Machiavelli was surprised to smell roses when he woke up the next morning. In fact, he didn't even remember going down to his bedroom last night… they'd been talking and… wait! He struggled against the covers, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Crap!" he swore weakly, finding Scatty looking up at him. "I had a feeling this was what happened!"
"Relax, boo," Scatty said distractedly. She went back to reading her book. "Not like we did anything last night."
"I didn't mean to stay here," he protested. "Why didn't you wake me up? I would have left."
"You seemed very comfortable. And I didn't mind really. It's not like I usually sleep at night anyways."
Machiavelli blinked slowly, still feeling very disoriented. I'm really out of it. "So… wait…" He scrubbed at his face. "You're not mad?"
She shook her head, not even gracing his question with an audible answer. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"
His ears turned pink. "Yeah, I do that," he mumbled. "What embarrassing thing did I reveal last night?"
"I think you were a little horny."
"What? Really?"
She laughed. "No. I was just joking with you. I couldn't decipher a word you were saying," she assured him.
"Are you certain?" She nodded. "You're not lying to me?" She shook her head. He laid back down cautiously, still not sure this was the right thing to do. "Maybe I'm really just in love with this bed?"
"It is very comfy," she agreed.
"That's the memory foam," he said idly. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?" he asked, his voice muffled under all the covers.
"You don't have to. I'll get up and make something in a minute." She stretched, the vertebrae making popping noises as they were pushed into place. "So, am I on Billy's side or did I take yours?"
"Billy always sleeps on the left of the bed," Machiavelli explained. He crawled out of bed at last. "Well, at least I didn't ruin my suit."
"Nah, we got you out of that. Luckily." He grinned, hearing the sarcasm in her voice.
"Come on, get up," he urged her, holding out his hand. She turned over. "Don't be like that. It's time to get up. We have an adventure waiting for us."
She glanced up at him. "What are we doing?"
"Sorry. Can't tell you that," he remarked. "I recommend wearing- what do you call them- sneakers. We're going to be outside."
"You're really not going to tell me?" she asked, taking his hand at last. He shook his head. Pulling her to her feet, he swung her off the bed. "Why not? Am I not going to like this?"
"I hope you will," he told her. Niccolo leaned into the window, looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, he was happy to note. He felt all the gloom of the past week leave him. Turning around, he beamed at her. "I think you'll have fun. I haven't done this since I was a little boy, although we picked quinces. I assume it's roughly the same."
"What are quinces?"
He didn't answer. Pecking her on the cheek, he made to leave the room. "I'm going to get dressed," he told her instead. "Are you still making breakfast for us? I'll pack a lunch."
"So, what are we going to do?" she called after him, appraising his retreating body.
Machiavelli grinned. "I'm not going to tell you cause I don't want you to say no."
"Am I going to hate it?" she asked curiously. "What's your idea?"
He tilted his head, thinking it over. "It was Billy's idea, and no, I don't think you'll hate it. It should be fun- it's something Billy wanted to do, we just ran out of time before he had to go. And by the time he comes back it might be too late…" he trailed off, echoing Billy's arguments from their last phone call.
Before she could say anything else, he made his escape down the stairs. I can't believe I fell asleep in bed with Scatty, he thought uneasily. He sighed. More than that, I can't believe she let me.
"Apple picking," he mumbled out loud, flicking through his closet. "Another thing I never thought I'd be doing. Like wearing jeans…" He tugged a pair of denims off a hanger, the ones that looked to be in the worst condition, and tossed them onto the bed. His button down shirts, however, he couldn't bear to potentially ruin; he was thankful that he'd snagged some of the outlaw's shirts when he'd moved his stuff downstairs. Now he rifled through these, finally deciding on a Rolling Stones shirt. This, he covered with one of Billy's fleece pullovers.
Coming downstairs at last, he found the Shadow already dressed and making breakfast for them. "Am I wearing the right clothes?" she asked him, passing him a cup of coffee.
He glanced her over. "Yes, you picked very well." He began to put together their lunch, making sure he'd chosen all vegetarian options. "I do recommend a sweater though. It will be kind of chilly out there."
~MB~
"So why are we doing this, when the one person who would want to do it isn't even here?" Scatty asked, shutting the door to the Thunderbird and stepping out onto the grass. She looked at Machiavelli appraisingly. "You look sexier in jeans. Maybe you'd capture Billy if you wore them more often."
The Italian immortal didn't know what to say to the latter, so he focused on the former. "Billy wanted to go apple picking," he agreed. "But he's away and he says that the season is almost over. He promised he'd make me a pie after we went picking. I'm holding him to it."
"Billy would make an apple pie."
They walked down the lane together. Machiavelli looked at the trees around them, planted at careful intervals, and consequently stumbled over some of the unforeseen knolls. Scatty grabbed his hand, pulling him straight again. "Thanks," he told her.
"Maybe it's because I didn't know you personally before this, but I don't remember you being this absentminded," she told him archly.
"I blame Billy. I was always able to focus on the situation at hand before this. Now I'm always looking around. It's not the worst thing in the world," he postulated, "to see things that never interested me before. But I do stumble a lot more now, yes."
"What do you like best about Billy?" she asked. They approached the barn housing the main operations of the farm turned apple orchard.
Machiavelli thought about it. What do I like best? He didn't have a read made answer. It was like being asked for a favorite song; something ever changing and unknown kept shifting the answer out of reach. "I don't know," he admitted. He held up one bag and she shook her head. She picked up a larger bag and he sighed, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Now who wants to be here?"
"We have to do it right, if we're going to do it." She backed up and read a sign. "Do you want to wait for the wagon?"
"No, let's just walk around on our own. There don't seem to be any rules against it."
She grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"I think," Machiavelli said, as they climbed a steady slope, "I think what I like most about Billy is that he always sees the best in everyone. Even when there's not a lot of good in people and they're flawed or broken."
"Billy's a pretty good guy," she agreed. They came to a halt where their path ended. It split two ways, to the left dipping down, and to the right twisting out of sight. Signs directed them either way. To the left, they'd be able to pick Honey Crisp, Red and Yellow Delicious, Jonagold, and Honey Crisp. To their right were Cortland and Macintosh trees. "Which way?" she asked.
"I didn't know there was so many kinds of apples," he said, surprise drawing out his accent. He looked both ways. "To the right?" he suggested uncertainly. "Billy told me Cortlands are good for pies and Macs are good for eating. He brings it up every time he has an apple cause they're called Macs and I'm Mac, apparently, otherwise I wouldn't remember."
"Works for me. In my experience the Delicious variety are anything but." She wheeled to the right, tugging his arm to propel him forward. "So, are you going to climb a tree?" Scatty asked, nudging him gleefully.
He smiled. "Perhaps," he said coyly.
"I can't picture you climbing trees," she laughed. "Granted, now that you're younger, it'll probably go better, but still…"
"I used to climb trees all the time as a young child," he told her, looking over at her. "Of course, those were olive and cherry trees, mostly, but I imagine it's the same principle."
She tutted. "I'll believe it when I see it," she challenged him. Reaching the next orchard over, they stopped. 'Macintosh' a faded and peeling sign read. "This is your moment to shine," she said, giving him a little push.
"Should be fun." Giving a little jump, he caught hold of a branch much higher up than the Shadow would be able to reach. Hanging there for a second, he grinned at the bemused expression on her face, then, with a little twist of his lower body, he wedged one foot onto another nearby branch. He fit the other on a branch slightly higher up, then pulled himself over.
It is fun, he realized excitedly. He'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed his childhood, how exhilarating it was to leave the ground behind, if only momentarily. Resting his shin on a yet even higher branch, he used his upper body strength to pull himself above, climbing the tree like it was a puzzle he was determined to solve. He sat down on a branch about ten or fifteen feet above the ground and beamed down at her. "Coming up?" he yelled.
"Nobody likes a show-off," she retorted, but a minute later, she was sitting next to him, having gotten up much easier than he had. "Huh, nobody has touched the apples up here."
"Probably most people can't reach them," he reminded her. He swung his legs happily. "Smells nice up here."
"Smells kind of sweet." She glanced around. "Now which apple are we going to pick?"
"Which one? Like we're only getting one apple for all that trouble?"
"You only pick one apple per tree or you're done in like two seconds," she told him impatiently. She ducked around the tree branches, leaning back precariously.
"That seems remarkably inefficient," he replied. "I wish you'd be careful," he added, carefully moving one leg so that they both hung down on either side. He reached out for her- to do what, he wasn't quite sure. Mostly to reassure myself at this point, he decided.
"I'll be okay. How about that one?" she decided, indicating one hanging about three feet above them.
"I can get that one," he agreed. He pulled himself to a standing position, snagged it, and handed it to her. His weight shifting had caused an apple to tumble down to the ground underneath them. "Oops…"
"We'll grab it when we go down."
"Yeah, but you just said…" He followed her down.
Laughing, she practically flew down the side of the tree, landing catlike at the bottom. She watched him come down at a much slower rate. Arching an eyebrow, she put both hands on her hips and tapped her foot. Feeling a little adventurous, he jumped down the rest of the way, practically landing on her and causing her to jump back in surprise.
"Didn't think you'd do that," she said grumpily. "Thought that was the kind of hijinks I could only expect from Billy."
"Probably shouldn't have done that," he chuckled. "Could have twisted an ankle or something." Feeling like a gentleman, he took the bag from her.
They continued to banter back and forth. Scatty climbed the next tree; he took a picture of her. She had the ghost of a smile on her face, as she leaned over the branch, looking down inquisitively at him. He followed her up and showed it to her. Looking at it, she tucked her hair behind her ear; it fell out again.
Snagging an apple, she bit into it, bouncing up and down on the branch a little before she tossed it to him. He caught it only by pinning it to his chest at the last second, desperately hanging on to the branch closest to him for dear life. "I'm not a very good catcher," he clarified, seeing her amused look. "My family never threw fruit at each other."
"Try saying that five times fast," she said. "Threw fruit, threw fruit, threw-"
"I'm going to throw this fruit at you if you don't stop," he warned as menacingly as he could.
"You wouldn't do that," she laughed. "Billy probably would. But you're a gentleman."
"Billy's probably more of a gentleman than I am when we get right down to it," he countered.
She nodded sagely. "Must be that Irish upbringing," she said, actually sitting crisscrossed on the branch. He couldn't help but admire her balance.
"So, climb trees often?"
"Oh, all the time."
"Really?"
'No,' she formed with her mouth, looking amused. I can never tell when she's being sarcastic, he thought. Must be because she's always kind of sarcastic.
"Did they have apples on Danu Talis?" he asked, genuinely interested.
"Yes, but they were fairly different in taste to what we call apples today," she told him, grabbing another apple to munch. Biting into the apple, she sucked all the juice out in an obscene display of enjoyment.
"Danu Talis is what we call Atlantis today, isn't it?"
She half nodded, then shook her head. "I think some part of the legend of Danu Talis might have sparked the legend originally, but what we refer to as Atlantis is actually a Shadowrealm."
"How do you know this?"
"I've been there," she said rather indifferently. He squinted at her in disbelief. "What? When you've lived on the real thing, the Shadowrealm is just a cheap copy made by some Elder with too much time on his hands. Some bit of nostalgia…"
"I guess so." But still, it's Atlantis- I'd still like to see it. Having suspected for a long time what she'd just confirmed, he'd searched in vain for the entrance to this particular Shadowrealm.
She correctly interpreted the look on his face. "I can bring you there some time. We can bring Billy…"
"Billy would like that. I would like it too," he added, not wanting to sound any less excited than he actually was. He held up his apple core and looked around for what to do with it. Scatty held out her hand and feeling a little resigned, he handed it over. She lobbed it over her shoulder. It landed a good fifty feet away.
Brushing his hands off, he plucked a couple of apples from the tree and slipped them into their bag, which they'd hung on a branch below them. He held out his hands to help her down.
"Do you miss Danu Talis?" he asked her as they made their way down the sun speckled lane.
She paused, turning as if moved by the breeze. "A little," she admitted. "It was sad to see it crumble all over again… but there are many things that I prefer about this world to the last," she added, a steely note in her voice. "I've had a lot more freedom in this realm… And I'm away from the control of my family…" The Italian longed to probe this particular thread of the conversation further, but knew from experience that the Shadow would open up only when she wanted to, and no earlier.
They continued to work their way farther into the orchard until at last, when Machiavelli turned around, he couldn't see the barn below them. He knew it was there, tucked neatly behind carefully planted rows of spruce trees, but still he felt like they were now completely separate from the rest of the world.
Turning back, he saw that the Shadow had gone halfway down the lane and he hastened to follow her. "Are we done picking?"
"Just in this section," she replied. "Didn't Billy want you to get some Cortlands too?"
"He did." Stopping when they reached another path, Machiavelli looked at the dirt road winding back the way they'd come. "This must go back to the barn," he remarked, catching his bearings. "Do you know where the Cortland orchards are?"
She'd pulled out a map she'd grabbed at the barn. "Down this way a little," she said, taking a right. "Getting tired?" she asked as they worked their way through the trees.
"Hm? No." He did a little dance to prove his point, feeling pleasantly goofy.
"You can dance?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you mention that? In all the time we've known you, honestly…"
"I have many surprises inside of me," he said drily. Amusement tugged up the corner of his lips.
She looked at him slyly. "Billy loves to dance," she pointed out.
He ducked his head. "I know."
"It's like you were made for each other," she teased him.
He sputtered. "Because we can both dance?"
She dropped out of the last tree. "Because of many reasons," she told him.
We both must be a little tired, he noted. We're not climbing as many trees as before- guess we're getting old. He let a little laugh escape at his own joke. He looked around warily, afraid she'd think him odd for laughing randomly, but she was focused on one particular piece of fruit above her and didn't seem to have noticed his odd behavior.
Now long past the usual lunch hour, they finally sat down to eat. Scatty stole two more apples to munch on and he was feeling very dozy.
Finally, Scatty grabbed his arm. "Look, there's the wagon- want to take it? Then we'd better run!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the path, both of them running full pelt. He clung to the bag of apples, afraid they were going to fall out as they ran.
Slowing, he found that the wagon had already stopped for them on the main path. "Need a ride?" the older man asked, one foot up on the baseboard.
"Yes, please," Machiavelli agreed, feeling a little winded for all of his boasting.
"Alright, into the back you go."
The Italian immortal helped Scatty up first then handed to her his bag of apples. He'd barely boosted himself into the light blue bed of the wagon before it started forward again. Scatty was laughing; her eyes sparkled bright green. "Thought you weren't tired," she teased him.
"It was," he panted, "a small change in pace, is all."
