hell of a lie to cover his bluff for a losing hand.

Romance hadn’t been something he’d thought about a lot, in the fog. There were more important things to think about, weren’t there - whether it was those cocky kids from the Legion wanting to go for a swipe or the bony form of the Hag slashing at his heels, his main focus was on escaping first, and testing his luck second. That didn’t change, for a while. Or at least, didn’t change enough for him to notice, until, like an unstable cliffside, everything caved in and he realised just how much shit he was in. It was a gradual process, not like how he’d rush things from the casino floor to the bedroom day in and day out for years at a time, knowing that it was likely to be his only chance before they moved onto someone new and better.

Ace didn’t know why it was him. Bill was a hardass, a stickler for the rules, a self-sacrificing hardass who could just say was way too high up on his horse and leave it at that. And normally, he would. But this time… he didn’t. He watched the old soldier with intrigue, with the way he commanded the room despite them being in the forest, his biting wit and genuine strategy enough to straighten the backs of even Nea and David, and that was a task worse than freezing hell over. He would listen to the words he used, insults peppered in like salt to a cheap takeaway meal, half drunk and lost in the belly of the Californian night, how his brow furrowed and how his eyes flickered with intent between survivors, and how his lips quirked and moved as he talked, or didn’t talk. All these little details finally came to a head when he’d began noticing how his words would bounce off of him like glue to rubber, unfazed mostly - though one time, he got a laugh out of him, while making a joke about David’s recklessness as the two offered their assistance in patching him up behind a rock (“takes an idiot to know one, Visconti”, he’d said). And that small chuckle was all it took for Ace to realise he was in deep, deep shit.

While luck had always been on his side, courage had not. Ace had let his feelings sit for a long time, trial after trial, not sure whether to be grateful that he was finally yearning for attachment or cursing the heavens that it had to happen here, of all places, enough to the point where avoiding Bill had become as natural as breathing air. Wasn’t anywhere to run eventually, though, as a terrible trial in the Autohaven Wreckers, where generators remained powered down and Micheal patrolled in his usual, methodical way, had left the two of them the only ones left alive. Hiding behind a wall, they had been silent for a while, before the old soldier had pressed him about his odd behaviour, calling him out to the very centre of it. And for the first time in a long time, Ace didn’t have a retort - there was no shitty movie quote, no stupid joke he could bounce off of - leaving him stumbling and hanging slack-jawed as his face grew hot and he rubbed the back of his neck, enough to make Bill growl and start to stand to his feet, ready to take the fall as he’d done so many times. But as if on instinct, Ace had grabbed his wrist and pulled himself to his feet, asking him to take a chance, just this once. Bill had chastised him as he normally did, pulling his arm away as he did so. And Ace had swallowed hard and looked him head-on, letting his eyes fall on every feature of his face, before grabbing the old fool by the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for a long-overdue kiss that seemed to last too long but not long enough, hoping that that was enough of a message to say that he’d trade his life for Bill’s in a heartbeat. He did, evidently, meeting his end at the hand of a knife in his lungs, but behind tinted glasses where he quickly lost vision, he’d seen Bill running for the hatch, glaring daggers at him as Ace could only smile, and die. Words were said at the campfire when he got back, but the message had been sent, loud and clear, earning him another kiss back when the two were, pinned against a tree with the glow of the campfire on his back, an answer to the silent question that he had posed for if it was really okay to do this. And it was. 

It had been a good while since that moment, though Ace played it in his head over and over as if it was some crazy dream that he was getting to live in. Things hadn’t really changed between them - he was still just as stupid, if not more so, trying to impress the man who made the mistake of liking him back, and Bill was still as much of a hardass - but there were moments now that made every injury, every lost chase and terrible mistake, and every death, so much more worth it. The soldier shared with him small smiles, laughs and jokes and tales of old friends, his doubts and his anguish, but most of all, showed him a side of himself that wasn’t as harsh, a side of himself that was vulnerable, and kind - a bleeding heart, as it were, and that was the side where their hands interlocked walking back from the campfire, where they’d joke and slow dance and laugh like normal lovers did, out on the edge of the campfire. They had each other’s back, and out here, that’s what they needed most. 

Another trial was underway now, as one always was, and the forest of the Macmillan Estate was cold as it always had been, especially around the old ironworks. The atmosphere in the old factory giving off ice cold vibes of unhappiness and solitude. Ace felt a shiver run its icy fingers up his spine from under his shirt, pulling his hands away from the generator for a moment as his head twitched a little from the moment, recovering quickly with a quiet sigh before he got back to work. The trial had been rather relaxed, as of now; one generator was already powered (he’d watched Dwight and Nea work on that together, which was like seeing snow in July, as far as he was concerned) and he’d only heard a few yells of pain after that as he was searching around the factory through chests for a key (no luck this time) before hoping down again. Over the sound of the mechanisms powering up like a beating heart, the fountain behind him flowed, the sound of pure water almost calming, if not for the sign that the Plague was roaming around.

Two wires he was holding sparked together, and that was enough to get the generator to flicker on. Perfect. Ace stood to his feet and took off his hat for a moment, scratching the top of his head before he put it back on again, as if it would help him figure out his next move. As if just going for a stroll (the poor priestess was making this trial seem like a cakewalk, after all), he slid his hands into his pockets, beginning to head out of the factory-

Running towards him made him step back inside, pinning his back against the wall near the door, his heart lurching into his mouth. From out of the corner of the doorway, he saw Bill sprinting past, the tall form of the Plague not too far behind. Ace smiled despite himself, though that soon faded as he heard the gagging coming from the woman, before she swallowed down her own vomit as the soldier turned a corner, and then subsequently hit her with a palette as she tried to follow after him. 

With the threat gone, though that wasn’t as reassuring as it ought to have been, knowing it wasn’t far behind the man he loved - Bill was capable enough, though, so there wasn’t much to worry about, was there? Right? - Ace moved away from the wall and sighed. Better to head in the opposite direction of the scary lady with the sacrificial censor and the terrible disease. But as he started to make his way towards the hole in the wall under the stairs, his eyes fell onto another set of stairs that were all too familiar. The whispers of the basement were calling for him. Ace swallowed, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. ...Bill had this, right? And if not, Nea and Dwight would have his back, surely. It was fine for him to dig around for another key, right? He looked around. No one was here to tell him not to, so the only other choice…

He descended the basement stairs carefully, a hand running along the rotting and misshapen planks of the old wooden wall the didn’t fit with the rest of the factory at all, as if it had been stolen and shifted from another building entirely. Those whispers of death were louder now, as he turned a corner and saw it, the chest at the back. Ace rubbed his hands together, hoping to channel some sort of magic to get this thing to open up. The gambler got down on one knee, picking at the lock of the chest while grumbling and talking to himself, praying for a key, or a flashlight to toss to the feisty young Swede if he saw her again. It didn’t take long to open, though nothing was waiting for him inside but a crusty old medkit. Ace stood up again with a frown, cursing Lady Luck for turning her back on him-

Heavy hands hitting the wall of the killer shack startled him, heart in his mouth. The Plague was probably already mad enough with how things had been going, he didn’t need to be spotted hiding out in the basement to make matters worse. Scrambling to his feet, the gambler lept for the locker just behind him, and clambered inside, hoping not to alert the tall, diseased woman that he was an easy target. But instead of sickly breaths and the sound of bare feet on concrete, the stumbling, heavy footsteps down the stairs and strained, pained breathing were enough to get him to poke his head out-

“Oh, shit- Bill!” 

The panicked whisper made the soldier look up, watching as Ace climbed out of the locker, leaving the doors to close on their own as he jogged over. Bill gritted his teeth, knuckles white as he clung to the edge of the wall beside the stairs with one hand, the other clutching his stomach. “Dammit, Visconti, what’re you doin’-”

“Don’t matter. C’mere.”

“No- get off me, dammit.” He tried to swat the gambler away, but lost his balance as he did and slipped from under his feet, yelling quietly as Ace rushed to grab him and help him stand, his hand grabbing hard at the side Bill was holding.

“Ah, shit- sorry, babe. Come on, there’s a medkit over here-”

“Oh, of course you were fuckin’ around in here-”

“You want the help or not?”

Bill paused, about to open his mouth again before catching the look on Ace’s face, an oddly solemn frown that seemed out of place, before sighing in resignation, if only to see the small smirk that overtook the other man as he led him over to the chest, letting him lean against the locker and slide down to sit.

“You’ll thank me later, trust me.”

“Just get it done.”

Ace nodded, taking the medkit out of the chest and opening it up, fishing through what little supplies were in there to try and help, hands shaking ever so slightly. For as long as the two of them had been here, you’d think he’d be used to this by now - but he was as cowardly at heart as always, it seemed.

He wasn’t an expert medic, but in the fog, you had to adapt fast, so Ace had picked up a few things from watching Claudette patch people up (and watch Nea complain about how wrong it was, but even he would doubt her judgement in that department), enough that he thought he was doing a pretty good job as he slowly wrapped the gauze around Bill’s torso, watching at the heavy bruising was slowly covered, and listening for a wince of pain every so often to tell him he was doing it a little too tight. Ace glanced up to him as his glasses fell down his face from looking down, just catching the soft expression he was giving before he grumbled and look away, making the gambler chuckle to himself as he finished tying off the gauze, moving his hand to gently hold his shoulder.

“She get you up there?”

Bill looked back again, an eyebrow raised.

“Vomit Queen up there. You caught anythin’?”

“Oh, hell no. Saw Karlsson instead, went after her ass. Considerin’ the run around she’s been givin’ her, ain’t surprised.” He paused, trying to push himself up now. “I gotta help her-”

“Aht, aht. Down, boy.” Ace put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down to sit. “C’mon, Bill, she’ll look at you funny and you’ll go down if you go up there again, ‘Sides, Nea ain’t a damsel. A few more minutes, yeah?”

“And Dwight?”

“He’s no idiot either. He’s our leader for a reason.”

He stared, before looking away again.

“We’ve talked about this, Bill. I know you gotta stick your neck out for everyone else, but you can only go so far.”

He didn’t say anything else, but from the way he tapped his fingers against the concrete floor, he wasn’t happy about it.

“There… no worries, you old coot, I got you.” Ace laughed as he got a punch to the chest, moving to hold a hand where the impact had been made, expression going soft as Bill laughed too, albeit it was quieter. He stood to his feet and wiped the dust and blood off of his knees where he’d been kneeling before offering the soldier a hand, which he took, helping him stand to his feet with only minor wobbling. "You good?"

"Yeah... yeah. Just... give me a second."

"Take all the time you need."

The soldier kept his grip tight in Ace's hand, sighing to himself before he went to move his hand away.

Though Ace kept his grip, if only to bring the hand up to his lips and gently kissed Bill’s knuckles, skin old and weathered on his lips, before pulling away and running his thumb across them. “Now come on. We've got a trial to finish."

The two of them walked out of the basement side by side, Ace taking the lead to make sure the coast was clear before they left, taking the exit closest to them through the hole in the wall, heading towards a corner where a generator remained half-power, mechanisms slowly chugging from the inside. The soldier nodded to him, quickly taking over the lead and taking the long side over and leaving Ace to take one of the shorter sides, with the wires exposed.

"Hey, Ace?"

“Hm?” Ace looked up at the sound of his own name, odd coming from Bill, even now.

“...Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Wh- what do you think?”

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Bill scowled, though only momentarily, the shit-eating grin on the gambler’s face was enough to make him crack into a brief chuckle, even if it did make him a little (read: a lot) more punchable, before resuming work on the generator.