"Where do you go in the mornings?" Machiavelli asked Billy curiously.
Billy opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs. "I went to the park to make sure John's eating. I ended up bringing him to a diner. He had eggs, I had coffee."
"That's good." Machiavelli quirked his eyebrows. "Does he wonder where I've been? I hope he doesn't think I abandoned him, especially after he told me that thing you heard..."
Billy shook his head from his place over at the stove. "I told him that you've been sick." He scratched at his neck. "I talked to him for a bit this morning. Told him my dad left me when I was young too. I think he'll turn out all right in the end."
"This is the young man you were talking about the other night at dinner?" Perenelle asked. "I hope things get better for him. Maybe we can help him." She looked over at her husband, who nodded subtly. The Frenchwoman then looked over at Machiavelli with a critical eye. "I thought he was getting better last night, but now it seems like his cold has come back again."
"He'd better get well soon," Billy said sitting down to breakfast. He pointed at the Italian. "You've noticed that he's gotten bigger again? Soon we won't have any clothes left for him."
"How old is he now?" Black Hawk asked over Machiavelli's head.
"About eight," Billy said absentmindedly stroking the Italian's wavy locks. "I suppose you're too sick for another party," he told the boy. Machiavelli didn't say anything, but sipped his tea. "Mac?"
"Oh were you talking to me?" Machiavelli quipped rather snarkily. "I thought perhaps you were going to spend the whole day, talking over my head."
Black Hawk laughed and apologized. "You were full of fire at this age, weren't you? How'd you become that careful old man that I met a couple of months ago?"
"Got burned too many times," the Italian replied. He turned back to look at the American. "And who say's I'm too sick for a party? I feel a hundred percent!" He held up his arms. Billy reached over and pinched his nose shut for the briefest of moments. Machiavelli instantly went into a coughing fit.
"If this is one hundred percent, I hate to see you when you feel crummy," Billy drawled, going back to his coffee. "But if you want a party, I think the others want to give you one. Black Hawk got you something the other day in town, I think you'll like."
"A suit?" Machiavelli exclaimed happily.
"Ah, no."
~MB~
"You got an eight year old boy a cappuccino machine?" Scathach wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What are you mad?"
Black Hawk defended himself. "This isn't just any coffee machine. It's a La Pavoni Europiccola, more specifically, the exact machine that James Bond uses in 'Live and Let Die'.
"And if Machiavelli turns out to not be a Bond man?"
Black Hawk looked up at her. "The man loves cars, expensive suits, and sunglasses. If he isn't a Bond fan, I'll eat my hat."
"You're not wearing a hat," Billy said, passing the two. Scathach nodded and pointed at the American, sharing his sentiment.
"Where's the kid?" Black Hawk asked. "With the Flamels?"
Billy shook his head. "The Flamels are downtown getting some stuff for the party. And Mac I put down for a nap. He didn't like it too much, but I told him if he was going to have a party, he was going to have to rest beforehand."
"So what'd you get him that's so great anyways?" Black Hawk asked Scathach with interest.
Scathach pulled out a huge bag from the closet. She smiled. "Every Harry Potter Legos set I could find. I thought he might get a kick out of it." Billy laughed.
"He'll like that," he told her. "He's a smart kid."
~MB~
"You know you guys didn't have to buy me presents," Machiavelli told them as he unwrapped the final gift, Billy's present. "I just wanted to eat cake again." The Italian looked at the box that he had just unwrapped like it was a bomb about to go off. "Is this real?" he asked, poking at the side of the box that read 'Family Blankeez: The Snuggie for the Whole Family'.
Billy sighed happily. "I nearly shit myself when I saw this in the store," he confessed without any trace of shame.
Machiavelli opened the box and heaved a sigh of relief when he didn't find an eighteen foot wide snuggie in it. "Spoof box," he mumbled pulling out the contents of the box. "A chess set," he said softly, smiling as he looked at the intricately designed pieces. "Chess of the mad queen," he mumbled to himself, his fingers turning over the pewter pieces.
Nicholas settled back on the couch. "We've found his favorite," he said smiling.
"I like all of my gifts," Machiavelli said diplomatically. He looked up at Billy. "Could I make my cappuccino now?" he asked hopefully.
"No." Billy shook his head. "You've already had three pieces of cake. I'm surprised you haven't blown bits all over-"
Machiavelli held up his hand. "Please. 'No' will suffice next time."