"You awake, Mac?" Billy whispered much later that morning. He stretched out his hand, making brief contact with the Italian's before pulling back again.

Machiavelli curled on his side. "Mmm… I'm awake."

"Thought so. You take longer breaths when you're asleep." Billy closed his eyes, angling his face towards the Italian immortal regardless. His eye lashes fluttered, opening them again. "Do we have a strange relationship?"

"Yes."

Billy laughed. "You could hesitate a little, Mac."

The tactician ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it a little. He snuffled. "We got close very fast. The summer was some sort of emotional triathlon." Next to him, Billy grinned. "Now we have to figure out what our friendship is, since things have changed some. But I like the relationship we have, don't you?"

"I do." The Kid stretched, elongating his legs as much as he could. He arched his back, then dropped, rotated his neck and sighed. Machiavelli curled into himself more, yanking the blanket up around his ears. "Scatty's probably going mad," Billy said sleepily. "She never sleeps and that's all we do."

"I like to sleep late in the morning, especially since we stay up so late. Scatty takes walks in the mornings though. Not sure where she goes. But she's probably out now."

"What are we going to do today?" Billy tapped him with his leg.

"I've got to get groceries," Machiavelli sighed, not opening his eyes. Sun was slanting in from the window, blinding him. He fumbled around for his pillow, threw it over his head and peered out at Billy. His blue-green eyes were watching the Italian. "Today, we will run out of groceries if one of us doesn't go shopping," he explained, already beginning to make a mental inventory of what they might need.

"We could go to the store," Billy slurred. The Italian shook his head. "No? We can't?"

"I'll go, but I want you to stay here. I don't want you to go out today. Yesterday's little adventure really had a profound effect on you, health wise."

"I was a little tired…" Billy allowed.

"You fell asleep in the living room."

"Did I? How'd I get here?" He felt around under the covers. "How'd I get out of my jeans?"

Machiavelli rolled over and climbed out of bed. "Scatty carried you up the stairs. She's stronger than me," he said, to Billy's questioning look. He stretched his chest, hearing the tiny pops his spine made as it was elongated. "But I was the one who got you undressed after she went to bed."

"Well, at least you left me with my skivvies," the Kid joked. He looked around their room. "You got me daisies," he noticed, sounding oddly pleased. He laughed, looking at the vase on his bedside table. "That night, you were paying attention after all."

"Of course I was listening to you." Machiavelli had almost forgotten the flowers last night, but had run down to the car right before he and Scatty turned in; he was glad he'd made the effort now, noting the happy look on Billy's face.

"Well, I didn't know if you were just joking around, the other night. I like them. Men should get flowers more. We like pretty stuff too…" He watched with interest as Machiavelli stepped into a pair of pants. "Do you wear the garters every day?"

"Now that I'm wearing suits more regularly, yes."

"Are they uncomfortable to wear?"

"Not really, no."

"Hey, did you end up going apple picking?"

Machiavelli was a little thrown by the sudden shift in questioning. "Yes, we did so the first day Scatty was here. We got Cortlands and Macs," he expounded, knowing that Billy was going to ask him that next.

"Good, then we can make apple pies," the Kid said brightly.

Machiavelli stopped fastening his tie to point at himself. "We? I thought you promised me a pie. You didn't say I was going to end up doing all the work."

"I've only got one arm."

"Alright," the Italian sighed. "Tell me what we need." Pulling open his nightstand table, he grabbed a pad of paper. "Okay."

Billy wasn't paying attention. "Mac? What's that?" he asked, peering at something in Niccolo's drawer. Machiavelli froze. It was the photo album.

"It's just a book I was reading." Putting on his mask, Machiavelli calmly closed the drawer. "Billy? What do we need for the pie?"

Tucking an arm behind his head, the outlaw screwed up his eyes. "Flour, cinnamon, sugar obviously… salt, if we don't already have it, oh, apple cider vinegar…" he continued to rattle off a slew of ingredients. "And can you get some cider? Like regular cider?"

"Non-alcoholic or the booze kind?"

"Non-alcoholic," Billy said promptly. "Hey, Mac, before you go, could you-?"

"Want to get dressed?"

"At least put some clothes on," Billy agreed cheerfully. "I just need help sitting up."

"How is your arm feeling?" Machiavelli asked, bending over the American immortal. He pushed the covers back, revealing the American immortal's slim body and causing the younger immortal to shiver in the sudden cold air. Billy braced himself with his good arm, slinging it around the Italian's narrow shoulders.

"It's okay, today."

"Still hurts?"

"Only a little. Maybe I can bend it now." He experimented with his range of motion. A quick intake of breath told the Italian that it was still severely limited. "Nope! Nope. That was a bad idea."

Rooting through their closet, Niccolo grabbed a gray thermal top and navy blue fleece pants. Dropping them beside Billy, he grabbed the outlaw's chin. "Billy," he said sternly, forcing him to look the older immortal in the eye, "you're going to damage your arm more if you don't let it heal at its own rate. Understand?"

"Yep." Billy grabbed the thermal and, working it over his good arm first, managed to get it on all the way. "Can we move this conversation to the bathroom? I have to take a leak."

Machiavelli tilted his head. "You want me to come in the bathroom with you?"

"Sure, we're both men. Besides, I'm just peeing. Then I've got to do some other stuff. This beautiful face doesn't just fix itself up, you know." He grinned, turning around to make sure the Italian was still behind him. "Do you have to go? I can move over."

"I'm okay, thanks."

"I'll be good today, Mac," he promised. He coughed, hunching over into his elbow.

"You'd better…" Machiavelli cautioned, trying not to watch the American immortal. Doubling back to their room, Billy got dressed the rest of the way with the occasional help from the Italian. It was strange, but it was the small things he had the most trouble with. Socks proved too much for the American, who was growing increasingly frustrated. Seeing this, Machiavelli took them from the outlaw, slipping them on quickly and pulling him to his feet. "Let's find somewhere comfortable to put you," Machiavelli decided.

Billy thumped down the stairs after him. "I'm not an invalid," he said for the umpteenth time. "I'm walking on my own."

"I want you to rest," the Italian ordered, ignoring him. "I think our trip yesterday might have been too much for you," he said seriously, pushing him towards the living room. "That's why you were getting dizzy last night."

"I thought you'd forgotten that," Billy said sulkily.

"Not on your life. We're going to take a couple of quiet days, like we should have from the start."

"Oh, but Mac, I don't want you to be bored," Billy said earnestly.

"I won't be," Machiavelli promised. He got the remote off the entertainment stand and handed it to Billy. "Maybe you could call Black Hawk today? See what the delay is?"

"I could do that," the Kid agreed amicably. He glanced at Machiavelli's watch, grabbing his arm. "I'll wait until later," he decided. "They probably went to a bar last night, and if they did, they're going to want to sleep late. But I swear I'll do it."

"Just when you get the chance," Niccolo said distractedly. "Sit somewhere."

Billy flopped down on his armchair. "Okay, I'll stay here. Mac, how much do you love me?"

The Italian opened his mouth and closed it again. He gave Billy a searching look. "What do you mean?" he asked, his heart fluttering in his chest. He saw the album in my drawer.

"Well," Billy said comfortably, reclining with his legs up. "Do you think you could get me a brownie from the kitchen?"

Then again, maybe not. Machiavelli had the mental image of smacking himself in the face. "Sure." It was hard not to feel a little bitter. For a moment, I thought… He gathered one of the blankets from last night off the couch and tossed it over the American immortal, pulling it up to his chest. "I can get you a brownie," he agreed.

"Mac?"

The Italian paused at the doorway. "Sὶ?"

"Could you bring more than one brownie?"

"I'll bring you a couple," the Italian promised. "And ice cream." He turned to go.

"And Mac?"

Niccolo poked his body around the wall, waiting patiently, he felt. Billy looked very small suddenly, fiddling with the bandages on his arm. "Would you like me to bring you another pizza, Billy?"

The Kid grinned. "No, no. Unless you want to? Kidding," he said hastily. "I love you a lot, you know that, don't you? You're still my sweetheart. I don't care how old you get."

Machiavelli felt his heart swell. He nodded thoughtfully, not trusting himself to answer. "I'll bring your brownies," he said instead.

Going downstairs, he leaned against the countertops, thinking about what he was doing to himself. Upstairs, he could hear the sound of the front door slamming shut and a gentle rumble of voices. You can't have everything you want, he reasoned, but you can get pretty close to it at least. He opened the breadbox and took out the last of the brownies. Scooping an obnoxious amount of ice cream over them, he grabbed a spoon and went back upstairs.

As he'd suspected, Scatty was there, perched on the back of the couch. She was talking with Billy when he came up, but looked around as Machiavelli came into the room. "Good walk?" he asked her, handing the outlaw his treasure.

She nodded. "Not bad. On the other hand, five homeless people asked me for money in the half hour I walked around the surrounding neighborhood. I don't really know what to tell them when they do."

"Where were you walking?"

"A little to the north," she said vaguely. She looked back at the Italian immortal. "There's a farmer's market east of here. They were setting up for it when I was going through. I was thinking of going back later. We don't have a lot in the fridge."

He nodded. "I was going to go to the grocery store today," he told her, tying his shoes.

"Want us to get the vegetables?"

He hesitated. "I want him relaxing," he said, pointing to Billy.

"Farmer's markets aren't that strenuous," she pointed out, herding him towards the door. "He's going to be fine. See you in a while." She shut the door in his face before he could object.

~MB~

Scatty waited until she heard the car back out of the garage and into the street before she wandered back into the living room. "Are you going to stay like that all day?" she asked the other American, climbing over the couch and settling with her feet touching each other.

Billy looked at her, all wide eyes and a mouth full of chocolate. "I think so," was his muffled response. He swallowed. "Mac wants me to. And it's very comfy. I'm happy."

"Yeah, you look it," she huffed.

"Join me," he called to her. She shook her head. He shifted over and patted the cushion beside him. "There's room!" he cajoled.

"I don't know what you're keeping under that blanket," she called back. She walked around, opening the curtains in the windows.

"Think I have a hard on for my brownies?" he asked her archly. "Just sit down for a second," he begged. "I want to talk to you."

Intrigued, she came around. He pulled back the blankets, exposing the unoccupied half of the chair. She sighed, but eased her way onto the chair beside her.

"Here," he said, tossing the blanket over her as best he could and accidentally elbowing her in the face in the process. "Sorry. But aren't you comfy?" In his lap, the bowl of ice cream teetered dangerously and she snatched it up before it went over the side.

"It is snug," she allowed, scooping up half the brownie with her spoon. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked without swallowing.

Billy stole the spoon back. "Mac," he said thickly. "And you might not want to share food with me, cause I think I might actually be getting a cold. Just don't tell Mac, I told him I never get sick."

"I have better immunity than you and skinny bones. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, last night, Machiavelli woke me up. He was…" Billy coughed delicately. "Never mind. He fell asleep afterwards again, but I was thinking about…" Again he stopped. The conversation didn't seem to be going as smoothly as he'd hoped; he made a face. He grumbled, glancing at the wall and lights flickering from leaves outside their apartment. "I think about Mac a lot," he admitted at last. "I was thinking about that girl that he brought home last night. I don't know, makes me feel funny."

Even though Scatty knew the basis of the conversation, she felt a nervous explosion in her stomach. At this point, she was equally attached to both men, and knowing that they were fundamentally wanting different things was beginning to make her feel a little queasy. "Upset about that first night?" she asked, nonchalantly.

Billy hesitated. "No…" He squirmed, fitting into her side. "…A little."

"Oh, yeah?" She was surprised. Really, she hadn't expected him to confide in her about this particular topic. "Why? Niccolo's an adult."

He shifted. "I know. I don't really know why." He looked away from her. "You guys made this room look nice."

"That was all Niccolo's doing." She zeroed in on what Billy was avoiding. "You don't want our Italian friend having sex," she accused him.

"I have no control over his sex life," Billy said, seeming to firmly regret starting this conversation. She waited. "I just never thought that he would have sex with someone else…"

She arched an eyebrow. "His body's age has been literally cut in half and he's a gorgeous Italian. What'd you think he was going to do, join a monastery?" The Kid ducked his head. They continued to bicker back and forth, Billy avoiding this issues and Scatty trying to bring them to the forefront.

Finally, Billy caved under her needling. "Fine! I don't want him having sex. I don't know why! I just don't."

Scatty laid back, feeling victorious. "Well, as long as we have our current sleeping arrangements, it's going to be hard for either of you to bring back a person."

"I don't want to have sex either," he said, blushing furiously. She looked at him in surprise, a question on her lips. "I mean, I enjoy sex," he explained hastily. "I just… don't… look, you can have a lot of meaningless sex and it makes you feel bad after a while. Even if you feel good. I could change my mind sometime, but for now…"

"Well, I'll stick around for a while and we'll cock block Niccolo- who would have thought we'd be doing this- and maybe you'll figure out why you feel the way you do," she said at last, hoping that the outlaw would be able to connect the dots himself. Machiavelli should have a lot more hope than he does, she reflected.

He rested his head on her shoulder. The intimacy felt strange to her; she still wasn't used to how physical both Billy and Niccolo were. For many years now, she'd been closest with Nicholas, but neither him nor her were exactly the embracing type.

"I wish I hadn't seen Machiavelli with that girl," Billy confessed. He's still thinking about it. His neck was still red where the flush hadn't faded. He glanced over at the Shadow.

Scatty didn't really know what to tell him. "I didn't really see what was going on. Was he in the middle of-?" She made an obscene gesture with her hands, feeling curious despite herself. Machiavelli was her friend, yes, but he was her gorgeous, complicated Italian friend, it wasn't like it was with Joan where she preferred to know less.

"No, but close to it. I- I saw an eyeful."

"But you've probably seen him nude before."

He squinted, holding out his hand and rocking it back and forth. "Not since he was little- this sounds wrong- I tried to give him more privacy when he started to get his adult body back." He made a motion with his hand. "I saw a lot of her too."

"I'm not interested in her." Scatty said dismissively. "Tell me about Machiavelli. Does he have a big dick?"

"Scatty!" He covered his head with the blanket.

She pulled it off again. "What? These are things a girl likes to know."

"He's our friend." Billy looked horrified. Scatty had to bite the inside of her cheek; apparently, she had crossed a line.

"Women don't have boundaries when it comes to friends," she lectured him. "He tells me about you," she lied through her teeth.

"No, he doesn't. He hasn't seen me or my- well this morning, but- I'm rarely naked in front of him," Billy argued. He looked worried though. "Does he?"

"That's for me to know." She poked him in the side. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Length, girth, size, color, circumcision. Does he hang to the left or the right? Balls?" she asked gleefully. Now she was just having fun making Billy squirm.

"Balls aren't optional," the Kid told her. He tried to get out of the recliner, but she leaned back all the way and he didn't have the leverage nor the strength to counter her. "You're not playing fair, I'm a cripple."

"Give me one detail and I'll leave you alone."

"He hangs to the right."

"No, he doesn't."

Billy turned on his side. "How could you possibly know that?" She laughed. "You're just playing me aren't you?"

She shook her head, wheezing. "I told you, I've seen him naked.

"Hmm, I don't like this," he complained, looking over at her. "You're just kidding me, aren't you? Say that you're kidding," he begged her.

"Why don't you call him up and ask?" she suggested gleefully. "Come on, one detail."

"If you've seen him naked, why do you need me telling you these things?" he asked shrewdly.

She shrugged. "I only got a quick glance."

"Well, so did I!" She raised an eyebrow expectantly. He sighed, defeated. "He's a shower, not a grower."

"What are you?"

"This wasn't part of our deal," he yelped. He shook his head at her, grinning at him. "No," he said sternly. She was still smiling at him and he couldn't help it; he smiled too. Quickly, he smoothed this over with a frown but at last she managed to get him to laugh and once he started, he couldn't stop for a long time. "I'm a grower," he admitted finally, still laughing a little.

"Sounds like Mac is back," he said finally, hiccupping slightly.

They could hear the crank of the garage door sliding shut, then the tell-tale sounds of the fridge opening and closing. Machiavelli's footsteps sounded on the stairs after a little while (he must have been putting the groceries away), and finally, he appeared again.

"You two look cozy," the Italian commented, entering the room through the dining room.

"Billy talked me into this." Scatty felt inclined to defend herself, aware that she was stretched out, practically on top of the man that Niccolo loved.

"I'm glad you kept him inside," he said in his mild way. Approaching them, he put the bag he'd been carrying down. "I got you some more ice cream," the Italian said shyly, addressing the outlaw specifically. "Rocky Road."

"That's one of my favorites," Billy said sleepily.

"I know."

Watching them, Scatty felt like she was intruding on something private. Machiavelli couldn't know it, but whenever he looked at Billy, there was something intensely vulnerable about him; she didn't know why the Kid didn't pick up on it. Perhaps Billy thinks that Niccolo looks at everyone like that.

"I'm going to run over to the farmer's market and get some of the vegetables. Stay here, Billy," she ordered, wanting them to have time alone together.

"Okay," he called, looking fragile.

Before she left, Scatty could see Machiavelli settling down beside Billy, leaning close so that they could talk. She heard the gentle murmur of their conversation before she shut the door.

"Have you called Black Hawk yet?" Machiavelli asked Billy curiously, not wanting to sound like he was nagging the other immortal but also desperately wanting to know how much more time they had before the Native American and the rest of Billy's brash companions stormed their quiet little home.

"I didn't, sorry Mac," Billy said, sitting up. He grabbed his phone. "I'll call now," he promised, beginning to dial."

"There's no rush, I was only wondering," Machiavelli interceded mildly, but Billy shook his head, putting the phone to his ear.

"It's late enough now, they should be up… Hey! What's wrong with you, old man?" Billy shouted into the phone, grinning wildly. Leaning on his elbows, Machiavelli couldn't help but grin himself, hearing the Kid's side of the conversation. "…Well listen, we just wanted to see when you guys might be coming," Billy said at last. "Like to make some preparations and such, especially food wise…." Whatever Black Hawk said next made Billy laugh. "Okay. Okay. Yeah, I understand. Okay, I'll let them know. Bye, guy."

"Black Hawk thinks they'll be up here by tomorrow," Billy told the Italian, hitting the red button to end the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Really? We should make arrangements," Machiavelli said, immediately getting to his feet.

Billy snagged his suit jacket before he could get far. Struggling to his feet himself, the Kid pushed his way out of the cocoon he'd been entangled in. "There's no rush, Mac," he said at last, carefully stepping out from the blankets. "We'll figure everything out in due time," he said patiently. "Why don't we start making our pie instead. We can discuss the sleeping arrangement when Scatty gets back."

"Fine," Machiavelli agreed reluctantly, trotting down the stairs after the outlaw. "Did Black Hawk say who was coming up?"

"Just him and my friend Fred will be staying here. The others are staying at some place on the other side of town."

"Well, that's more doable at least." Machiavelli hung up his jacket on the coat rack and began to roll up his sleeves. "Am I going to make a mess of myself, Billy?"

"You might… here," Billy said, getting up again. He pulled an apron out of the closet, awkwardly draping it over Machiavelli's head. "You're going to have to tie it on your own, I'm afraid," he said, patting the other immortal's shoulder. "I'll get the apples from the other room."

Tying the apron around his waist, Machiavelli followed after him. "I can't imagine you ever using an apron," he commented. "You've never seemed to care if you were dirty or not."

"That's cause I'm a dirty boy," Billy joked. Hooking his arm through the bags of apples, he pivoted gracefully. Machiavelli was glad it was dark in the room; he couldn't be sure what his expression betrayed. "Only joking, of course." Coming back, the outlaw gave his Italian friend a megawatt smile.

"Alright, tell me what to do," Machiavelli told Billy, ceding whatever amount of authority he had left over to the Kid. Billy had him peeling the apples. Occasionally, the American would try to help, but couldn't really. Machiavelli was secretly glad when the younger immortal gave up on trying at last; instead, Billy sat on the stool next to him and popped pieces of apple in his mouth whenever he thought Niccolo wasn't looking.

"I saw that," Machiavelli finally said after Billy ate his twentieth piece.

Billy gave him a wide eyed innocent look, which was somewhat ruined by the chunk of apple clenched between his front teeth. Swallowing, he maintained his innocence. "Saw what? I didn't see anything…"

The next time Billy reached for the bowl, Machiavelli smacked his hand with the spoon. The Kid yipped, sucking on his fingers in silent protest. "Don't give me that look."

"You hit my hand. I'm broken as it is, Mac."

"If you keep eating all the apples, we're not so much going to be eating an apple pie as a solitary apple turnover…"

"Would that really be so bad?" Billy asked earnestly.

"Want me to hit you with the spoon again?" The outlaw shook his head, and, turning so that Billy couldn't see the his little grin, Machiavelli smoothed his features over. He looked back at the American immortal. "I'm sorry, Billy," he said with a laugh. "I shouldn't have hit you with the spoon. You can have as much of the apple filling as you want."

"I just want another spoonful. Have you tried it? Take a bite," Billy offered. He put his spoon in front of Machiavelli's face, his eyes crinkling with pure joy. "You're my favorite guy in the whole world, Mac."