Their ridiculously ornate doorbell woke them both up the next morning.

"Oh god, who could that be?" Billy groaned. He pulled his pillow over his head and curled onto his side, mumbling incoherently.

"Don't know. I'll get the door," Machiavelli very unwillingly volunteered, assessing himself as the more appropriately dressed of the two immortals. He pulled his robe on over his nightclothes, stumbled over Billy's slippers and decided to put them on, then padded down the two flights of stairs. He smacked the outlaw on the ass as he stumbled past. Billy laughed and wiggled it at him suggestively.

At the door, he peered through the curtain to see who was interrupting their slumber so impossibly early in the morning. He was surprised to find Billie Holiday on their doorstep, looking both haughty and bored, but carefully coiffed nonetheless. He pulled the door open. "Hello?" It came out as a croak and he coughed, trying to clear his throat.

"Hello" she said. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to let all of the cold in first?" And she strode in without waiting for an invitation. She looked at the front hall, still cluttered with a lot of the mess they'd been trying to clean up all week. "Love what you've done with the place. Where's the Kid?"

Unable to process all of Lady Day's personality, he pointed upstairs mutely. The tactician could only scramble after her as she ascended the stairs with surprising speed. Alighting to the top floor, they heard Billy call out in a sleepy voice, "Who was it, Mac?"

Machiavelli followed her into the two male immortals' shared bedroom. "It's Billie," he said, pointing out the obvious.

Said immortal snapped on the lights, causing both Machiavelli and Billy to groan, having been exposed so far only to the dim light that stole in through the slats of the window dressings. The sudden change in ambiance also left the American immortal ridiculously exposed. Having gone to bed in only a pair of briefs, he was only half covered by blankets, one leg out from the covers and falling over the edge of the bed. He blinked blearily, yanking the covers up.

"Wow, you two really do live like a pair of fairies," Billie observed (glancing a little too long, Machiavelli thought) from Billy's semi-nude body to the other side of the bed where the blankets had been thrown back when Machiavelli scrambled out of bed. Her eyes made a cursory sweep of the room, obviously noting the invisible line down the middle of the room, where Billy's side was sloppy and Machiavelli's, tidy.

"Nora, I don't think you're supposed to be using that kind of language anymore," Billy protested, sitting up and hunkering with his pillow thrown in his lap to give him some semblance of modesty.

"Why not?" she asked idly, picking up a pair of briefs with two fingers before flinging the article of clothing onto the hamper in the corner. The PC police going to cart me away?"

"Because most people find it offensive these days, that's why."

She tutted. "That's what we called them growing up. That's not going to change. You know I'm too stubborn and set in my ways to change."

Machiavelli had been watching this interchange with a dreadful fascination. "But you said yourself, you've been in love with other women before. Don't you think this kind of language is hostile?" Machiavelli couldn't help but break in, unable to let the conversation progress any further without saying something. Exchanging a glance with the American immortal, he crossed the room and pulled open the closet door. He snagged an Aerosmith t-shirt which he tossed to Billy. The outlaw gratefully pulled it over his head.

"And I've been called a fairy before," she said, sounding almost bored with their indignation. "It doesn't hurt me. It doesn't hurt anybody," she declared firmly.

Machiavelli mouthed wordlessly at her. He opened his mouth to continue his argument, but caught Billy almost imperceptibly shaking his head in the background. Perhaps sensing that she wasn't going to budge on the matter, Billy deftly shifted the focus of the conversation. His tact made Machiavelli feel dizzy; it was almost as if they had shifted places. "Well, until we finish getting this place cleaned up, Mac and I have to share a bedroom."

"Why though?" At first, Niccolo thought she was just being stubborn, but then he realized that the jazz singer was genuinely curious. "We immortals don't really need to sleep. I wouldn't have come over now if I'd known you'd be asleep."

Her last comment made a lot of the frustration Machiavelli'd been feeling towards her deflate a little. She sounded rather vulnerable and he realized that she must have been a little lonely too.

Billy yawned. "Machiavelli needed the sleep when his body was growing leaps and bounds, and I just got used to it. I like feeling cozy." He blinked. "Did you have a plan in mind or are we just winging it?"

"You're going to bring me to the zoo," she said airily, her brisk confidence shielding her once more.

"Is it open now?" Machiavelli wondered aloud. He squinted at the clock on his bedside table- half past five.

"Probably not. Hey Billie, dear, why don't you let Machiavelli make you a cup of tea in the kitchen? Or coffee. I'll get dressed and come down. We'll find a diner open or something."

"I'll go down there, but no tea. You know, young one, I've never been interested in your body that way. On the other hand, if it were your friend Black Hawk…" she winked roguishly. It did make the outlaw laugh, but he sounded a little tired. "How about a gin and tonic," she suggested to the Italian instead, hooking arms with him gaily.

"I think not," he told her as they descended back past the main level. "How about coffee?" he suggested instead, depositing her at the island. He wasn't quite sure if she was joking or not, but he began preparing the coffee pot nonetheless. She shook her head, but accepted the mug he handed her.

"You know what I like?" she asked him cheerfully.

"What?" he asked semi-warily. He could only imagine what she was going to say.

"Giraffes." And she laughed. Machiavelli laughed too. He imagined that he must have looked surprised as that was the last thing he expected her to say.

Billy came into the kitchen at that moment, to Machiavelli's great relief. He found her big personality a little offsetting; Billy seemed better able cope. As he passed the outlaw, he made care note of the man's black pants and red sweater, determined not to dress alike again.

A half hour later they were out the door. The two male immortals made the gallant but foolish gesture of letting Billie pick their breakfast venue. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said we'd do breakfast," Billy commented, leaning on the polished veneer of the slim counter space. "But okay, why not?"

"Who wouldn't want to go to a bar at seven in the morning?" Machiavelli said sarcastically. He leaned slightly to the left, feeling incredibly tired. Before them, Lady Day was doing just fine. "She makes an interesting friend," he mumbled.

"Try not to hold it against her," Billy said under his breath. He smiled at the jazz singer. "Like Black Hawk, she has a layered personality. But I know she's good on the inside, just like him. They just get stuck in their ways."

"How is that you don't?" Machiavelli yawned. "All the rest of us are stuck where we've always been and you just keep getting better and better."

"Maybe I'm stuck in my ways too. Maybe you just like my ways," Billy joked. "Wup, she's going to sing for us, I think." He sat up, looking more attentive as she took the stage. "Wonder what song she's going to sing?"

Machiavelli watched too. Lady Day took a dainty step onto the stage, but then sauntered to the middle with no reservation. She turned on her heel to face the thin crowd of the early morning, but even when she waved to the two immortals by the bar, it was like she was already far away. She smiled faintly, closed her eyes and sang:

Blue moon you saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for

"You were wonderful as always," Billy complimented her when she finished. He raised his coffee cup to her. "I'm always happy to see you sing."

She smiled slow and shy. "You're always nice to me, Kid. I never know why."

"Cause you're my friend, of course." Billy slid off his stool. "Want to actually eat breakfast now?" The other two nodded, so the outlaw led the way out. "Good thing I brought my car," he said happily.

Walking beside the jazz singer, Machiavelli turned her words over in his mind. They, Billie Holiday and him, they had more in common than he realized. He too wondered how the Kid always knew how to find the good in people, even when they didn't know it was there.

~MB~

"Do you even know for certain if there are giraffes at the zoo?" Machiavelli asked Billie as they waited behind a man carrying a large camera.

"Of course," she said impatiently. "My favorite is named Stella."

Billy grinned at him. "Yeah, Mac. How could you not know that?" He laughed when Niccolo hit him in the gut. "Careful, a little lower and I'll never had children."

"I think you'll be alright," Machiavelli said drily. Next to them, Billie laughed. Collecting their tickets, they stepped into the park. The two Billies began to squabble over which direction to go, but Niccolo's attention was caught by the giant elephant statue they were standing next to. He admired the workmanship while the two American immortals looked over the map. They look almost alive, he thought approvingly.

He glanced back at the others when they stepped beside him. "We're going to see the giraffes first," the Kid told him. He looked over at the statue. "What's up? The elephants remind you of something?"

"They do actually," Machiavelli said simply. "They remind of the war elephant statue at the Parco dei Mostri." He trotted along the path Billy'd indicated.

"The what?" Billie asked sharply, jogging to keep up. Looking back, the warlock realized that he was now taller than both of the other immortals who were having trouble keeping up with his long strides. He modified his gait appropriately.

"It's colloquially called the Park of Monsters," he explained to her earnestly. "There's a statue of a war elephant among other things."

"Is a war elephant really a monster?" Billy chimed in. He stopped by the viewing area of the okapi exhibit, forcing the other two immortals to double back or otherwise leave him behind. They decided to humor him, presumably because he had the car and it would otherwise be a long walk home.

"The war elephants not really a monster," Machiavelli agreed. "But the other statues there are definitely grotesque; in fact, many of them are meant to disturb the public and make them ill."

"What are the other statues of?" Billy asked interestedly. He pressed up against the glass, looking in the enclosure for the distant cousin of the giraffe. Momentarily sidetracked, he pointed this relationship out to the jazz singing immortal, who gave a small sanguine nod of her head.

"There are quite a few." Niccolo spotted the okapi before Billy did and hit him between the shoulder blades to get his attention. He pointed to the animal camoflauging itself within the shadows of the trees. Among other things, two giants pulling each other apart, a woman sprouting wings, a mermaid with her tail split in half, two headed hippogriffs…"

"And people called me crazy," Billie Holiday muttered, tugging on Billy's arm to get him moving again.

"The man who created the park made it to deal with his grief. He survived years of being tortured in a horrendous war, only to come back to his dying wife. After she passed on, he commissioned the statues to express…" Machiavelli tilted his head. "A mix of emotions," he concluded finally. "He must have felt a lot of things."

"I think it sounds cool," Billy told him quietly. "Would you bring me there?" he sounded almost shy.

Machiavelli blinked. "I could. Certainly," he agreed. "I'd like to show you Italy."

"Good, you should start teaching me Italian," Billy said happily.

"There's my girl," Lady Day interrupted them. They both jumped when the giraffe in front of them dipped its head over the fence and brought it almost level with their little group, but the Philadelphia resident wasn't fazed in the slightest. "This is Stella," she said, reaching out to pet the ungulates' snout.

"Hello, Stella," Billy said nervously.

"She's gentle."

Billy hesitantly reached out to pet the giraffe's head. It is a little discomforting, Machiavelli thought, to pet something whose head is as long as your torso. He hung back until Billy tugged him a little closer. "If I have to do it, so do you," Billy whispered conspiratorially in the Italian's ear.

When they finally coaxed Lady Day away from the giraffes, they began to explore the rest of the zoo. Billy was quite enraptured with the big cat exhibits, amazed by the sheer size, deadliness, and beauty of the enormous felines. He sat in front of the reinforced glass, playing hand games with one Amur tiger who had discovered the immortal.

It was at the lion exhibit though, that Billy's real love was discovered. Following their mother were four year old lion cubs. Even the jazz singer had a hard time acting disinterested. "Mac, can we have one?"

"We've already got two pets," Machiavelli reminded him.

Billie looked over at the Italian. "You do? I didn't see any."

"They're back in Montana with the Flamels," Billy explained, trailing behind the others as they walked away from the big cat exhibits. He put forward a small burst of energy so that he was walking in line with the others again. "I miss them," he told the Italian immortal spiritedly. "Maybe we could stop by the local humane society just to cuddle?"

"Absolutely not. We'll end up with a house full of animals," Machiavelli said, rejecting the idea as firmly and gently as he possibly could. He came to a stop in front of the Amphibian House, a delighted half smile unfurling on his face. "Can we-?"

"Go in? I guess." Lady Day took the lead. "You like snakes, I take it?" she said, leaning in to examine one particular exhibit.

"I do," Machiavelli told her. "It's the scent of my aura. Billy wants me to change it."

"I just think there are other scents that would personify you just as well," the Kid said delicately, looking in the exhibit she'd been peering into and shuddering. To Machiavelli's questioning glance, he hastened to explain himself. "I don't hate snakes, but that thing," he tapped lightly on the glass, "can be found in the Southwest and it's nasty. Bit one of the Regulators I knew.

"Gila monster," Machiavelli read. "A synthetic version of the protein found in its saliva can treat diabetes in humans. Yes, sounds terrible."

"His foot turned this grayish black color and puffed up. He was in so much pain, he thought he was going to die." Billy grimaced at the creature behind the glass. The black and orange reptile flicked his tongue, but looked otherwise unmoved. Exchanging a glance, the other two immortals pulled Billy away from the tank.

"Ugh, this one grows to be 30 feet long." The jazz singer shuddered. She grimaced.

"Am I the only one who likes reptiles in this group?"

Billy patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Sorry, honey, I think you're alone." Machiavelli huffed. He made a mental note to come back to see the snakes without his two squeamish companions. "It just would absolutely freak me out to come across that snake when it wasn't in its tank," the outlaw explained reasonably. He took the other Billie by the elbow and led her over to a sitting area.

Machiavelli allowed himself five minutes to prowl among the remaining reptiles before he gave up. "Let's keep moving," he told them, feeling it was unfair to make them wait any longer.

After the dark Amphibian House, the main pathway seemed incredibly bright. Machiavelli stopped outside long enough to let his eyes adjust and to hear Billy's stomach grumble behind him. He looked over at the outlaw. "I'm hungry. I'm a growing boy," Billy defended himself.

"You're growing sideways," Machiavelli chided, poking the Kid between the ribs. "We can get lunch now. If you want," he added courteously, looking at their female companion.

"Sure, let's beat feet." She slipped an arm through his again, and he took her hand. He was surprised at how much she came into contact with him; surprised that she was at all comfortable with him considering her past history and the fact that they'd only met the day before. Still, he was glad that she seemed to like him. "Are we going fancy or broke?"

"Depends on who's paying," Billy joked. They retraced their steps back to the food area of the zoo.

"I assume we're all paying our own way, unless the two of you share food expenses too now." She looked at Billy, who held up a hand palm up and flipped it back and forth in a 'it's all equal' motion. "Oh, come on, really?"

"We've both technically got our own money, but we do share a lot of costs, yeah," Billy said cheerfully. "I'm getting chicken." They split off in their own directions to get food and reconvened under a large elm tree. Lady Day shook her head at a gaggle of girls two tables down. "Blonde bimbos," she mumbled.

Machiavelli looked in the direction she'd been gazing at and looked away again. At least two teenaged girls were looking in their direction with uncomfortably intense gazes. One rather indecently clad girl flipped her hair at him. "I think they like you," he told the Kid.

Billy looked at the reflection in the glass enclosure next to them. "Not me, Mac. You."

"Me?" Machiavelli scoffed.

Billy laughed. "They can get me at any Home Depot in the surrounding area, Mac, but you, you're our sexy Italian enigma." He grabbed the tactician by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. "And who can resist you?"

"Plenty of people," Niccolo protested. Already, he was turning slightly pink. "You're putting me on."

"Want me to give you a deep tongue kiss and scare them off?" Billy teased.

"No!"

"How about me?" Billie said, getting in on the act.

Machiavelli mouthed at the two of them. Lady Day caught him on both sides of the face and planted a kiss full on his mouth. "Oh, I left a little lipstick on you," she said, handing the shocked young man a napkin.

"You're shade of lipstick matches his face right now," Billy observed. "Is he a good kisser?"

"He'd be a better kisser if he'd had his mouth closed," she said decisively.

The two continued to squabble with each other good naturedly, but Machiavelli couldn't help glancing back at the girl at the table behind him. She looked rather offended and shot him a nasty look as if he'd done something wrong. Glancing back at his companions, however, it was Billy's words that stuck with him. Sexy, huh…