He kicked the drawer shut, leaving a scuff mark on the wood. He regretted his action instantly and stepped away from the desk, feeling like his head was reeling. What's wrong with me?

Wandering downstairs, he tried to think of other things, but his mind lingered upstairs. Who was that last woman? How serious was it between her and Billy? He rubbed at his temple, trying to brush away the thoughts in his head. Almost immediately he thought of another woman Billy'd told him about before- Erin. These women might have only been a picture in an album, but he spent a lot of time with her. He remembered Billy saying that her family had thought he was going to marry her and he groaned out loud.

I should have realized this a long time ago, he thought bitterly. Of course Billy was attracted to women. He'd never said otherwise and Machiavelli felt like a fool now, placing hope in one drunken experience that had happened weeks ago. His stomach twisted into knots. He turned on the TV as he passed the living room, just for some other sound in the empty house.

"You can't go outside right now, you live in one of the most dangerous cities in the country," he told himself. "You can't even use your aura without attracting something more sinister."

Eventually, it wasn't enough and he decided to go out, explore the city as it were. Billy and he had started to look around before the American had been called away, now he decided to finish what they'd begun. Grabbing his jacket and the keys to the brownstone, he shut the door firmly behind him and wandered down the road.

It was a little more intimidating navigating the streets himself than he had thought it would be. Most people he passed would be of no imminent threat, he mused, but the thought was hardly reassuring when confronted with the more frightening individuals. One street he was unfortunate enough to turn down had two crowds on either side of it, people just sitting on their front stoop and gathered on the sidewalk, not doing anything and certainly no threat to him, but menacing in their sheer number. He stepped through quickly, willing himself not to look at either group, and cursed in his mind. Billy had warned him there were roads and neighborhoods to stay away from, why hadn't he listened? Wandering around in the middle of the night, Billy will kill you when he finds out.

He breathed easier when he wound down two streets more and found himself in a busy market street. At least here, there were people, drunk, bar going people, yes, but people with a purpose and a reason for being there, people who were uninterested and unaffected by the lanky young man in a button down shirt.

He kept moving. When he at last began to shiver in the cold, he decided to turn back. He pulled out his phone to check the time, but found that it was dead. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to find that he'd been out walking for almost two hours. Goosebumps covered his arms and he rubbed at them roughly. The whole experience seemed to have both dragged along, and hurried by, and he felt a little discomfited by the whole experience. He realized that he'd reached his limit of independence, with loneliness filling in the hole Billy had left behind.

When he got home to the brownstone, he wandered through the house, looking into all of the rooms and trying to dispel the sudden sadness he felt by turning on all the lights. He wondered if this was what Zelda felt, and what the female immortal was doing now. Perhaps we should try to visit more often in the future, he thought faintly. Heading upstairs he wondered what to do with himself and before he could stop himself, had picked up the landline and was dialing, motivated by an overwhelming urge to hear from Billy. He dialed the phone, figuring that even if Billy didn't pick up, he'd at least hear his voice from the voicemail.

He was rather surprised when Billy picked up after the second ring. "Billy?" Machiavelli's voice sounded small on the phone. He could hear it echo back in his ear on the landline from the apartment.

"Mac!" At least Billy sounded excited to hear him. "What's up?"

The Italian immortal swallowed a little. "Not much. I just missed you." Though he knew that the immortal on the other end couldn't see him, he still flushed a little, knowing that he sounded very vulnerable at the moment and that if Billy did the math, he would realize it was currently three in the morning. All the things he had wanted to say up to this point suddenly seemed fairly stupid.

"I miss you too, Mac," Billy said warmly back. There was pause where all Machiavelli could hear was the crackle of the landline. "Is something wrong though? Your voice sounds a little funny."

"No, I'm okay," Machiavelli replied instantly. He injected some enthusiasm into his voice and started climbing up the stairs with the vague intention of lying down on the bed, at least while they talked He hoped Billy would stay on the phone with him for a little while. As he went up the steps, he turned off some of the lights he'd turned on, feeling the shivery feeling from before go away.

"You're lying, Mac."

Machiavelli actually smiled at that, appreciative in that Billy had come to know him so well. "I'm a little lonely without you," he confessed. The understatement of the century, he added silently. He worked very hard to make his voice neutral for his next question. "And- Are you almost done?"

"Uhm, I don't know for sure. We're closing in on him." Here Billy broke off for a minute. Machiavelli could hear him talking to someone else in the background, presumably Black Hawk. He came back on the line, his voice loud over the crackle of the line. "We thought we had him trapped, but there was a bit of a scuffle and he got away. He's not too happy with me though."

"Are you alright? Billy you promised you were just going to do some surveillance" Machiavelli scolded sharply. There was an intake of breath before Billy answered him that the Italian did not like.

"Yeah, honey, the situation changed a little. But, you know, adventure suits me well," Billy said breezily. Machiavelli exhaled. He could actually hear the smile in the other man's voice, meaning that no matter what, he wasn't that bad off. "I actually cut off his tail and tongue, one slice. I told you I wasn't done with him that day; I don't like anybody threatening me. Of course," Billy continued, "I'm missing my baby, but…"

"William!"

"Alright, so you're getting bigger now. I meant what I said though." Billy's voice got momentarily serious. "I miss you loads."

Machiavelli lay down on the bed, keeping the phone cradled by his face. He closed his eyes, letting Billy's voice wash over him. "I miss you," he repeated again.

"So what did you do today?"

Machiavelli shrugged, then realized Billy couldn't see him. "I cleaned some more. This place is really a mess," he chastised. He skipped telling the American about the hours he'd spent looking over the magazines. Or the discovery of the photo album. "And I just went for a walk." "You went for a walk? What time is it over there? Were you careful?" Billy broke in. He scolded the Italian. "There's some unscrupulous people in the city with you."

Machiavelli held the phone away from his face for a minute to give it an incredulous look. "Really, Billy? You're now actively hunting down your Elder master, but you're worried about me taking a little stroll?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to worry," Billy defended himself. "We're not sure how much of your aura you can actually access and use right now. You could get in serious trouble if you were ever cornered by some thug. I'm allowed to look out for my best boy…"

Machiavelli let him continue on in this vein for some time, smiling at the righteous indignation in the young immortal's voice. "Hey, Billy," he broke in finally. "I have been practicing my aura a little bit. Nothing big that would attract attention to me," he added hastily, heading the American immortal off. "Just enough to be sure it's still working."

"And how's it going?" Billy wanted to know.

"It's fine. I can do a lot of my old tricks, I just can't make them last as long." He thought of this morning, how he'd levitated a spoon at breakfast and scowled, thinking of the moment when it had dropped. This was actually a point of contention for the Italian, though he smoothed it over in his conversation with the American. His inability to last, both with his aura and his body, was a source of annoyance for the Italian, who held himself to high standards.

"That'll come back with time," Billy said bracingly. "You'll have to show me your tricks when I get back."

"Yeah. Yeah…" Machiavelli's voice faded out and he coughed.

"Niccolò, what's wrong?" Billy's voice was soft and sweet in his ear and Machiavelli closed his eyes, wanting to feel the American's affection without restraint, but the image of that woman, all those women really, they kept entering his head. "Niccolò-"

"Hey, Billy, I should let you go now."

"No, come on, Mac, talk to me," Billy begged.

Machiavelli shook his head. "No, uhm Billy, I've got to go. Be safe, will you? I- I miss you." And he hung up before the American immortal could talk him in to staying on the line. He lay, looking at the designs on the ceiling. He jumped a little when he heard the phone ring, but instead of picking it up, he ignored the ringing. After five rings, it stopped.