AN: Proving, once and for all, that I have no concept of an update schedule...


Machiavelli declined the colon plush, but allowed the American to get him a surprisingly cute dendrite plush. "You would pick a nerve cell," the Kid remarked, but he bought it nonetheless. The Italian was rather pleased that he still had some pull over his American friend.

On their way back, Niccolò listened in careful silence as Billy filled him in on several TV shows that apparently were coming back on again soon. Without really meaning to, he agreed to catch up on at least one of the TV shows with Billy, something he suspected was a mistake as the show was now in its thirteenth season.

"Do you watch any shows?" Billy asked curiously, following one particularly long discussion.

Machiavelli had to think about it. "Not too many," he said haltingly, thinking back. "But there have been a few shows over the years that I've liked. I don't know that you'd know them though; I've been living in France for so many years."

"Try me," Billy cajoled, hopping up on a bench and balancing precariously, momentarily, on the bench's armrest before leaping lightly off to land on the sidewalk with a gentle whoosh.

"I was particularly fond of Marie Pervenche."

Billy stopped and cocked his head. "Old girlfriend of yours?" he asked, sounding greatly confused and almost, was he misreading this, disappointed.

Machiavelli shook his head, putting up his hands placatingly. "It was a television show during the 1980's and 1990's. I also liked Arsène Lupin. You might have liked that one. It was a crime show where the main character was also allegedly a criminal."

Billy relaxed. "Complicated lifestyle that man has. Not like us, huh?"

"Yes, we live a boring life," Machiavelli agreed drily. Feeling damp after their walk home, he glanced behind him to make sure the shades were closed, then let his aura flare, drying them both instantly. "Do you still want me to teach you some tricks?" he asked, remembering the conversation they'd had before all of this had happened.

Billy nodded eagerly. "Teach me everything, Mac."

"Those lessons will have to wait," Machiavelli told the Kid as his stomach growled. "We're both hungry." He pulled a container of ground turkey out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Opening up the cupboard, he scanned the new bottles of herbs they'd picked up. He pulled down several. "I'm going to make meatloaf tonight, unless you object."

"I like meatloaf," Billy said happily. He settled on the countertop behind Machiavelli, watching the Italian immortal move about the kitchen. "Need help?"

Machiavelli tilted his head. "You can peel some potatoes and corn," he said at last. He dug through the refrigerator and, locating the bags, pulled them out and tossed them to the outlaw.

Using his toe, Billy pulled open the drawer across from him and leaned forward to get the peeler. He couldn't quite reach, but seemed persistently unwilling to get off his perch. Machiavelli let him do it for a solid minute, before taking some measure of pity on the man. He pulled out the peeler and handed it to his friend, softly scolding the other man in the process.

"You've got a lot of spices, Mac. What happened, I rub off on you?" Billy ribbed Machiavelli gently, beaming. "Get it, rub off. Cause there are spices and I'm spicy and you make a rub… oh, forget it," he sighed dramatically, as the Italian feigned indifference to Billy's talents in making puns.

"You're… spicy?"

Billy turned his head so that the tactician could see his profile, jutting his chin out in a heroic pose. The effect was somewhat ruined by the Kid's toothy grin and the way Billy kept glancing to the side to see if his more mature companion was watching. "Oh, Billy," Machiavelli said, his fondness for the other man evident in the crinkle of his eyes. "You're certainly something."

"Thanks, I try." Billy cocked his head. "I make meatloaf every once in a while, Mac, and granted, I'm no chef, but I don't think I use hardly any spices at all really."

"I'm making chipotle meatloaf," Machiavelli explained, packing the mixture into a loaf pan. He fumbled with the oven. "Billy, help," he said in desperation. "What temperature do I cook it at? What's 175 Celsius in Fahrenheit?"

Billy pulled out his phone and typed something in rapidly. "350," he said happily. "What would we do without technology, huh?" So saying, he hopped down from his spot on the counter and brushed at the seat of his pants. "The vegetables are done. If you don't need me for a few minutes, I think I'm going to change into lounge pants."

Machiavelli waved him off. Putting the meatloaf in the oven, he left the vegetables to soak and headed up the stairs himself, settling in the living room on the main floor. It gave him a small sense of joy, closing the curtains of the window and turning on the lights. He could just barely scent the meatloaf cooking below and hear Billy singing a couple of floors above. And he felt like he was home at last.

~MB~

"This isn't the show that you said you wanted me to watch," Machiavelli said, glancing at the box on the coffee table. He'd been sucked into the actual show, but now while there was a pause, the thought occurred had occurred to him. He watched Billy switch the disks, putting the first one back in the case and dropping the second into the DVD slot.

"No," Billy agreed. "I was going to put that in, but I realized that I don't have all of those on DVD and I didn't want to have to hook up the computer to this TV, I'm not even sure that you can hook up the two… so I thought you'd like this show. Why, don't you?"

"No, I do," the Italian assured him. He picked up the box. "I like it a lot."

"Monk was a great show. Sucks you in, huh?" Billy eased himself back onto the couch. He let out a piteous moan as he shifted his weight to a more comfortable position

"Food makes you sleepy, I gather?" Machiavelli asked, glancing at the other end of the couch where Billy was currently sacked out. Leaning forward, he grabbed the remote and navigated to the front menu.

Billy held his stomach. "I ate too much," he groaned, a pleased smile on his face nonetheless. "You shouldn't cook like that again for a while."

"Why you didn't like it?" Machiavelli joked lightly, keeping his banter light to disguise the fact that he cared very deeply about the outlaw's answer.

"I did like it. I did…" Billy yawned, stretched his entire body (which at five foot eight wasn't very much) and snuggled deeper into the couch. "I liked it so much that I ate, what? Half of it? I can't even move and I'm thinking about that last piece down in the fridge."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Machiavelli said drily. He rubbed Billy's feet, eliciting a small yip of happiness from the immortal. He'd come to the conclusion that the Kid was some strange cat-dog-human hybrid and definitely, if nothing else, a hedonist. "I like the show," he offered.

"Good."

"Why don't you go to bed?" Machiavelli asked, watching Billy curl up under the covers. He turned his body so that he was more on the couch and carefully slipped his legs behind the outlaw's body so that he could stretch them out. "We could watch more tomorrow night."

"I don't want to go just yet," Billy said sleepily. "I like being with you."

"Billy, we share a bed."

The Kid shrugged. He stretched out his legs suddenly, making a half yawn, half mewing sound. With the way they were positioned on the couch, his foot made light contact with Machiavelli's crouch, causing the Italian to groan just slightly and suck in his stomach in an effort to distance their body parts. "Sorry about that, Mac," Billy apologized profusely, sitting up. "Did I hurt you?" Machiavelli shook his head, no. It hadn't hurt actually, but it did inspire other more confusing emotions. "Ah well, sorry anyways. Let's watch one more episode, then we can go to bed. Or I'm going to bed, at least."

"I'll go too," Machiavelli agreed. He used the remote to start their show again. "They must have had good writers for this show," he commented. "All the little details become important in the end."

"It was a great show," Billy agreed. "I like it cause it's funny, but it's sad and sweet too. They shouldn't have ended it when they did."