Billy soon found that while Machiavelli made an absolutely adorable toddler, having a child of that age, regardless of the circumstances, could be overwhelming at times.
The Italian immortal was swayed easily by his more childish emotions, meaning that the careful mask the adult Machiavelli projected largely crumbled away when faced with ordinary, fairly non-traumatic experiences. Billy dealt with these experiences more than any of the other immortals, somehow having become the object of the Italian's implicit trust.
This was both heartwarming and at times, highly inconvenient. For instance, Billy was the one most frequently approached when Machiavelli felt embarrassed or frightened. Luckily, Black Hawk usually spent the nights at a new place they were slowly moving into which left the two of them in undisturbed harmony during the evenings.
"Billy," Machiavelli whispered. "Billy."
The American immortal sniffed loudly. Machiavelli continued to tap his face, and Billy came awake, with a sudden involuntary jerk. "Mac?" he asked, looking around blearily. He rolled over on his side so that he was facing the toddler. "What's up?"
The Italian looked totally miserable. "I had an accident," he whispered softly.
"You fell?" Billy asked, misunderstanding. He looked concerned and sat up.
Machiavelli shook his head and wrapped his arms around his legs. "No," he tried again. "I wet the bed." His eyes filled with tears.
"Oh," Billy said, finally completely awake. "Oh." He sat on the bed for a brief moment, clearly not entirely sure what to do. "I can take care of that, Mac. Don't be upset." He swung his legs off the bed and climbed heavily to his feet. He limped over to the other side of the bed.
"I'm not upset," Machiavelli mumbled, but he continued to sniffle.
Billy turned on the side light so that the room was washed in dull orange light. He helped the toddler out his wet pants, throwing them with his wet underpants in the laundry basket. Having removed the offending clothing, he collected Machiavelli up and brought him to the bathroom, where he sat the boy on the counter.
Machiavelli squirmed away from him and covered himself with his hands. "Don't squirm, Mac. I know you're uncomfortable, but I'll be quick," he admonished gently. He wet one of the face cloths with warm water and cleaned the toddler up quickly. "See? All clean," he soothed, keeping up a constant flow of conversation.
Chancing a look at Billy, the Italian relaxed slightly when he realized that the outlaw was just as uncomfortable with the situation. He still felt miserable, but resisted less, letting Billy dry him off with a big towel.
He followed the American back out into the main part of their hotel room, where Billy managed to extract another pair of pajamas from a pile on the couch. He also brought back a bag.
"What's in the bag?"
The outlaw hesitated. "They're called Pull-Ups," he explained finally. "They're training pants. I picked them up at the store today." Machiavelli stopped his sniffling long enough to give Billy a funny look, which the man ignored.
"I don't want to wear those," the Italian immortal protested earnestly. He shuddered. "What if Black Hawk or the Flamels see me in those?"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Billy cajoled. He held out one of the Pull-Ups which Machiavelli didn't take. The fact that it had Mickey Mouse on it only seemed to insult the diplomat further. "Besides, they don't have to know. We're both usually dressed by the time any of them come in."
Machiavelli gave in finally and took them from Billy. He looked truly disgruntled as he climbed into the pair. He covered them carefully with the pajama bottoms, though the top of the underpants stuck out a little in the back. "It feels weird," he complained.
"Yeah, but look- you can't even tell you're wearing them," Billy said. He picked Machiavelli up so that the boy could see his reflection in the mirror over the bureau.
"I guess so."
"Okay, well, one crisis averted," Billy mumbled. He tucked Machiavelli into the other bed, gathered the wet clothes from the other bed, tossed them in the basket, and climbed in next to him. "Why were you so upset?" he asked tiredly. He switched off the light, leaving them in darkness again.
"It's embarrassing," Machiavelli said dully.
"Ah, you wet the bed. It's no big deal," Billy said sleepily.
"Billy?" But the American was asleep again. Machiavelli snuggled closer, fitting him into the small space that the curve of Billy's body made, pulling one of the man's arms around his body. Billy's arms made him feel safe. He wrinkled his nose at the squishy feeling of the training pants and resolved to wake up dry every morning, in order to preserve at least some of his dignity. Sighing, he fell asleep.
~MB~
Machiavelli had been about three when they had first got off of Alkatraz. After only a week, he seemed to have undergone a year's worth of growth, so it came as no surprise to any of them when he aged again at the end of the second week. With several inches of ankle showing, the group of immortals decided they were going to have to buy him a wardrobe with growing room built in. Black Hawk and the Flamels sent Billy to buy clothing for the boy as he was most comfortable with the American and they began to shift their possessions to a remote seaside cottage they had bought to regroup in.
Thus Billy found himself in a department store, pushing Machiavelli around in a cart and getting a lot of smiles from the mothers shopping around him. Billy smiled back, but leaned close to the little boy and whispered, "Mac, I don't know what I'm doing? What do I buy?"
The little boy spread his arms wide. "How should I know?" he demanded in a similar whisper.
"Oh, come now Mac, you had kids," Billy hissed and held up a pack of underwear with Marvel superheroes on it. He squinted at the sizing chart, shrugged and then dumped a pack of underwear in every size in the cart.
The little boy actually rolled his eyes. "Yeah, in the fifteenth century. There were no Ames' back then."
Billy flashed a smile, "There are no Ames' now. Never mind Mac, I know how to handle this." He approached a pocket of mothers eyeing him. "Afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if you could help me." He grinned sheepishly. "See my wife normally does the clothing shopping and I have no clue what to do."
The group of women sprang into action immediately. One woman asked how old Billy's son was. Billy answered 'four' at the same time that Machiavelli said 'five'. Billy just patted Machiavelli on the head and shrugged as if to say "kids". If anything, the group of mothers melted a little bit more. The women showed Billy how to find clothes the right size and conversed critically about what color would look best with Machiavelli's olive skin. After Billy told the women he had two more sons just a little bit older than Mac, they started throwing in bigger sizes too. Billy waited for the estrogen cloud to subside a bit before thanking the women profusely and exiting the clothing department.
Machiavelli twisted around to look at the filled cart. "I know I authorized you to use my credit cards, Billy, but I thought you'd exercise a little control."
Billy kissed the boy on the lips, a quick peck. "How often do you go on shopping sprees, Mac? Have some fun." He got momentarily distracted. "And speaking of fun," he trailed off and changed directions. "Let's go to the toy section." He pushed Machiavelli in the direction of the back corner of the store, where a large toy section had been set up.
"Here we are," Billy said. He picked up the little boy and set him down so that he could see the toys in the aisle easier. He rubbed the boy's head. "Let's pick up some toys for you."
Machiavelli protested. "Billy, I'm not really a kid."
Billy tossed a basketball in the cart. "I know. But it took you about a week to age a year. I figured," he scratched at his face, "that if you continue to grow at this rate, it'll be a couple of months before you're an adult again." He shrugged. "You might as well have fun."
Machiavelli shrugged back. Billy didn't always make sense to him, but he figured he would humor the American. He was fond of Billy and besides, it was boring hanging around with nothing to do. He tugged at Billy's pant leg. "If I pick out some toys, can we get some books too?" he asked. Billy assented, so Machiavelli set to poking around the boys' section. Billy followed behind him, pausing to throw a Nerf gun and two foam swords in with the ball. Machiavelli critically assessed a flaming pink aisle of Barbie dolls and went down the next aisle.
Billy was looking at some books when he heard an excited shout. Machiavelli ran up to Billy and grabbed his hand. "Come on," he hollered and pulled the American into the aisle.
"Look, Billy, look." Machiavelli was unusually loud. Billy squatted next to the excited boy and put a finger to his lips. The boy quieted instantly, but pulled Billy in closer. "Look," he urged and pointed.
Before them was a display of model cars. One in particular caught Billy's eye and he knew this was what had caught Machiavelli's eye. On the shelf above Machiavelli was a 1960 dark red convertible Thunderbird. The Italian looked up at Billy and grinned. "Can we get it, Billy?" he asked hopefully. He stressed the individual syllables in Billy's name.
Billy's heart melted. He agreed easily. The American pulled the box down and let Machiavelli carry it, but picked up the boy and walked back to the cart. He stood Machiavelli up in the seat and helped him slide his feet back into the correct spots. "Want anything else, Mac?"
"No," Machiavelli said. His eyes shone. "I've got everything I want."
