After dinner, Billy crouched in front of the television, unhooking the wires leading to the ancient model they'd been using so far. "Getting rid of our television?" Machiavelli asked mildly, watching from a few feet away.
"Yeah, this model is from the sixties. I don't know why I bother putting TVs in all the places I've lived. They end up being obsolete by the time I go back to the place. The way I move around, I mean," Billy grunted, climbing behind the electronic box to unhook a wire that had been caught on something. "Guess I like having the option of entertainment. As a single guy, you can only read so many books."
"I suppose. Did you get a new TV or are we just swearing it off entirely? Cause I kind of thought you bought the movie today so that we could watch it."
"I did get a new one. It's downstairs." Billy looked back at him, flashing a smile. "This will be better for us. I won't have to keep hooking up my laptop."
"I'm not even sure how you've managed so far," Niccolò agreed. He came a little closer to touch the old screen. "Does it even have a place to connect the two?"
"It took a lot of maneuvering," the outlaw said, his voice sounding muffled. He came back out again, brushing dust off his shirt. "Well, here's the useful part of having an aura." He concentrated with his hand on the top, and, his aura spilling out around his hand, the whole thing began to levitate. "Cool, huh? Black Hawk taught me this. You know, Mac," he continued, pushing the television in front of him and towards the stairs leading to the basement, "I remember you saying that you'd train me."
"I told you that I would train you if you promised to be quiet for a minute. And you didn't succeed," Machiavelli reminded him.
Billy waved his hand and for a second, the television looked like it was going to crash into the wall in the staircase before the American noticed and redirected it. "Yeah, but you love me. Of course you're going to train me.
"I suppose I will end up doing it, won't I?"
"You will." Billy nodded. He let the television rest on a shelf in the back of the garage and fished out his car keys to pop the trunk of the Thunderbird. "I promise I'll be a good student." Machiavelli had no reason to doubt this. The Kid's face was lit up with enthusiasm. He had a feeling Billy would be almost too interested in whatever he chose to teach the outlaw. Hefting the new television on his shoulder, the American immortal let the trunk drop with a satisfying thunk sound. "You said you didn't watch a lot of TV, Mac?"
Machiavelli led the way back to the ground floor. "No, really none at all some years."
"So what did you do in your spare time?" Billy asked with some interest, sitting down again in front of the entertainment center.
The Italian immortal coughed uncomfortably. Boring stuff, he thought to himself. "Different things, I guess. I read a lot. Did a lot of research on the Elders and other immortals. Traveled sometimes, in search of artifacts and antiques. Nothing interesting," he said, brushing off the past hundreds of years as if they hadn't existed. My life didn't really start until I met you.
Billy was nodding as he spoke, fiddling with the new television as they spoke. His back was a straight line, stretching as he hooked up the wires to the back of the slim screen. The new one didn't take up a third of the space that its predecessor had, but Niccolò was far more interested in the way Billy's body moved as he twisted and turned in the small space; it felt almost obscene and he blinked, looking down and away. Billy was talking to him and he felt guilty; he hadn't had much of an attention span since his second bout of puberty. "Sounds good," Billy was saying. "I'd like to travel with you. That's if you want me to, obviously," he added, sudden shyness creeping into his voice. "I never really travel outside of the U.S."
"And I hardly ever came over here."
"Then it's decided. We'll swap experiences." Billy clapped his hands together and got to his feet in rapid succession. "Ready to watch the movie?" he asked, snagging the bag he'd gotten at the little record store that afternoon.
Machiavelli looked around. "Aren't we going to still have to hook up your laptop? You didn't get a DVD player."
"The DVD player's on the side of the TV," Billy explained patiently. He handed the case to Machiavelli. "Put it in for me? I want to change into nightclothes."
The Italian shrugged, getting up. He prided himself on his ability to keep up with technology, but he'd largely dismissed advances in television technology as superfluous, a decision he was now regretting. Glancing behind him to make sure Billy wasn't still there, he turned the television so that the side was jutting out and, leaning down, inspected the series of buttons there.
The power button was at the bottom and he pressed it, expecting the screen to light up. When it didn't he frowned and pressed it again, holding it down this time. The device made a soft popping sound and finally lit up. He released the button, afraid he'd accidentally turn it off again. Figuring out which mode to put it on (and that he had to change the mode) took him a minute, but he was pleased when he finally got the dvd's menu to show up.
"Hey, you figured it out," Billy remarked, ducking back into the room. "I figured that would keep you occupied for the whole time I was changing."
"Well, you thought wrong, I got it right away," the Italian lied smoothly. "Do you want me to leave the lights on or turn them off?"
"Off, I think," Billy said decisively. He snagged the remote from the coffee table. "Have you ever seen Ghost before?"
Niccolò shook his head. He switched off the lights in the room, the only light source now the screen behind him. Settling next to Billy, he tucked his long legs beneath him. "Is this going to be like that other movie we watched? The one that scared me. Sixth Sense?"
"To be fair, that movie wasn't supposed to be scary so much as startling, you were just little. And kind of yeah, come to think of it. There are similar aspects. But Ghost is also funny at times, of course, because it has Whoopi Goldberg."
"Whoopi?"
Billy smiled angelically at him. "I didn't pick her name."
"That's true." Machiavelli settled into his side. "Do you think Black Hawk's going to call again? Or should we?"
"He might call. He might not." Next to Billy, Machiavelli let a big yawn escape. "Going to be able to stay awake Skippy?" the Kid joked easily.
"Mm, I'm just comfy."
"Well, stay awake. This is like a two hour movie." But Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. They dropped into a relative quietness as the movie began to get interesting. Machiavelli could feel Billy's heart racing from where he was resting his head, the effect distracting him from the opening scenes.
"We should get a record player," he told the American immortal as they watched the great pottery love scene of the movie play out, the Righteous Brothers singing their ballad in the background. He was mesmerized by the physique of both Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore and he forced himself to close his mouth.
"We have one," Billy said after a pause. "Not like that, it's a record player that most people would have had in their homes. But it's broken right now."
"We should fix it."
Billy nodded vaguely. They both watched Swayze getting murdered, the Italian immortal turning his head to give his companion a look. "This is funny?"
"It will be when Whoopi Goldberg comes on."
~MB~
"Is that your phone vibrating?" Machiavelli asked, glancing over at the American.
Billy paused their movie and listened. "Yeah, I think it is." He fumbled through the stuff on the coffee table, grabbing at his phone. "Oh, it's finally Black Hawk." He hit the green button on his phone. "Hey, sorry about not calling you back, I just completely forgot about it. The Frenchy treating you alright?" he asked, leaning back. The smile dimmed on his face as the Native American immortal said something back to him. He leaned forward and Niccolò, who'd been giving him only a cursory amount of attention, sat up and turned to listen in. "Wait, Black Hawk, I'm going to put you on speaker," Billy mumbled.
He set the phone in front of them so that they both could hear the other. "You found Quetzalcoatl?" Billy asked, and Machiavelli felt a lurch in his stomach. He moved closer to the American, staring at the phone.
Black Hawk's voice sounded strangely distorted on speaker phone. "We stumbled across one of his allies at the last city I worked security for. I've been tracking that man since then. So I have a pretty good idea of where our slippery master is." He sounded almost vaguely bored by it all and Machiavelli felt a flash of annoyance. This was a potentially dangerous situation and Black Hawk couldn't even give it his full attention? "Want to go hunting with me?"
The outlaw was quiet, weighing his options. "Course, I'm going to help you track him. But we should have a plan before we head into this." He noticed Machiavelli waving at him. "What do you think, Mac?"
"Billy, you've got to think this completely through," Machiavelli said urgently. "If he lays his hands on you, he could strip you of your immortality. And if you kill your master, you'll be immortal for forever."
Black Hawk broke through. "What's wrong with that?"
"Listen to me, both of you. I'm older than both of you and I'm telling you there's going to come a time when you're going to want to be able to die. Better you should have options than to just blindly charge in and then have to live with the consequences for the rest of time," the Italian said quickly, sounding like his old self. "Besides, there are other considerations. If you kill your master, it's going to enrage my master and potentially a lot of other Elders. We already have a tenuous situation, as it is; it would be much better to sit back and bide our time."
"People who bide their time don't ever get anything done," Black Hawk said loftily. "Listen, kid, I like you, but I don't like walking around looking over my shoulder all the time. And the two of you wouldn't have to be hidden away like a pair of bandits if we got rid of Quetzalcoatl. As long as we get rid of him quietly…"
"You can't quietly get rid of an Elder," Machiavelli retorted sharply. The two of them began to squabble, Black Hawk's brashness contrasting Machiavelli's cool-headed logic. In the midst of all of it, Billy sat, deep in thought.
"Alright," he said at last. The other two went quiet. "I'm going to come out to where you are, starting tomorrow. Mac will stay here."
"What?" Machiavelli was dumbfounded. "Why do I have to stay here?" he asked, truly bewildered. "If you really feel you have to go, I want to go with you. I can help you."
"Yeah, why not bring the Italian?" For once, Black Hawk and Machiavelli were in agreement.
"No," Billy said firmly and Machiavelli's heart sank. "Mac's still relatively disguised as he is right now. They don't know to look for someone in their twenties. If we bring him along, his identity will be revealed and I'm not going to risk that." He continued despite their protests. "I'll come out to you Black Hawk, but we're going to do reconnaissance only. No contact with Kukulan until I sort out a few things."
Black Hawk grumbled on his end, but Billy was resolute. "Don't do anything until I get there."
"Fine, fine. So you'll head out as soon as possible?" After the outlaw reluctantly affirmed that question and suggested six or seven immortals they could gather, they both hung up.
Niccolò sat still as a stone. Even when the American immortal touched his shoulder gently, he pulled away. "Sorry, Mac," Billy said miserably. "I have to go. It's going to be okay though," he offered, ever positive. He waited, but Machiavelli could only nod tightly.
Billy sighed. Pulling his laptop over, he booked himself a flight on the next plane out to where Black Hawk was, consulting the name of the town the Native American immortal had told them. The best he could find was a red eye that would leave the very next morning, at a time when Machiavelli doubted the sun would be up.
Even after the conversation was over, the movie had been ruined for the two immortals. Machiavelli was so upset that Billy had to leave that he couldn't sit still, springing up to pace the room. The Kid watched him quietly, something flickering behind his eyes. At last, the outlaw stood up. "I've got to go to bed if I'm going to get up tomorrow morning at all. Are you coming?"
Machiavelli jerked his head slightly in what would only pass for a nod under the loosest of interpretations and followed the American immortal up the last flight of stairs to their shared bedroom. He doubted he was going to be able to fall asleep, as wound as he felt, but wanred to soak up the remaining time with the other immortal, not sure when the Kid would return. He changed his clothes and brushed his teeth while Billy was in the shower. It seemed like his companion stayed under the faucet for forever before finally coming out.
Billy set his alarm for early the next morning, before flipping his phone over and setting it on the bedside table closest to him. "I'm going to try not to wake you tomorrow, Mac. There's no reason for you to be up when I have to go." The tactician opened his mouth to object, but Billy tapped him on the nose and he unwillingly shut it again. "I'm going to turn the light out. You need it?" Machiavelli shook his head and Billy turned the switch.
The outlaw groaned and shuffled so that he could lie down completely. "What a day," Machiavelli heard him mumble. "It started out so nice." He tossed on his side for a couple of minutes before he seemed to find a position that was comfortable and settled in.
"Do you really not want me with you, tomorrow?" Machiavelli asked quietly, unable to remain quiet for any longer. He flipped so that he was facing Billy. By the slight moonlight, he could see Billy's blue green eyes looking at him kindly. He swallowed. It was always so hard for him to be upset with the American.
"I just think that there's no point in you waking up, just to say goodbye."
"That's not what I mean," Machiavelli whispered. Inwardly, he reflected on his whispering, wondering why they were both being so quiet in a house that only they occupied. He spoke a little louder, closer to normal speaking levels. "I mean that I think I could go with you to hunt for Kukulan. You really shouldn't stop me, I'm an adult now."
"No, absolutely not," Billy said stubbornly. The Kid surprised him by settling a heavy hand on his hip, gripping it as he moved more into Machiavelli's space. They lay almost nose to nose, Machiavelli feeling the fluttering of Billy's chest beneath the blankets. "I will not put you in harm's way, especially not when we don't even know if your aura is completely back to where it should be." They squabbled back and forth, but Billy was resolute. Finally, the Italian immortal reluctantly conceded defeat, though he was very unhappy about the decision overall.
Billy scooted back so that he was lying on his side of the bed. He rolled onto his back, cracking his joints and sighing so happily that Machiavelli raised his head to see what the other immortal was doing over there. "Am I going to have to do a hand check?" he asked grumpily and Billy laughed. He held up both hands, waving them so Machiavelli could see them in the dim lighting. "I just like being in bed," he told the Italian. Machiavelli snorted. "I bet you do," he said back.
After that, Machiavelli assumed that Billy had fallen asleep finally because it was quiet and he couldn't imagine the American immortal being this silent. He tried to be quiet himself, willing himself to stop thinking and drift off himself, but he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. His arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath his weight and finally, he couldn't take it anymore and flipped over again. Billy's voice came from nowhere, "Still awake, Mac-A-Whack?"
His initial reaction was to jump backwards, but after the initial surprise, he feigned annoyance instead. "I thought you were asleep," he accused.
Billy stretched out, putting his hands behind his head. "No, I was just being quiet cause you were asleep, or so I thought. Who can fall asleep at nine at night?"
"People who are supposed to be getting up at 2:00 in the morning," Machiavelli hissed. "And apparently friends who thought they would be nice." He muffled a groan when Billy blinded him with the light suddenly. He swore a little in Italian, pulling his pillow over his head.
"Nah, this is no way to live," the Kid said decisively. He plucked Machiavelli's pillow off his head. "Let's do something fun."
"Like what?" Niccolò asked suspiciously. He sat up, still using one hand to block out some of the light from the lamp. He got his answer in the form of a pillow to the face. "Ah, che cazzo?" He froze, but Billy grinned and handed him his pillow back.
"We never had a pillow fight when you were a kid," Billy told him, grabbing his own pillow.
Machiavelli tried to dissuade the other immortal from this kind of juvenile behavior, but got another hit to the face and gave up on maturity. "That's it," he said, whacking the Kid maliciously in the face. A free for all ensued, Billy chasing the Italian around the room at one point and the lamp teetering dangerously on the nightstand at another.
Finally, Niccolò managed to pin the outlaw down, whacking him repeatedly with his pillow. Billy was laughing so hard that his face turned bright red, something that wasn't aided by the fact that the taller immortal refused to stop hitting him. At last, the Italian immortal took pity on his counterpart, but only when the Kid started gasping for breath. "Got you," he said triumphantly, getting off of Billy to give him more air.
Billy was still wheezing, but he beamed. "Yeah…"
