"He's sleeping a lot," Scatty observed, settling into the Kid's armchair.

"He did during the summer when he got that huge hole in his stomach too," Machiavelli said idly. "It must just be his body healing."

"You must like this though," she said, pulling the throw of the back of the chair and motioning to the situation unfolding before them.

It was Tuesday morning. The three immortals were in the living room. Billy was asleep, turned on his side. His head was propped on Machiavelli's thigh. Every once in a while a gentle snore would escape.

Machiavelli ran his fingers through Billy's locks. "He did this on his own," he said, defending himself. The outlaw twitched, making a soft moaning sound. They stilled watching him, but he moved restlessly and continued to snore softly. Occasionally, a sharp intake of breath marked how uncomfortable the American immortal must really have been.

"You didn't exactly fight him on it. Anyways, I think it shows how much he likes you," she said, leaning forward and dropping her voice.

Machiavelli didn't want to get his hopes up. He rested his hand on Billy's shoulder, rubbing the soft knit of his pullover. He let his aura spark, spilling the white mist around the outlaw's sleeping form. The Kid quieted again and Machiavelli smiled, feeling that he must be a little better. "Maybe it's just familiar. Back on the island, he was like this when we were waiting to see what would happen. We're just friends."

"Do you really think Black Hawk would let Billy do this?" she pointed out. She gestured significantly.

"No," he admitted. "But Black Hawk's a lot more macho than I am. Or will ever be," he decidedly thoughtfully.

"I'm your friend. You going to let me rest my head on your junk?"

He shifted slightly. "I mean if you wanted to and you were comfortable with it, it's not like I'm getting sexual pleasure from this right now." He indicated the Kid, who'd flipped over on his back and was now gargling slightly, his mouth open, and his hair askew. "I wonder when Black Hawk's getting up here," he added, as an afterthought.

"I suppose when he gets here, all this lovey dovey stuff between you and Billy will have to go underground," Scatty opined shrewdly. Despite her unaffected air, Machiavelli liked to think that she was upset for him; it made him feel better. He too, had deduced this much.

"I'd leave that up to Billy. Black Hawk's more his friend than mine." He paused. "Billy was always a little self-conscious about how he acted around Black Hawk though, even this summer when I was much 'younger'.

They were interrupted by the outlaw, who was stirring. Mostly asleep, he made to shift onto his right. "No, don't!" they both shouted. But it was a little late. He rolled on his side, promptly jolted awake, sat up, let out an incoherent whimper and blinked at them.

"What happened?"

"You rolled over on your arm again," Machiavelli explained, scooting closer to him. "That must have hurt, caro."

Billy rubbed his lip, then showed his fingers to them. "I think I bit into my lip," he mumbled, the red fluid trickling down his chin. "I just wasn't expecting it- a lot of pain all at once- I could kind of hear you talking but-"

"Billy, stop talking for a minute," Scatty ordered, exasperated. Pulling a dozen tissues out of the box, she pressed it to his lip. The American immortal stopped babbling, though Machiavelli noticed he kept blinking, obviously still half asleep and very confused.

"I'm going to get some ice for his lip," the Italian immortal said, feeling helpless. Scatty nodded. Coming back up with a bag of shaved ice, they peeled the tissue from his lip and handed him the bag. "Feel better?"

"Moi lip doint huwt, sits mew awm," Billy said through the bag.

Machiavelli and Scatty looked at each other. "Your lip doesn't hurt, it's your arm?" Niccolo translated tentatively.

Billy nodded. Setting the ice on the coffee table- Scatty wrinkled her nose- he felt his lip experimentally. "It's stopped bleeding," he said gingerly.

"Scale of one to ten, how much does your arm hurt?" Machiavelli asked.

"Three."

"Really? Come on," Niccolo coaxed, not believing him when he saw the tears forming at the corners of Billy's eyes. "I can give you some pain killers if your arm hurts."

Billy rubbed the moisture away roughly. "Sure. I guess some pills wouldn't hurt," he admitted reluctantly.

"You want to take some medicine?" Billy nodded. "Good, I brought some up with me. How many do you want?"

"What's the maximum dose?"

Scathach leaned forward. "How much pain are you in?" she asked, reiterating Niccolo's question but using a lot more force when she said it.

Billy got to his feet, moving back and forth. He clutched his arm, stumbling a little. "I don't know. A lot, I guess. It's just cause I put weight on it," Billy said through gritted teeth. "Can we do something to distract me?"

"Sure," they agreed readily. "What do you want to do?" Machiavelli asked, watching the American immortal pace back and forth.

"Hmm, I don't know… Maybe something exciting to take my mind off of the pain?"

"I'll look at the newspaper," Machiavelli offered. Pulling it off the side table, he quickly flicked through the pages. "Okay, this weekend… there's a haunted tour of the Eastern State Penitentiary, but that's not until next week. There's a Harry Potter Festival in Chestnut Hill, but I don't think you're interested in that…"

"I've read Harry Potter," Billy said breathlessly. He tightened his grip on his arm, grimacing in pain.

Machiavelli looked up. "Really? Why?"

"I've had a lot of time on my hands," Billy defended himself. "What's going on with that?"

"There's a pub crawl… and a Quidditch match?"

"I'm not in fit shape to play Quidditch," the Kid decided thoughfully.

"What on earth is Quidditch?" Machiavelli whispered to Scatty, who shrugged. "Why don't we just take a walk around the block, Billy?" he asked. "You're not really up to doing much right now. We could always do something bigger some other time."

Billy nodded slowly. "I suppose so. Can we at least get dinner?" he asked hopefully, checking his watch.

"Sure," Machiavelli agreed, who would have said yes to any request the American presented at that point.

"Can we walk wherever we go?" Billy pressed, looking from Scatty to Machiavelli and back again.

"Do you really think you should be walking?" she asked acridly.

"Why, cause of my arm? I feel great!"

"What if you pass out?"

Billy wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You could carry me back."

"I'm not carrying your fat ass back here, you're going to have to walk."

This conversation could go on all night. "Okay, well let's see what's close by to eat." Machiavelli stole the Kid's phone, typing in their address and pulling up a map. "How about this place?"

Billy peered over his shoulder. "That's a very fancy restaurant. I'd have to get dressed up."

"Okay, well that rules out these two," the Italian commented lightly, scrolling around. "How about this one?" But Scatty didn't want seafood. "This one?" Too vegan, according to Billy. "Why don't you two pick a place to go? I'll get your shoes," he told the American immortals, exasperated.

"Most of these places are kind of expensive, Billy," he heard Scatty say to the Kid. "We should just pick a place. It's not like any of us are hurting for money, these days." Vaguely, he could hear Billy's murmured reply as he headed up the stairs. Stopping in their room, he grabbed Billy's trainers instead of his boots, thinking that they would be better for him to walk in, and snagged a thick overcoat as well on his way back down.

"Have you decided on a place?" he asked, coming back. They nodded. "Good. Here I'll put your shoes on." He knelt before the outlaw, slipping his feet into the shoes and tying them securely.

Billy leaned forward, watching him. "You're a good friend, Niccolo," he observed. There was a tone of love in his voice that made Machiavelli's heart swell. "You've been nicer to me than anybody else."

"I'm very fond of you," Machiavelli said, lightly and quietly. He helped Billy into the overcoat. "So, where are we going?"

"It's called the Dandelion and it's just a road or two over," Scatty said, stealing the Kid's leather jacket again. Following the outlaw down the stairs, she slipped her arm into his once they reached the pavement. Keeping up easily with his long legs, Machiavelli fell in line on Billy's other side.

"Know what I want to do next summer, Mac?" Billy said happily. He directed their group. "I want to go to the beach again," he said before either immortal answered him. "Do you remember our little cottage on the beach? You were very little then."

"I vaguely remember that time. It's kind of fuzzy," he admitted.

"Do you remember all the time in the cabin, though?" Scatty asked, curious.

"Yeah, I remember all that. It's just the first few weeks that are really fuzzy."

"What else would you want to do?" Machiavelli asked, curious. He glanced at the American immortal as they approached a pedestrian light, trying to distract the Kid from the pain he'd been feeling.

Billy let go of Scatty's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I should show you the house I have up in New Hampshire. I haven't been up there in like fifty years, it's going to need a lot of work if we do go up there."

"Work like we did on this place when we got here?"

"Well, more than that," Billy said thoughtfully. "Cause me or other people have stayed here at least within a decade or two. And the other place is an actual house, like three stories and a bunch of windows. It has a porch," he added excitedly. "When it's summer time you can lay in the backyard and see the stars."

"You would like that," Scatty agreed. "Every time I talked to you on the phone, it seemed like you were trying to find the stars."

"You can't really see them in the city," he told her. "Too much light pollution. There's our restaurant," he added, pointing it out to Machiavelli, who'd been unsure up to that moment where they were going. "I don't know though… maybe you don't want to have to fix up another house?" He looked anxious; slight worry lines creased his forehead.

"If we had a house, we'd have more privacy for me to teach you how to use your aura," Machiavelli observed lightly.

Billy's expression cleared. "Here, we are," he said happily. He twisted to hold the door for Scattty, then ushered in Niccolo. Bringing up the rear of the group, he put his hand on Machiavelli's back as he crammed himself into the small waiting space.

"Three?" their host asked, grabbing a stack of menus. "Right this way."

Of all the places they'd been so far in Philadelphia, Machiavelli ranked this one as one of the best. Cream colored walls were offset by a ceiling painted olive green to match the carpeting on the floor. A large chandelier in the center of the ceiling threw light to all the corners of the room; otherwise, wall sconces made up for any shadowed areas that might have escaped the larger fixture's scope.

Their waitress sat them not quite next to the windows, but at one of the tables closest to the big bay windows. Billy and Scatty sat on the booth part of the table, while Machiavelli pulled out one of the dark wooden chairs.

"This seems like a fancy place," Machiavelli said quietly to Billy.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, looking around. "It used to be a karaoke bar here. I was kind of hoping they'd do that, just for old time's sake."

"I highly doubt they would ever deign to do a karaoke night," Scatty muttered out of the right side of her mouth. "Not at these prices."

"Mac," Billy said after they'd placed their orders. "Scatty tells me she brought you to a couple of bars?"

"We only went to one or two," Machiavelli clarified.

"That's true. And Mac didn't have much to drink at either," Scatty backed him up. "But he did dance with a couple of girls."

"Mac has this way with the ladies," Billy observed. "They were swarming him when we went that first night we came to town."

"They weren't swarming me," Machiavelli corrected, but it was no use.

"And obviously he managed to sweet talk a lady on Saturday…" Billy's eyes were crinkled. "Who would have thought you would be the one to…" He trailed off, but only because Machiavelli shook his head at him.

"I'm not trying to pick up women," Machiavelli insisted. "You guys bring me to these places. I don't want to sit back like a wallflower, but I'm not- you think…" It's no use, he thought, his voice fading. "I have no intention of dating any other women."

"I didn't mean anything bad by it." Billy leaned forward. "Did you go home with any of them?"

"Just Scatty. Not that way," he said quickly, realizing that what he'd said sounded off.

"Although we did kiss. And I've seen you naked now. And you've slept in my bed just as much as you haven't," she said mildly. Looking back from the window, she caught sight of both men looking at her incredulously. "But I digress…"

'You think?' Machiavelli mouthed at her.

Billy was frowning. His head had swiveled so fast, the Italian was surprised it stayed on. "What?" he barked, trying to keep his voice quiet, but still trending upwards. "You've seen him naked? When?" he hissed. He looked back and forth between the Italian and the American immortal.

"When he was getting out of the shower," she said innocently. She flashed a grin at him. Out of Billy line of sight, Machiavelli spread his hands in a 'what gives' posture. 'Are you out of your mind?' he said without speaking.

"But why were you-? Why was he-? What?" Billy floundered. "Oh, thanks," he said as their food was set before them. He looked quickly back and forth between the two. "Huh?"

"It's no big deal," Machiavelli said for the umpteenth time that night, it seemed.

"Although it kind of is," Scatty said brightly. She smiled into her pasta, before fixing her face to a more neutral expression.

Machiavelli wondered if this was what a stroke felt like. Scatty's completely gone insane, he thought wildly. He couldn't possibly see what she was trying to accomplish with this teasing, except to exercise the muscles in his heart.

Billy wasn't eating either, he noticed. Glancing over at Machiavelli, their eyes met. For a minute, time stood still. Then the Italian pulled over Billy's dish. "I'm going to cut this up for you," he said lightly.

"Thanks."

"Billy, can I ask you something?" He didn't look up.

"Of course, Mac. Anything."

Machiavelli put the plate back in front of the Kid. "Scatty and Billie stayed late at the bar the night we went out. I called you… You never picked up. And, I think," he hesitated, "that you stopped calling me. I thought maybe you were mad, but…"

Billy froze. "I wasn't mad," he said softly. Scatty looked over at them, but said nothing. "But you're right, I did stop calling- that was wrong of me, Mac," he said earnestly, looking a little upset now.

"It's okay, Billy."

"No, it's not. It's just," now Billy looked really ashamed, "the other guys kept teasing me cause I was calling you. Said I was a-" he changed directions rapidly. "I should have kept calling you, but I thought that soon I'd be able to come back and I'd get to see you and I'd make it up to you."

"Really, Billy, I'm okay with it. I was just wondering. I thought maybe I'd done something…"

"No," the Kid said aggressively. "I was the one who was wrong. You know that, don't you?" He jabbed his fork at himself.

The teasing look had left Scathach's face. Looking over at her, Machiavelli knew there was more that had been left unsaid, but for now he left it unsaid. Billy was already looking downtrodden and that wasn't what he'd intended, not at all.

"Billy, want to hear about what Scatty did to some creep in one of the nightclubs?"

~MB~

"I think it's time to head for home," Machiavelli commented, looking at Billy. The American immortal was beginning to slow down, stumbling a little on the uneven pavement of an oft used sidewalk. They waited for him to catch up.

"Slowing down in your old age?" Scatty asked him, wrapping an arm around the outlaw's thin waist.

"Never!" Billy grinned. "Well, maybe. Why do you think I tire out so easily these days? That never used to happen…"

"Couldn't have anything to do with you getting hurt three days ago," Scatty said sarcastically. "Honestly, Billy…" Heading west on Sansom St, they passed a flower shop. Billy, who was luckily still awake enough to navigate their group, pointed them left onto S. 19th St. Passing the flower shop seemed to remind the Shadow of their previous adventures. "Niccolo got me flowers. What have you done lately?" Scatty asked, poking him.

Billy grinned. "Why didn't you get me flowers?" he asked Machiavelli, instead of answering her. "I lived with you much longer and you never did anything romantic for me…"

Machiavelli squinted at him. "I'm sorry. There will be a trail of rose pedals leading to our bedroom tonight."

"Good." Billy smiled, his eyes scrunching up with good humor. "Cause I don't think I ask for much, Mac, just a little respect for our relationship."

"You never answered Scatty's question," Machiavelli pointed out drily.

Billy looked on his other side. Scatty gave him her best 'what gives' look. "I'm awfully sorry, Ms. Scathach. How can I make amends?"

"Chocolates," she said promptly.

"I will get you the biggest box of chocolates I can find," he promised, fluttering his eyelashes at her. "I like daisies," he added, swiveling again to see his other companion.

"Why not roses? What exactly are we celebrating with these flowers?"

"I don't know, what were you celebrating with Scatty?"

"I just wanted to do something nice for her cause she's important to me."

Billy seemed to be falling asleep. "Am I not important to you?" he prodded, his feet dragging more as he got more tired.

"Of course you're important, I just…"

"Daisies last longer," Billy told him, relieving him of his self-imposed duty to explain himself. He stopped to stretch, his face ashen. Arching his back, he shifted his position again. "Plus, they're cheaper," he added as an afterthought.

"Billy, are you getting tired?"

"Mmm…" The outlaw crossed his arms around himself. "My arm hurts… it's been awhile since I've really felt pain to be honest…"

"What hurts exactly?" Scatty asked, scanning him.

"Hm? Everything," Billy laughed, then grimaced.

"You should have been honest before we went out to dinner and told us that you were feeling sick," Machiavelli chided from his side.

"I thought it would pass. It's not like we were going to really exert ourselves. We sat in the restaurant for two hours."

"But we didn't have to walk over," Machiavelli pointed out, jogging up the front steps to let them in.

Billy tossed his coat at the coatrack by the front door- it missed and fell to the floor. He stooped to pick it up, trying to hang his coat more carefully the second time around. "I didn't want to risk crashing the car," he explained, moving into the living room and looking like he was going to flop down for a minute- both of the other two immortals tensed, imagining the pain he'd find himself in then. He seemed to remember at the last minute that this was a poor decision and half flopped, half sat on the couch, not capturing any sense of the word grace in his movements. "Join me!" he called.

Scatty caught him lightly on the shoulder. "Why don't you go upstairs and lie down?"

"I want to be with both of you…"

"Here, Billy," Machiavelli said, unable to watch him shift anymore. He sat beside the outlaw, taking his hand. "Lean into me. I'll give you some of my aura. Maybe it'll help." Wrapping his arm around the outlaw's shoulder, he let tendrils of white smoke spill out.

"I think your aura color did change, Mac," Billy said, dazedly watching the wisps curl around his arm and sink in.

"I told you it did." Machiavelli watched the outlaw. "Is this helping you?"

Billy nodded, still looking rather fragile. "I'm just sleepy though… Tell me about what you've been doing. When did Scatty get here?"

"I got here about a week ago," Scatty commented.

"I'm glad you came," Billy told her sleepily. "I didn't like leaving Mac alone."

Machiavelli raised his eyebrows. "You know I've lived alone for hundreds of years, don't you?"

The outlaw's eyes were closing. "I don't want you to be alone ever again," he slurred. "Maybe it is time to go upstairs. Will you come with me while I'm falling asleep?" He looked from Machiavelli to Scatty. "Please?"