"Smile."

"Oh, what are you doing?" Billy asked. He blinked heavily in the early morning light.

Scatty tossed him his phone. "Getting a picture of the two of you before all hell breaks loose."

Billy opened the picture and glanced at it. He half smiled. "Good likeness of us, huh, Mac?" He prodded the Italian, who sleepily turned over towards him, looked like he was going to look at the picture, then promptly fell asleep again. "Ah, he's sleepy." Billy rubbed his arm, sitting up himself now. "Let's go upstairs," he whispered.

"Okay."

He looked around the room. "I'll meet you up there. I want to put on a pair of pants," he rasped. She nodded.

Minutes later, Billy climbed the stair, tapped on the door of his old bedroom and peeked in. Scatty waved him in, looking up from his laptop. "I wondered where my computer went," he said, pointing to the bed to ask her if he could sit down with her.

She gestured to the spot next to her. "Want it back?"

"No," he said cheerfully. "Just didn't know where I'd put it. Thought I lost it again."

"Again? How often do you lose your computer?" Finishing what she was typing, she shut the computer down before setting it aside. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Machiavelli wouldn't approve of that," she said, leaning back against her pile of pillows.

He flopped on his side. "I didn't lose it before," he explained with a grin. "I'd just found it again last night. Are you the one watching all the porn?" He looked at her with bright curiosity.

"What kind of porn?" she asked, making him laugh. "Not me, no. Is it recent?"

"Couple of weeks ago on the internet's history."

"It was probably Niccolo then. He really had to battle to get his hormones in check, especially after he found-," she stopped short, but Billy who had been grinning, was now looking at her with keen interest. "Nothing, he didn't find anything."

"Scatty, I'm not that stupid, that I'm going to fall for that. Found what? What'd he find?"

"Really, nothing," she said hastily, but the outlaw wasn't at all convinced. "Okay, fine, but don't give him a hard time. He found some of your old magazines in the desk across the hall and- Billy, where are you going?"

"Just want to check on something," he said, doubling back. He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain, and mouthed for a minute. "I'd forgotten the magazines were there." He disappeared across the hall momentarily, coming back a few minutes later. He looked a little embarrassed and also a little distracted. "Those magazines aren't recent."

"I figured that, Billy. Sit down again. I want to talk about Niccolo for a minute before he wakes up, and before the guys get here."

"Sure," he agreed, sitting down again. "But hey, Scatty?" She nodded. "Was there anything else in with the magazines?"

"Like what?" she asked, forcing curiosity into her voice.

"Nothing, nothing," he said hastily. "I've been looking for an old book of mine… What did you want to talk about?"

"What's in the book?" she asked, wanting to sound like she didn't already know and also curious as to whether Billy would tell her the truth. "Your collection of nudes?" He blanched. "You're blushing."

Billy touched his cheek and shrugged. "I don't- You're a lady. I don't usually talk about this kind of thing with…" He made a face.

Scatty scooted over to where he was standing. "Billy Bonney, you still are half in the 19th century," she accused, sounding faintly amused.

He shrugged. "It's not wrong to want to treat the women in your life with some respect. My mother wouldn't want…" He coughed into his elbow and groaned, rubbing at his temples.

"You're getting a cold," she told him.

"I know…" He ground his palms into his eyes. "You wanted to talk about Mac?"

"Yeah," she agreed, her joking nature aside. She hesitated. "I wanted to tell you to be gentle with him. I know you are," she said before he could interrupt her. "But he loves you so much and now that he's getting older, back to his usual self, I don't want him getting hurt."

"I'd never hurt, Mac!" Billy protested. "Do you think I hurt him?"

She thought before speaking and that pause was enough to make him anxious. "No, you'd never hurt him on purpose, but I want to make sure that you figure out a way to make things balance, you know with the stuff we were talking about yesterday… You might not be able to be as physically affectionate in the next few weeks as you want to be, but you don't have to be cold either…"

He nodded. "You'll let me know if I do something wrong, won't you Scatty?"

"Course, I'll be all up in your business… Well, here, I can help you at least temporarily with your cold," she told him, pressing her palm to his forehead. She let her aura spill out, wrapping around him. Letting go, she sat back on her haunches. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, what'd you do?" He shook his head like a dog shaking off water.

"Something I learned in Scotland a long time ago… it's a temporary fix, your body will eventually have to process its cold like anyone else. But that might buy you a day." She surprised him by wrapping her arms around his torso, laying her head on his chest. He hugged her back.

"I feel a lot better now, thanks."

Scatty let go of him, leaning back and settling with her legs crossed. "Want to do something nice for Niccolo with me?"

"Always. What are we doing?"

She nodded at his sleepy figure. "Let's make breakfast for him. We can wake him up after."

Billy swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Scatty…" She sighed, but grabbed his sweatshirt off the ground. "You're a dear," he told her, doing his best to help her get the garment on. "On the bright side, I managed to put pants on myself today."

"What was that banging sound I heard last night?" she asked him, leading the way downstairs.

"I was taking a leak," he said ruefully. "I walked into that little table in the hallway and knocked it over. I really feel like my balance is off these days."

"Did you get hit in the head?"

"No, I think it's just my cold. I've been feeling a little faint, lately."

They rounded the last set of stairs. "I thought you never got colds. I remember you giving Machiavelli a hard time over the summer about it."

"I wasn't giving him a hard time," Billy laughed. "I merely pointed out that he gets sick more than you'd expect an immortal to." He sneezed, loud. "He's never going to let me live this down though, now…"

"Hmm." Scatty looked around the kitchen. "What do we have that Niccolo likes to eat for breakfast?"

"He eats very light in the morning, usually coffee, some toast and jam, and fruit. Sometimes yogurt. We can't make yogurt look fancy. Let's ditch it." Billy took the kettle out of the cupboard. "I can heat up the water. I can't really cut up the bread or fruit though."

"I'll do that. What are you going to have?"

"You'll probably have fruit too, huh? I guess I don't need bacon." He tugged the loaf of Italian bread off the top of the fridge. "When we give him the bread we're going to tell him the loaf was pre-sliced, okay?"

"Why?"

"I might have told him that I use my bread knife to cut trees," he mumbled. Setting the kettle onto the stove, he lit the gas. "This isn't going to take long to put together," he said, pulling out the carton of strawberries." He struggled fruitlessly to cut off the green tops with his left hand.

"You're not doing so well," she observed, taking over the task. "Put the bread in the toaster and push down."

"I can do that." He trotted around the island. "Want me to go start waking up Mac?" She nodded. "I'll tell him we're bringing breakfast up to our bedroom."

Climbing the stairs, he paused on the first floor, out of sight of the Shadow. He leaned dizzily on the wall of the hallway, catching his breath. He coughed slightly, closing his eyes. Giving himself a little shake, he began climbing up the next flight. "Phew," he sighed. "Getting winded."

Entering the Italian's room, he went to ruthlessly open the shades, then decided to be good instead. Settling on the edge of the bed, he tapped Machiavelli gently. "Mac. Mac, wake up," he murmured.

"Go away."

"Mac, we're bringing you food." He shook the Italian's shoulder a little. Machiavelli murmured incoherently and turned over a little. Sighing, Billy pushed him over so that he was on his back. Only then, did the tactician open his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey, but it's 10:00. Soon it'll be time for lunch."

Niccolo sniffed and rubbed roughly at his eyes. "You made breakfast?" he asked eventually. "What'd you make?"

"Well, to be honest, I just popped the toast down and put the water on to boil. Scatty's downstairs doing most of the work," Billy admitted. "It was her idea. She really must love you, Mac."

Machiavelli sat up, the blankets slipping down off his shoulders and pooling around his waist. "Think so?" he asked, his voice mild and thoughtful as he rotated the kinks out of his neck. "I thought maybe you were doing it cause you loved me," he joked, leaning his back against the headboard.

Billy gazed at him, steady eyes and a small smile. "I do love you," he said agreeably. "That's why I'm not going to lie to you. I was going to before, but not now. We cut the bread with the Christmas tree knife."

"I had a feeling you did," Machiavelli accepted without argument.

Billy sneezed. He swore a little, getting up for a tissue. "It should be ready soon."

"Are you coming down with a cold?" Machiavelli asked, watching him blot at his nose with the tissue.

Billy shook his head, threw out the tissue he'd been holding, and grabbed another one. "I've just been sneezing a little. It's nothing." He threw out the other tissue and smiled over at the Italian. "See? Healthy as can be…" His stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry," he admitted. "I should go help Scatty…"

"It's coming up now," she said, stalking into their room. She stopped to glance back into the hall. "That lift moves very slow."

"To be fair, it's almost 80 years old. Can I help you with anything Scatty?" he asked eagerly.

"You can get the food out of the dumbwaiter," she said. "Oh, wait…" He shook his head, ruefully. "Well, you can get… just get in bed. You big dummy, messing up your arm."

"I think she really likes me," Billy told the Italian.

"She prefers me," Machiavelli said, trying to get out of bed to help the Shadow.

"Mm, mm, sit," she ordered, handing him a plate. "Billy says you like your coffee with milk. But only in the morning?"

"Yes, the rest of the time, I drink it black."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "That's just how I've been. I don't know."

She sat down at last, grabbing her bowl of fruit. "Well, lucky for you, Billy's been paying attention to your breakfast order apparently. He knew exactly what you wanted."

"I do appreciate it," Machiavelli told the Kid, starting to wake up a little more with the promise of food before him. "You did a good job, too, Scatty. It was very nice of you to do this for me."

"I'm going to take a shower before this house is full of men," Scatty said at last, getting up. She threw the last scrap of her toast in their trash bin before sauntering off towards the stairwell.

"Mac, can I ask you something?" Machiavelli nodded tiredly. "Why'd Scatty kiss you the other day?"

He blinked, not remembering what Billy was asking about. Shaking his head, he remembered- the morning they'd gone hiking. "I just said something nice to her, that's all. It was just a friendly kiss," he said again.

"Oh. Are you sure you're not in love with Scatty?"

The Italian immortal choked on his coffee and coughed. "I love Scatty. I'm not in love with her," he clarified, feeling like they were on a bad talk show. "Really," he added because Billy still looked unsure.

"Is she in love with you then? Do you think you'll ever love again?"

Machiavelli lowered his cup thoughtfully. "I don't think she's in love with me, no. And sure, never in the same way as my wife, but I'd like to think I have the ability to love… like I said, I love Scatty and I love you…" Getting up, he busied himself by getting dressed. He tossed a light gray suit onto the bed and found a white button down shirt.

Billy seemed pleased with his answer. The outlaw sat at the end of the bed, drawing up his legs in front of him. "Mac? Can you check my arm again?"

"Sure. How long has it been since we last changed the wrapping on your arm? Three days?" Machiavelli wondered, carefully undoing the top bandage. He tried to move slowly, knowing that this was the spot that was really going to pull on Billy's skin, but he could tell it was still fairly painful.

"Scatty cleaned it the other day. God that stings," the Kid hissed through clenched teeth.

"Scusami tato, I'm trying not to hurt you."

"It's okay, I know that. Thank god it's over," he sighed when they'd gotten the length of surgical tape off at last.

"Indeed," Machiavelli agreed, winding up the tape into a ball and tossing it on the ground in an uncharacteristic move of laziness. "Pulling off the gauze might still hurt though, be careful. There," he said, moving gently. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, thanks, Mac. Look, it's almost all healed up, don't you think?"

"It does look much better than the other day, but then again, I thought I might throw up when I saw it the other day, so that doesn't say much…" He swabbed it with the ointment again, holding Billy's hand in his.

They both jumped when the doorbell rang, comfortable in their togetherness. Getting up, his arm still hanging unbandaged, Billy glanced through their window. "That's Black Hawk," he said, heading for the stairs.

Grabbing the gauze and bandages, Machiavelli followed behind him. The Kid threw open their front door. "Hey!"

"You kept me waiting," Black Hawk accused good naturedly, entering immediately. Halfway down the stairs, Machiavelli paused. Seeing him, the Native American grinned. "The man of the hour, from what Billy says," he greeted the tall immortal.

Coming all the way down, Machiavelli shook his hand. "What does Billy say?" he asked mildly, wondering in his head if the American immortal had broken his promise, perhaps accidentally, about what had happened the night he'd come back.

"Well, nothing specific, but you should have heard him talk while we were traipsing about the country. I tried to tell him you weren't a kid anymore…" Machiavelli caught the trace of a frown on Billy's face but he thought the other two men must have missed it; they hadn't been watching the Kid. Putting a hand on Machiavelli's shoulder, Black Hawk guided him forward. "Want you to meet someone. This is Fred Waite. Fred, meet Niccolo Machiavelli."

Machiavelli shook the Chickasaw cowboy's hand, realizing this was one of Billy's oldest friends, that the American immortal had known this man since even before Black Hawk. Fred Waite was taller than Billy, but shorter than him and Black Hawk, thin but still somehow muscular. He was in his forties, Machiavelli remembered, but he still retained a youthful look somehow. "Billy told me how you saved him," Fred said in a low, soft voice. "I must thank you; I would have been devastated to find out he was gone."

"He's a good man," Niccolo explained. "I had only just met him a few days before but…" There was something understanding in the way Fred Waite was looking at him which disarmed Machiavelli. He looked over the man's shoulder to where Billy was watching him, a small smile curving his lips. He smiled back, feeling a rush of confidence. "I knew I had to save Billy."

"Where's Scatty?" Black Hawk interrupted, tossing his suitcase towards the sofa.

"She's in the shower. Come into the living room," Billy coaxed. "Machiavelli's helping me bandage up the arm you mangled."

"I think this makes us even for the skiing incident," Black Hawk told him, wandering into the different rooms. "You've cleaned this place up a lot," he called.

"That was all Scatty and Mac," Billy called back. Fred sat with them in the living room, taking Billy's arm with gentleness the Italian immortal hadn't necessarily expected and looked it over carefully. "Looks better, don't it?" Billy asked him.

"Much."

"Here's Scatty," Machiavelli said, glad to see the female immortal again. Billy introduced her to his friend while the Italian immortal worked over his bandages. Black Hawk wandered upstairs with the intention of looking over what 'they had done to the old place' in his words. Billy waved him on.

Coming back the Native American immortal seemed to fill the entire doorway with his size. "Place looks nice, but I forgot how goddamn small it is. How are we going to fit everyone in?" Black Hawk wondered.

Billy looked around groggily. He'd gotten quiet the last few minutes, leaning into the couch. "We'll find a way," he decided cheerfully. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and tapped the side of his face. "Mm… let's see. Good thing we got the extra bed, huh, Mac?"

Machiavelli nodded idly. He rubbed his temple, unconsciously mimicking the Kid's actions. "Two beds only mean room for four adults though," he reminded Billy. "Unless we want to get really friendly," he said drily.

"Dibs on Machiavelli," Scatty said instantly, putting a hand on his arm.

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't think it will come to that."

"Right… we've got the futon too," Billy remembered, brightening. "I could sleep on that."

"Billy, we're not going to make you sleep on that old lumpy thing with your busted up arm," Black Hawk objected. "Even I'm not that mean to you."

"Aw, well it's not that…"

"No," Fred broke in. "Your arm was seriously injured, getting you out of that Shadowrealm. We're not going to do anything to jeopardize your return to health." He folded his hands, showing no sign of changing his mind. "I can sleep on the futon- I'm the one you didn't plan on coming back- and Black Hawk can take the couch."

"I can live with that," Black Hawk called from his spot on the couch.

"Well, this doesn't really make sense," Scatty objected.

"Scatty, we'd solved it!" Billy moaned, flopping pathetically back in the armchair. Next to him, Machiavelli shot forward, afraid the Kid was going to jam his arm in a new way. "Sorry, Mac, didn't mean to scare you."

"You have to be more careful, William, you're still injured, even if your arm is marginally better," the Italian scolded him. He settled back and looked at the Shadow. "What is your solution?"

"I'll take the futon," she said, pointing to herself. "Black Hawk and Fred can take the top bedroom. Nobody has to sleep on the couch."

"We can't do that to you anymore than we could to Billy," Black Hawk disagreed.

Scatty looked affronted. "I'm not injured. I hardly even sleep as it is. I'll be fine."

Machiavelli traced his fine lips with his fingertip. He raised one finger, somehow effectively quieting the entire room in the way that only he seemed to be able to command. "We could get another one of those mattress toppers to put on the futon," he suggested. "That would make it more habitable. You're comfortable sleeping in the same room as Billy and I, I assume?"

She blinked. "Of course."

"Well then, I think we should go with her plan. It seems the most efficient." She smiled at him.

"That was very complicated," Billy said sleepily.

"Billy, tato, are you alright?" Machiavelli questioned. The American seemed overly tired, especially considering it wasn't even noon yet. 'Why had he gotten up so early this morning?' he wondered. "Are you sleeping at all?"

Billy looked surprised to be the center of attention suddenly. He blinked a little. "Am I alright?" he repeated, mumbling. "Sure… I'm just a little tired, is all."

"Are you sleeping?" Black Hawk repeated the Italian's question.

"Mm… a little." Again, Billy scrubbed at his face. "It's just uncomfortable sleeping, with my arm and all," he lied. Straightening up in his seat, he tried to look more active. "We should get another one of those pads then," he said, getting out of his seat. "I'll get dressed and get my keys."

"No." It was hard to say which immortal objected the loudest. Billy's face fell.

Black Hawk lumbered to his feet. "You can't drive," he said firmly.

"Are you going to get the thing then?"

"Yes."

"I'll go with you." Machiavelli surprised them all by getting to his feet. He looked around the room uncertainly. "Unless you wish to go alone?"

"No," Black Hawk said after a pause. "I could use your help finding the right thing. You got the first one, didn't you?"

"I did," the Italian acknowledged. He grabbed up his suit coat, fixing it so that it fell straight on his torso. "I just want to get out. We've been inside for a couple of days now."

"If I stay in the passenger seat, can I come to?" Billy pleaded. "I've been stuck inside too," he said mournfully, grabbing a pair of jeans out of the laundry basket which had been left in the hall. He pulled a sweater on over the shirt he'd slept in and gave Machiavelli a smile.

"Fine," Machiavelli relented. "You do seem better than you…"

Billy winked at Scatty before he trotted out the door after the other two immortals. He followed Niccolo into the backseat of Black Hawk's Jeep, seemingly impervious to the questioning look his brash friend gave him. "Guess what? While we were hunting Quetzalcoatl, Scatty got Niccolo to go to a couple of nightclubs. They went with Billie."

"My Billie?" Billy nodded, leaning forward as Black Hawk revved the engine. "I'd like to see you at a club," Black Hawk told Machiavelli, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror. "I can't imagine you drunk," he added, laughing.

"I don't get drunk very often," Machiavelli said smoothly, wondering if Billy was going to call him on that statement. The American immortal didn't however, apparently having something else on his mind.

"If I rest all afternoon, can we go to a club tonight?"

"Why are you asking him?" Black Hawk said, laughing. "He's not your parent. Let's go to a club." He turned where Machiavelli told him to.

Billy glanced over at his Italian companion. "Mac makes much better decisions than I do," he said earnestly. "I trust him to make them for me."

"We could go to a club," Niccolo agreed, feeling that he had kept Billy cooped up for some time now.

Billy punched his fist in the air, letting out a happy whoop. "We should give Billie a call," he yelled up to the front seat, laughing. Machiavelli felt he'd made the right decision, seeing how lively the Kid looked just now. The idea of nightclubs didn't completely appeal to him, but that was okay so long as Billy was happy…