Though Machiavelli seemed mostly in possession of his faculties- he had attempted to pincer grip Billy when the American had hit on the motel maid- there were times where his child's body seemed to synchronize with his mind. Billy noticed that while he seemed more like his adult self in the morning, as the day wore on and his body got tired, he seemed more childlike and pliable. There were certain differences that persisted with the younger Machiavelli and the older Machiavelli that Billy had come to know.
For instance, the younger Machiavelli seemed more prone to open displays of emotion than the older version ever had. In fact, Billy suspected that the older Machiavelli took a certain amount of pride in masking his face. Truthfully, they'd only known each other a few days and under the dire circumstances they had been working under, they'd hadn't the time to play twenty questions, but Billy felt like he knew the Italian immortal fairly well. He found himself entranced with the little boy's easy laugh. It gurgled in his throat like water rushing in a brook. The little Machiavelli smiled often and was full of energy.
There was some considerable variation in the toddler's behavior at times. Whenever the Italian immortal was sleeping or had just woken up, he appeared to be less in tune with his adult faculties. This behavior was overwhelmingly endearing, the other immortals soon found out. Machiavelli, an elegant man in his adulthood, was absolutely precious as a child.
In the mornings, Machiavelli was consistently slow to wake up and sleepily affectionate. No matter which bed he ended up in the night before, he generally toddled off in whatever direction Billy was in. "Scruffy," he said every morning, rubbing Billy's face. So gradually, Billy was getting in the habit of shaving every morning. It seemed to make the toddler happy.
The younger Italian immortal slept on and off for days after getting off of the island, but once his aura was replenished, there was no keeping him down so long as the sun was up. Billy, who was getting better by the day, delighted in goofing with him. The Flamels came back into their shared motel room one day to find Machiavelli perched on Billy's toes, dancing to the music on the radio. Machiavelli shrieked every time he was dipped backwards. Neither immortal was aware of the married couple until Billy swung Machiavelli around in a wide swirl.
Machiavelli turned red and hid his face behind Billy's legs, but Billy grinned openly, displaying two slightly bucked teeth on an otherwise handsome face. The American immortal virtually shone with life, all smiles, dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned white dress shirt. Billy had never been in love before and while he faced unique circumstances which posed some obvious problems, he was enjoying spending time with the person with whom he wanted to build a history.
Machiavelli the kid was certainly more openly affectionate than Machiavelli the adult. Billy was a frequent recipient of Machiavelli's gratitude, not surprisingly, as Billy went out of his way to make the young boy smile.
~MB~
"Where are all the others?" Machiavelli asked curiously, coming awake from a nap to find only Billy in the room with him. He blinked a lot and tucked a hand into his pants, sighing with contentment. Realizing too late what he was doing, he slipped it out again and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He looked up at Billy through his long lashes.
"Black Hawk brought the Flamels out to find us a new place to live. We can't live here forever, it's too small for the five of us," Billy explained.
"Huh," Machiavelli said drowsily. He burrowed down deeper in the blankets. "I'm hungry. And I have to go to the bathroom."
Billy laughed. "That's a lot." He climbed out of his side of the bed, holding his wound. The skin over his wound had completely regenerated by this point, but being new, was incredibly tender to the touch. "Let's get you to the bathroom first."
After Machiavelli had gone about his business, Billy got both of them changed into clean clothes. Machiavelli scampered away as soon as he was undressed, causing Billy some grief. "Come on, Mac," he enticed. "Let's put some pants on you."
"Uh uh," the Italian negated, climbing into the closet. Billy could hear him giggling, but couldn't see him very well. Just one leg stuck out and when Billy tapped it, the giggling climbed an octave and the leg quickly disappeared from sight.
"Come out here," Billy called, opening the closet door on the other side. He dropped to his knees and crawled into the closet himself. "Come here," he said finding Machiavelli and scooping him up. "Oomph, you're getting heavier. Now, don't you think you'd like to put some clothes on?" he asked, holding out a pair of training pants.
"Why?"
"I don't know," Billy hedged. He pushed at his hair. "I'd never seen you in any less than a three piece suit before this and now I'm seeing, well, everything."
Machiavelli examined his reflection in the mirror covering the closet door. He laughed. "There's not much to see." The toddler spun around and around. Billy had to laugh too at the boy's antics. Machiavelli seemed really happy.
"Mac, you're taking this a lot better than I thought you would," Billy commented. He collected Machiavelli up again, setting him down on the bed. "Come on, no clothes and we can't go outside. You'll thank me for this later." The Italian stopped squirming, which made it much easier for Billy to pull on the pair of overalls he had been struggling with a moment before.
He scrawled a quick note for the others in case they came back and they set out into their neighborhood. Machiavelli busied himself with trying to see how high he could kick his feet. Billy held his hand the entire time, keeping a wary eye on the people around them.
There was a nearby park that seemed to be in relatively good condition. There, Billy bought them both a hotdog and a bag of chips, with a bottle of water that they shared. Neither of them had been out much since they had gotten off the island, meaning they were both ready to dispel the boredom of the past few days.
After they ate, Machiavelli begged Billy to let him play at the playground. It wasn't a very large area, just a few swings and a slide, but with the pent up energy he'd accumulated, it was perfect for him. "Okay," Billy finally agreed. "Want to go on the slide?"
Machiavelli looked at the tall, metal slide. "I don't think I could climb up the ladder," he said shyly. "It's too high."
"What if I went up with you?"
Machiavelli considered it. "Okay." He got halfway up with Billy right behind him before he absolutely froze. "No, I can't do it."
"Come back down then, sweetheart. It's fine." Billy plucked Machiavelli off of the ladder. "How about I just put you on the slide from the other side. You can still go down a ways." Machiavelli nodded, so Billy brought him around and set him as high as he could. Machiavelli slid down. It wasn't as fun as he thought it might be, as the metal of the slide was excruciatingly hot.
For some reason, Machiavelli got the strange sense that putting sand on the slide would cool it down. Billy stayed a few feet away from him, but let him play on his own. Machiavelli tossed handfuls of sand on the slide and watched it slide down to the bottom again. "Can you help me?" he asked Billy at one point, so Billy scooped up some handfuls and tossed them higher up on the slide.
"Why are we doing this?" he asked at one point.
Machiavelli paused. "I don't know." He tossed a couple more handfuls on the slide and slapped his hands clean. "Push me on the swings?"
"Sure."
The Italian couldn't get on the swings by himself. The best he could do was lie on his stomach and flail his legs helplessly which didn't get him very far and was fairly painful. He slid off again and held out his hands to Billy.
The American immortal scooped him up by the armpits and set him on the swing. Walking around so that he was behind Machiavelli, Billy pulled the swing back just slightly. Getting tired now, Billy sat on the ground and pushed Machiavelli, not letting him go too high.
"Want to head back, Mac?"
Machiavelli glanced at Billy. The American's face was ashen- he was obviously getting tired. "Okay," he agreed readily. He touched down to the ground again. "Thanks for playing with me," he said shyly.
"Any time, Mac. Sorry I had to cut things short."
