A/N: Still in the middle of The Sorceress. Actually, in this time I was already having second thoughts on whether to make this AU 'cause this doesn't fit in the series' timeline anymore. Less rusty! And can I just say that I really like this chapter?

It was very cold on that one December in Paris.

Niccolo Machiavelli fought back a shiver as he opened the huge door that led outside his townhouse, and let Dr. John Dee in. A flurry of snow and harsh wind had followed the doctor, but he seemed fine with the bad weather. Perhaps he's used to this kind of treatment from the world.

It was snowing in Paris, something that didn't always happen.

The Magician pushed off the snowflakes that had collected on his trench coat as well as on his hair while Machiavelli closed the door, his hands finicky and pale as always. "Quite the weather you have there." commented the smaller man lightly, setting his coat on the stand right beside the entrance.

"I'm surprised you even pushed through it," The Italian snipped back, keeping his hands inside the warm pockets of his bathrobe. Yes, a bathrobe. It was all he had on now, besides his cotton slippers and boxers. He planned the day - since he had nothing assigned to him and it was terribly cold - to be for himself. He was hibernating before this gentleman had arrived. "We weren't supposed to see each other until Christmas Eve..."

Dee peered at the tan man's attire; despite his always sneaky appearance, he just seemed homey and nice to cuddle and sit by the fire with on days like these... He cleared his throat as they made their way to the living room. "Yes, well. I thought I could just drop by, I dunno. I also get lonely, you know." He shrugged, and plopped down on the couch.

Machiavelli dipped his head immediately because he knew his face had tinted with pink. Dee was obviously referring to that time he invited him for the wedding. He actually didn't know what was running through his mind that time. Why Dee? Couldn't he have just paid someone to go with him? He composed himself and sat down on the armchair opposite Dee. "Fair enough." quipped the Italian, not knowing what to say anymore.

It was awkward... at least for him. He had spent a long time suppressing whatever was this thing building up inside him. And to have Dee just coming in suddenly... it all seemed worthless now. He forced back tears, his late wife flashing in front of his mind. He was such a drama queen.

"You're really not going to change your clothes, aren't you?" smirked Dee, a joke playing around in his stone gray orbs. Machiavelli blinked at him, surprised. Before he could respond, Dee shook his shoes off, and kicked them up in air and brought them back down on the other side of the couch. He was lying down, now, with his face to the ceiling, hands neatly folded across his chest. "That's alright; I like it."

Dee just had closed his eyes when he felt a great weight on him. He blinked his eyes open and was shocked to see Machiavelli was straddling him. He blinked again. This was... unexpected, to say at the least. Wasn't he the one to reject him? He'd been trying to get over it; he still was. And he didn't need his Awakened senses to see the beads of salty water profusely running down the other's face. He was to sit up after he let Machiavelli cry for at least a minute, but the moment the Italian felt him moving, he pushed him down. "W-what...?"

"Please, p-please." sobbed Machiavelli, hands hard as it grasped and wrinkled Dee's suit. "Let me see for myself that I can still retrieve myself from falling in love with you; I can't do it alone, I can't do it alone."

The Magician gulped. "What do you want me to do?"