"Oh," Billy groaned. He stretched out on the couch, his hurt arm kept securely against his body. "I. Just. Want. To sleep."
Scatty leaned over the back of the couch. "Why are you so tired? We didn't walk that much."
"He said he wasn't sleeping during the time that he was away," Machiavelli answered for him, tucking his leg underneath him. "He's probably still tired from that, aren't you?"
She poked him. "Missed Machiavelli that much, did you?"
"Yes," he said with a soft smile. He closed his eyes. "Who wouldn't?"
"He told me that it was because he didn't trust Jesse Evans not to do something to him in the middle of the night," Niccolo clarified, feeling his insides warm with suppressed pleasure. He sat where the outlaw normally would, taking off his sneakers with some relief.
"I thought you were friends with Jesse Evans," she said, coming around the couch. She lifted his legs- he pulled them back for her- and sat at the other end of the couch, begrudgingly letting him rest his feet in her lap.
"It's complicated," Billy said simply. He shifted and made an odd snuffling noise. He held up one sock covered foot to the Shadow. "Rub my feet?" he begged.
"Absolutely not."
"Mac does it for me," he enticed, as if that was going to be the argument to convince her. She looked over at the Italian immortal, who shrugged noncommittally. "Please, Scatty? My feet feel like we walked hundreds of miles…"
"Well, who's fault is that? I'm not going to rub your sweaty, smelly feet." She ignored the puppy eyes he sent her. "And that's not going to work either."
"Switch places with Mac, then? He always rubs me when I need it."
"That sounds so awful, Billy," Niccolo protested, waving his hands in front of him.
"What? Oh, well, you knew what I meant. Fine, don't rub my feet… I'll just wither away over here…" he trailed off. Neither of the other immortals engaged him and he sighed wistfully. He rubbed his stomach. When they continued to ignore him, he looked over at the Italian immortal. "I can't believe you got so old while I was away."
Machiavelli shifted under his gaze. "I've been aging at the same rate as always. You knew you were going to miss a few birthdays."
"I know. I just didn't know how much I'd miss them." His eyes fluttered shut. "I figured it out last night, Mac. On the 18th, we're going to be the same age for once." He smiled.
"You really have it all figured out, like that?" Machiavelli asked, half exasperated, half intrigued.
Billy nodded. Pulling a little notebook out of his pocket, he flipped it open and began reading off the dates. "You've aged a year a week since this has started. June 8th, we estimated that you were about three years old, on September 21st you turned 18, and now on Saturday, we'll both be twenty-two years old!"
"That's quite amazing, Billy."
"How old will Niccolo be at Christmas?"
The Kid flipped the page. "Thirty-one." He looked over at the Italian immortal. "It'll be a little strange, having you older than me again, but good in a way too, I guess."
"Have you thought about what age you're going to want to take the potion at?" Scatty asked, looking over at him. Billy looked at him too, making him nervous.
"Hmm… Well," Machiavelli delayed, "I haven't quite settled on an age, but I think for now I wouldn't go all the way back to the age I was… I mean, this seems to be a one-way process, so I can't really go backwards again, not easily at least…" He pondered the question, reflecting that he should have spent more time considering it before now. "I'd want to be a bit older than the age I am now, at least," he concluded finally. He looked over at Billy. "What do you think?"
Billy was much more decisive. "I think you should be a little bit older, but not too much older than me. Like I'd cap you at your early thirties. If you're thirty-two, you're going to be ten years older than me. But then again… I did like you being older than me."
"Did you?" Machiavelli asked in surprise. He looked over at Billy, watching him sag into the couch. "You didn't like me as a kid?" he asked, half joking, half serious.
He saw a smile break through the American's features. "Of course, I loved you as a kid. You were my sweetheart. But I think I'm going to like you being an adult again, cause it means I can go back to being the Kid. I don't have to make all the big decisions anymore. Make sense?"
Machiavelli nodded. Coming closer to Billy's side, he sat down on their coffee table; he knew it was sturdy enough to bear his weight from all the times he'd seen Billy standing on it. "Just as long as I don't age back to my 'medieval' age?" he asked, smiling faintly when he remembered Billy's particular wording.
"Medieval was the wrong word, Mac," Billy slurred. "Very wrong of me." His stomach gurgled.
"Do you want to eat something before you go to bed for the night?"
Billy nodded, perking up. "Can we have pizza?"
Machiavelli stood up. "Would you call it in for us, Scatty? You can put it on my card. I'm going to get a couple of the spare blankets from the closet."
"We have spare blankets now?"
Niccolo put a hand down on Billy's head as he passed. "Scatty and I did some shopping while you were away. I'll be right back."
"And then will you massage my feet?" Billy called hopefully after him. Machiavelli unwillingly agreed, so the Kid pulled off his socks, tossing them on the ground. The Italian immortal tutted when he saw this upon his return, but the Kid was not in the least dismayed. Instead, he struggled to sit up, questions on his mind apparently. "Will you bring me to Paris someday? Show me where you've lived?" he asked suddenly.
"It's nothing special, my apartment, but I would be happy to bring you anywhere you want to go." Machiavelli tucked the blankets around Billy, padding him with not one but two of the thicker ones.
"Will you come with us, Scatty?" Billy asked, looking back at her to see if she was on the phone still.
"I don't know. I might come to some, not all."
"Scatty has promised me that she would bring me to Atlantis," Machiavelli told the outlaw. He glanced over at her. "It's an adventure I'm holding her to."
"Wait. No kidding? Atlantis is a real place?"
Scatty shrugged. "It's just a Shadowrealm."
"But that's still cool!" Billy said enthusiastically. He stretched out his leg, touching Machiavelli with the tip of his toe. Once he was sure he had the Italian immortal's attention, he gave him his best puppy eye look. "Mac, please?"
"Okay, Billy, but just this one time," Machiavelli sighed, dropping onto the coffee table and taking the American's foot. He settled the heel of the foot on his thigh and pressed his thumbs into the top of Billy's sole. "Tell me if I hurt you," he commanded.
"Nope, it feels good." He closed his eyes, stretching his other foot into Machiavelli's lap.
"You're so spoiled, Billy," Scatty scolded him, watching Niccolo's nimble fingers work over the muscles. For his part, Machiavelli felt he was getting quite adept at giving massages. Perhaps I can be a masseuse now, as my last job ended abruptly, he thought wryly.
The Kid grinned and nodded. "Yeah… Hey, did they say when the pizza was going to come? Are we getting it delivered?"
"We're getting it delivered and there's a delay because a lot of people are ordering tonight. It could be thirty to forty minutes."
"I'm going to take a shower before we eat," Machiavelli decided. He gently placed Billy's feet down.
"One of us will come get you when the food's here," the Shadow told him. They could hear him climbing the stairs behind them in the hall. Scatty bounced her leg up and down, watching the movement. "Do you miss Niccolo being a kid?" she asked suddenly, keeping her voice low.
Billy straightened up from where he'd been leaning on her heavily. "Sort of," he admitted. "But only cause I really liked have a baby." He fluttered his eyelids, sounding a little embarrassed. "But I also missed Mac being an adult, so…" he trailed off. "Anyways, it's not like he's dead. Or even that this was sudden. I think that…"
"You do, a bit, don't you?"
"I liked being able to hold him and give him kisses, without anybody thinking it was wrong," Billy mumbled. He rubbed his nose roughly. "I really like Mac, I don't think I've ever... Men aren't supposed to be very loving towards each, at least not the way I like to love someone, so I worry that I'm overstepping myself nowadays where I didn't before."
"You and Niccolo hardly have a typical relationship, though," she pointed out. She grimaced, that probably makes him feel even worse. "You got close under unusual circumstances, I mean."
Billy laughed though. "No, we don't," he agreed easily. "This morning I made Mac shave me- my face that is- I would have never asked any of my other friends to do that. But he saved my life, you know? I feel differently about him than anyone else."
Oh, Billy, you're so close to it, she thought, biting her lip. She let him prattle on, hoping that he'd come to the conclusion himself.
"You must have been very surprised when it first happened."
"I was," he said faintly. His eyes were closing, but Scatty felt sure that he was still very much awake. "See, when I first got wounded- that time, not this- everything started going dark very quickly. I remember Mac's hand on me and he was leaning over me… and then everything stopped…"
"And then when you woke up…?"
"And then I woke up and I couldn't see Mac and he was the last thing I remembered. I was afraid he'd used too much of his aura," Billy confessed. He'd been joking around before, but now there was a slight tremble in his voice. "I thought he was dead, for a moment," Billy confided softly.
Unwittingly, she felt the hairs prickle on her arm. She turned on her side, listening to him talk. He shook his head as if to dispel the bad memory and she spoke up."But he was fine. Just a bit… smaller."
Billy grinned. "He was so cute, I wish you had seen him right after it happened. I think every lady within five miles went crazy over him. Wait, I've got a picture." Grabbing his wallet," he opened the flap and extracted a couple of photos. "This is my mother," he said, holding up the first photo.
"She looks like you."
He nodded. He held up a sketch, carefully folded into quarters. "A couple of years ago, historians tried to come up with what my father would have looked like, based on photographs of my mother and the one of me that they have. They said he likely would have looked like this." He handed that to her too.
"You never knew your father, right?"
"Right, he died when she was pregnant with me." He cocked his head. "Anyways, here's the picture of Mac right after everything happened."
"Oh my god," she said, taking the last one from him and looking at it. "I thought he was small when I met him over the summer."
The Kid beamed. "No, he was tiny when it first happened. Very delicate too- his features that is- and he had teeth, like a quarter of the size of my thumbnail. And his knees were so squishy," he continued, tapping his own. "I'm pretty used to the fact that I won't be having kids, but it was kind of hard to see him getting bigger, every week."
"Would you have children if you could?" she asked curiously, glancing through some of the other pictures Billy had in his wallet- one of him and Black Hawk clowning around, some of Machiavelli when he'd been halfway through his teenage years, Billy with group of people she didn't know, and… one of her. "When'd you take this?"
He glanced at it. "When you were swimming in the lake."
She shook her head. "You didn't answer my question."
"I don't know," he admitted thoughtfully. "I mean, I could have children, physically. But do you mean if I knew they would be immortal too? I'd have to think about that…" He glanced at her. "But it isn't likely to happen anyways, so…"
The doorbell rang.
"Pizza's here."
"I'll go get Mac," Billy offered, struggling out of the blankets. Getting up, he fell immediately back down again, dropping onto the couch.
"Are you okay, Billy?"
"Just lost my balance, is all," he explained away cheerfully. Getting up slower this time, he gave her his most winning smile. "I'm fine! I'm going to get him."
"Be careful on the stairs," she cautioned. She went to answer the door.
He waved a hand to show that he'd heard her. Using his good arm, he pulled himself up the stairs. By the time he got up to the second landing, he felt quite tired. 'What's happening to me?' he wondered. Knocking on the bathroom door, he eased into the little room. "Hey, Mac?"
Niccolo turned off the water. Poking his head out, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Is the pizza here already? That didn't take long…" Billy nodded, leaning against the wall. "Are you alright, William?"
"Course," the Kid said with a grin.
"Wait a minute, I'll get out." Grabbing the towel the outlaw proffered, he wrapped it securely around his waist before coming out. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, putting a hand to Billy's forehead.
"I'm just a little sleepy is all… Do I have a fever?"
"I can't tell."
"Ah, well… I'll let you get dressed. I just wanted to say that dinner's ready." Billy pushed out from the wall, overbalanced, and stumbled forward. He fell towards Machiavelli, who grabbed him around the middle. "Sorry!"
"William, I think you're sick," Niccolo told him, not letting go.
Billy rested his forehead on the Italian's shoulder. "I don't get sick," he mumbled. "Maybe I'm just a little tired and a little hungry, but that's it."
"You should go to bed right after this," Machiavelli insisted. He ran a hand through the American's hair, unconsciously petting him. He pushed Billy back onto his feet and grabbed the towel off the ground. "I don't want you going down the stairs by yourself."
"I just stumbled a little, I'm fine."
"No, no, just… Just wait for me to get dressed," Machiavelli bargained, toweling off his hair as quickly as he could. He didn't particularly want to get dressed in front of the American immortal, but he also had visions of Billy falling again while going down the stairs. With Billy's arm damaged, he didn't want to take chances. "I'll be quick," he promised, scrambling into his boxers.
"Don't rush because of me." Billy picked up the sweater on the hamper. "Isn't this mine?"
"Not anymore."
"But…"
Snagging it from him, Machiavelli threw it on over his shoulders. "I need it; I'm cold all the time." He led the way out of the bathroom and padded over to their shared room. "Let me get my slippers."
Billy trailed after him. "You can have the sweatshirt, Mac," he agreed amicably. "It's pretty long on me anyways." They headed downstairs.
"Where have you been?"
"Billy's sick," Machiavelli told her. "I was afraid he was going to fall down the stairs."
"You're sick?"
"I'm not sick," the Kid insisted. "I'm just a little bit tired and I have a couple of balance problems, but I'm not…" He misjudged where the chair was, sitting down, and almost toppled out; Scathach deftly pushed him back on the seat. "Ah, pizza," he said happily.
"That's got to be Billy's sweatshirt."
"He gave it to me."
"After he'd already put it on," Billy mumbled around his slice.
Machiavelli dropped into Billy's armchair. Putting his plate aside temporarily, he pulled the lever to recline. "I wear it better," he said shamelessly. The Kid scoffed, but didn't deny it. He was happy to listen to the Peter, Paul, and Mary record Machiavelli had put on and requested Ketty Lester's album 'Love Letters' when the music had run out.
Machiavelli and Scatty were developing quite the ability to communicate non-verbally. He jerked his head just slightly at Billy to show that the American immortal was falling asleep and she nodded. Wrapping her arm around Billy's shoulder, she rubbed his back; he smiled at her and received a faint grin in return. When the record was over, they didn't change it, but instead let the room slowly quiet down.
Billy was talking less and less; they had a feeling he was going to drop off, but it was still rather surprising when he dropped his plate. Using her lightning reflexes, Scatty snatched it before it fell on the floor. "Billy," she softly, tapping him on the arm. He snorted, but otherwise didn't respond. Lolling against her slightly now, they could just hear the soft breathy noises of him sleeping. "Oh, he's definitely asleep now," she said at last.
"That was pretty quick," Machiavelli commented, getting up.
"I may or may not have drugged him," Scatty said lightly, edging her way out from under the outlaw. They both seized the Kid as he began to tip over. "When you and him were doing whatever it was you were doing upstairs…"
"Scatty, you're devious. Remind me never to get on your bad side… Let's get him in bed."
~MB~
Machiavelli was dreaming. He and Billy were on the white sands of the Castiglioncello beach and he was wrapped around the American's skinny frame. He smiled, ducking his face into the crook of the Kid's neck and trailing his fingers over Billy's naval. Billy was saying something to him… he couldn't make it out over the sound of the waves…
"Mac!"
The Italian woke with a start, jumping back a little in surprise. "What's happening?" he said, completely disoriented. "Where are the waves?"
"What waves?"
"We were at… where are we?"
"Well, we're in bed, Mac. You were getting a little too chummy," Billy explained, a grin flashing over his teeth.
"I was- what?"
Billy shook his head. "Never mind, querido. Lie back down."
"What was I doing?" Machiavelli asked, settling back down beside the American immortal. He had the feeling that he'd been dreaming something right before Billy had woken him up, but what?
"You were just moving around a little in your sleep," Billy lied. "I thought maybe you were having a nightmare."
"Hmm? No, I don't think it was a nightmare... How'd I get on your side of the bed?"
"Well, don't feel like you have to move," Billy called out. "I was getting cold until you came over." Machiavelli couldn't see his face well in the dim lighting, but he could hear the smile in Billy's voice. "I think it must be raining," he mumbled.
Machiavelli picked up his head and listened. "Sounds like it." They heard thunder crash somewhere nearby. "Is that what woke you up?"
"No, not exactly." Turning on his side, Billy burrowed into the covers. He yawned, prompting a similar response from the Italian immortal. "Something else… I like it when it rains though. I like to be in bed when it rains, I should say."
"I know," Machiavelli said without thinking.
"I've told you that before?"
"No, well… yeah, in a way. Maybe a month ago…"
"Hmm…" Billy was quiet, his silence having a thoughtful aura to it. There was a grumbling roar much closer to them, sounding like it had touched down on the block just beyond theirs. He put his pillow over his face, snuffling. "Which window is open? The one nearest us?"
"No, the one by the chair."
"I should close the window," he said sleepily.
"No… stay in bed," Machiavelli cajoled. "That window's not going to bother us."
It didn't take a lot of convincing to get Billy to pull their comforter up higher. "Oh, well I don't care about that one as much," Billy yawned. "I was just thinking that it's raining so goddamn hard, it might be coming in the apartment."
Machiavelli nodded, but, lying there he found that all he could think about now was whether or not the rain was coming in through the window. If it's not bothering Billy, it shouldn't bother you; let it go. He turned on the bed.
"Oh… I should probably check that," Machiavelli groaned, ignoring Billy's protests and supplications. He moaned himself, rolling out of bed and stumbling over. "I won't close it all the way, but the sill is getting some water on it," he called in the semi dark. He left it open a couple of inches, glancing out at the rain pouring down under the streetlight below. That's the one we almost kissed under. He closed the shades completely and went to get back to bed.
"Do we have any more blankets?"
Machiavelli paused. "Cold?" he asked, picking his way over to their closet. He grabbed the old comforter that had been on their bed upstairs, tossing it over the bed and letting most of it bunch on Billy's side. "How's that?"
"S'good."
"Good. Good night. Sogni d'oro." He yanked the comforter up so that there wasn't any space for cold air to come in and climbed under the covers himself. He drifted asleep again. Next to him, Billy wrapped his fingers around the hand that was closest to his body and gave it a little squeeze.
