AN: It would appear that for right now, I'll be mostly putting this story up as chronicled vignettes. I hope everyone is enjoying the story and look forward to hearing your suggestions and comments. I'm keeping in mind those previous comments as I move forward with the plot (or lack thereof). Cheers!

~MB~

Machiavelli woke up Monday morning to find Billy practically wrapped around him. He blinked in the early light, wondering what had woken him up, and trying to get used to the sensation of the outlaw's hot breath on his neck. Realizing that what had woken him up was an urgent need to use the bathroom, he tried to carefully extract himself from the other immortal's limbs, but ended up startling Billy awake.

The Kid scooted back over onto his side of the bed. "Sorry. Black Hawk says I'm like a heat seeking missile. He usually throws a bunch of pillows between us when we do have to share a bed."

Machiavelli bounced from foot to foot, his need growing rapidly. It felt like someone was poking at his bladder. "It's okay, I don't mind. I've got to go though." Before Billy could fully comprehend his sentence, he had dashed off. Leaving the door slightly ajar to the bathroom, he didn't bother turning on the light before relieving himself. He sighed.

Climbing back into bed, he found Billy already asleep again. The Kid's breaths were deep and soft, his body strangely contorted. Settling beside him, Niccolò couldn't help but examine him critically. All of the hair on one side of his head was smushed down, but then stuck up on top and in the front. Glancing down his body, he noted the hem of his shirt riding up, a section of his abdomen exposed above his grayish white briefs. Lying back down, he tried to keep his thoughts chaste, but was hardly helped when the outlaw rolled over again, his bulge pressed into Machiavelli's hip.

Machiavelli rubbed at his stomach with his hand that was still free, trying to figure out how to best react to this new situation. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, but found that he couldn't focus. He decided to give Billy a slight push, gently shoving him back onto his side. The slumbering outlaw complied, clinging to his pillow instead. Good, Machiavelli thought, watching him. He flexed his leg, feeling the cool cotton rub against his exposed skin. There was a slight breeze making the shade flap back and forth; he could feel it tickle across his face. He fell back asleep again.

~MB~

When he woke up next, Billy was already awake and out of bed. Machiavelli pulled on the pair of sweatpants he'd discarded the night before, stepped into the slippers Billy had gotten for him when he got the bedspread, and wandered out into the house. He found Billy across the hall in a little study, sitting Indian style on a beat up desk. Balancing a bowl of cereal in his hand, he was intently people watching. He startled when Machiavelli spoke to him, apparently so focused on the street below that he was unaware of when the Italian immortal had come in the room. "Hi," he said, moving over. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot more people now, won't we?"

Machiavelli hesitantly sat down on the desk beside him, unsure if the old furnishing would hold up under their combined weight. When it didn't immediately collapse, he swung his legs around so that they were on the window sill, and glanced between them at the street that had captured Billy's attention. "Looks like everyone's off to work at this hour." He glanced around the room they were in.

Billy noticed him looking around. "Feel free to dig around," he said dismissively. "Mi casa es su casa." He climbed off the desk. "This place hasn't been lived in for a while. We might want to get some things to make it look a little more hospitable. I don't think you're cut out for the life of a bachelor, Mac."

"Excuse me, I've lived alone as a single man for hundreds of years."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make you a bachelor. You're refined, Mac. Not like me." Billy caught hold of one particularly racy picture on the wall and pulled it down. "I don't want to say I was a hippie in the sixties, but I definitely got down with the free love movement."

Flushing, the outlaw looked around the cluttered little room that they were in, apparently feeling that he'd said too much. He tried not so subtly to change the topic. "We still have to get you a bedroom of your own Mac. Maybe we could set up a bed in here. We'd have to move some stuff and maybe get rid of something, but I guess we could throw a bed over in that corner," he said, gesturing behind him.

"I don't want you getting rid of your stuff on my account," Machiavelli protested. Despite his warring emotions, he rather enjoyed sharing the bed with Billy and he was in no rush to relocate.

"I guess it would be pretty small in here," Billy mumbled. "And you'd need to come through the bedroom to get to the bathroom anyways, or go downstairs, and that's not necessarily ideal. Hmm… How do you feel about bunk beds?" he joked. "We get rid of the big bed and we'll just share the room we're in now."

"Billy, we're both adults," Machiavelli reasoned quietly. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you as long as you're okay with it."

The Kid shrugged. "I never mind it. It's not like either of us has a raging sex life, these days."

"Yes, we're both dried up," Niccolo observed with a small grin. He leaned back to look out the window. "I'm surprised you went the whole summer without, ah, how have I heard you put it, hooking up with someone."

"I had you all summer," Billy said, a curious mixture of confusion and slight offense tinting his voice. "I had to take care of you, you were just a little boy. Who would I have had sex with anyways? I was with you and the Flamels and Scatty for most of the time."

"Scatty's a girl," Machiavelli pointed out, picking up a rag that he'd left behind the day before and beginning to polish some of the books within his reach. "A rather pretty girl."

"Scatty?" Billy yelped. Machiavelli nearly toppled off the desk, not suspecting the sudden rise in volume, and the Kid flapped his arms apologetically. He blushed. "Scatty's like a sister to me. I wouldn't, I couldn't… I wouldn't do anything like, like that, to her, no." The idea was apparently unfathomable to the outlaw and Machiavelli almost enjoyed his discomfort. He remembered his earlier jealousy of the Shadow's relationship with Billy and he felt a little foolish. Clearly, to judge from the outlaw's reaction, he'd been very wrong about the two of them. He felt a little better. "Anyways, Mac, I don't have sex as much as you seem to think," Billy said, recovering from his disquiet.

"How often do you have sex then?" Machiavelli pressed curiously.

Billy shifted. "I don't know, honey. I don't keep track of it in my journal."

"Do you keep a journal?" Machiavelli asked, momentarily distracted. Billy shook his head, giving him an 'oh come on' look "Oh, well what's the last time anyways? You must remember that." The gray eyed immortal cheerfully continued needling his uncomfortable companion. "Come on, Billy, you told me that I wasn't a kid anymore, you can talk about these things again."

"When did I tell you that you weren't a kid anymore?" Billy asked sounding confused.

Now it was Machiavelli's turn to feel slightly wrong-footed. "The night we went out clubbing."

Billy ruffled the back of his hair. "I did a lot that night that I don't remember, didn't I?"

Machiavelli was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going and he decided to push back, seeking to gain control of the conversation once more. Besides, his interest had been sparked with the conversation before despite his reservations. "How many people have you had sex with?" he asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested. He glanced the window, instantly regretting his question.

"Uhm," Billy hedged, climbing back on the desk with him. "Not as many as you might think, but probably more than I should have." He held out his now soggy bowl of cereal to the Italian, who politely declined it. The Kid seemed almost embarrassed by the conversation, which surprised Niccolo, who had thought Billy might be the type to brag about his sexual adventures. Instead, Billy was turning a delicate shade of red. "I don't really know how many women, I've slept with over the years, Mac, awful as that sounds."

Machiavelli opened his mouth to probe more, than shut it again. He really didn't want to know this, after all. "That's okay. I was just curious." One the street below, a woman in a flowing blue dress caught his eye. Her curly dark hair reminded him painfully of his wife. For a brief moment, he felt a flash of pain. "I haven't been with anyone since my wife died," he admitted. "And before that, I slept with her obviously, and I had a couple of affairs that I'm not proud of. I've only known four women in the Biblical sense. Guess that makes me less experienced than you."

"It's not a competition, Mac," Billy said mildly and Niccolo glanced over at him. There was a little too much understanding in the outlaw's eyes for his comfort. Billy gripped his shoulder. There was a small, almost sad smile on his face. "I think it's a really nice thing that you've been so loyal to your wife all these years. I sometimes wish…" He shrugged and didn't continue.

Machiavelli pushed away from the window and touched down to the floor once more. "What are we going to do today? Clean some more?"

"No, I don't think so," Billy said decisively. He seemed glad they had changed subjects. "We're going to have fun today, I'm determined." He thumped his chest to show how serious he was.

"What do you have planned?" Machiavelli asked, following him out of the room.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You always have something planned," the Italian said in surprise. He'd grown used to Billy having control of the wheel, both figuratively and literally.

The outlaw began to shave, dabbing at his upper lip with the shaving cream. Stripping to the waist, he lathered his entire face. "Yeah, Mac, I figured that your more dominant personality type would want to have control for once. I made a list of places we could go that's in the city, it's by my nightstand I think. Find something for us to do."

"It's kind of gray out right now, is it supposed to rain?" Machiavelli called out, wandering into the bedroom again. Billy said something back that sounded like an affirmative, so the tactician instantly narrowed the list down by indoor locations. "What on Earth is the Mütter museum? A museum about German mothers?"

Billy poked his head out. "Ah, that's a really cool museum actually. Has a lot of medical specimens and skeletons and things in jars…" He retreated back into the bathroom, apparently convinced his description would be enough to spark an interest. Machiavelli decided to look it up on his phone, scrolling through a couple of pages before he was willing to give it his stamp of approval.

Hearing the American immortal finishing up in the bathroom, he rushed to get ready himself. Sliding out of his sweatpants once more, he practically jumped into a pair of dark bue pants and picked out a white button down shirt. He was halfway through buttoning when Billy came out. Both immortals froze when they saw each other.

Billy stepped over to where Machiavelli was standing. "This isn't funny," he groused. "When did we start dressing alike?"

Niccolo couldn't help but smile looking at their nearly identical choice of clothing. "Probably when you started dressing better and I started dressing more casually." He was unable to stop himself from jabbing Billy where he knew it would hurt. "Wouldn't have turned out this way if you'd gotten me that suit I was looking at."

Billy made a whinnying laugh, starting to grin himself. "Well, maybe we should let you get a suit or two, but for now I'm putting on a sweater. Unless you plan on copying me again."

"My good man, it is you that is copying me," Machiavelli replied smoothly. He continued. "I wore button down shirts every day that we knew each other before this whole," he made a motion with his hand, "kid transformation thing happened. It's not my fault you were suddenly struck by a sense of fashion."

"Not your fault?" Billy mouthed at him as they clomped down the stairs. "Shave your face, Billy. Let's get you a new pair of jeans, Billy. Haven't you been wearing that shirt for a couple of days, Billy? You did this to me," he said accusingly, pulling the door shut with one hand, his fingers fumbling over the knob, while he pointed with his other hand at the Italian. "This has your serpentine stench all over, old man."

Machiavelli laughed. "We've apparently simultaneously corrupted each other."

"I was a happy man," Billy sighed dramatically.

"Oh, Billy," Niccolo sighed back, settling a hand on the other immortal's shoulder. "You always have been and you always will be. There's no denying that, is there?" He nodded at Billy's acceptance of his statement. "Right. That's why I'm so fond of you."