"Are you going to make sure Machiavelli doesn't get any girls tonight?" Scatty teased Billy.
His neck turned slightly pink. "Of course not. Why would I?" But he refused to look her in the eye.
"So you'd be fine if we get bumped to the living room, temporarily?"
"Mac wouldn't do that," he protested. "Besides, we're celebrating with him, he won't want to split off from our group."
"Sure," she agreed, taking pity on him. "Well, I'm going to stick with him. No offense, but I don't know what to expect from your friends. They seem kind of loud."
"Well, the good thing is that Fred's pretty quiet and he's the only besides Black Hawk who will be staying with us. I was worried that Jesse was going to want to stay too, but he's got something set up with a guy we know on the west side."
"Do you want me to roll up your sleeves?" she asked, knowing he usually would push up the sleeves of his sweater. He nodded thankfully. "You look so different when you wear button downs," she commented. "Billy, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why am I doing this? Wouldn't you be more comfortable with Niccolo?" She looked him in the eyes.
To his credit, he didn't look away this time. He shrugged with his one arm. "I'm comfortable with you," he told her.
"Billy, you're avoiding the issue."
"I just… I don't know what's going on right now," he pleaded with her. He stepped away quickly and sneezed into his arm. "Oh, sorry. Ah," he moaned, clutching his ribs. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," the Kid called, rubbing at his chest.
"I was just seeing how you guys were doing," Machiavelli explained, edging in. "What's wrong with your ribs?"
"Just a loud sneeze, it's nothing." Billy held out his arms. "How do I look?"
"Handsome as always," Machiavelli told him smoothly.
"Ah, well thanks," Billy said, ducking his head. He came around the bed, throwing an arm over Machiavelli's shoulder. "Planning on having fun tonight?"
The Italian nodded. "I'll enjoy it more with both of you here tonight," he said thoughtfully, letting Scatty exit before them. He turned off the light. "Billie's here."
"Black Hawk must have called her. I mentioned to him that he should." Billy patted his pockets. "I forgot my keys." He turned around again. "Help me look?" he asked Machiavelli.
"Of course."
"I'll be waiting downstairs," Scatty told them.
Flicking the light back on, Machiavelli opened the drawers on Billy's side, beginning to search through a myriad collection of items. He was stopped by the American immortal, who held up his key ring and gave it a little rattle. "You have your keys?"
"I had them the whole time," Billy confessed. "I just wanted to make sure you wanted to go to the club tonight-? Cause if you don't want to, I'd understand…"
Niccolo gave him a searching look, wondering inwardly what the American immortal's true intentions were. "I think we'll have fun tonight, don't you? I wish Black Hawk had found out about my drinking," he allowed, recalling the slip of tongue from the early afternoon and wincing a little, "but still, what could go wrong?" He looked over at the outlaw. "Are you sure you're feeling alright though, Billy?" he asked anxiously. "Cause you don't look… as wonderful as you usually do."
That made Billy laugh. "No, I'm okay, really." He felt like he was having trouble controlling the temperature of his body, but kept that to himself. He got distracted by the presence of all the people in his living room and wandered off in their general direction.
Machiavelli joined Scatty by the window, surprised to find her sitting on the window seat with Billie Holiday who he greeted. "What was that about?" the Shadow muttered to him, indicating that she'd already filled the jazz singer in.
"He wanted to make sure I wanted to go," he said back quietly. "I don't know why, yet."
"Okay, well we're trying a new tactic now," Scatty told him.
Machiavelli blinked. "Were we trying an old tactic before?"
She smacked him. "Listen up. We're going to make Billy jealous. That requires some work from you, and if all else fails, some work from me too. Are you on board?"
"How on Earth are we going to make Billy jealous?" Machiavelli scoffed. He yelped when she smacked him again. Rubbing his arm, he changed direction. "Okay, okay, we're making him jealous. I agree… I guess. I still want to know how you plan on doing this?"
"We've got a plan," Billie broke in, motioning to the other female immortal and back to herself.
"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but alright, you do what you feel you must," he agreed. Sitting beside them, he looked at the room with interest.
Billy was talking to a rather pugnacious looking man, actually shorter than the Kid, with sharp features, bright eyes, and a nose which looked like it had been broken at least once. "That's Jesse James," he said quietly to the Shadow, who nodded. "I'm not sure how much Billy really likes him…"
"I think Billy likes him a lot less than he puts on."
"I don't like him at all," Billie said surprising them. "That's why I'm over here with you, Black Hawk doesn't understand."
"Why don't-?" Machiavelli began to ask, but at that moment their group began to head out and he was cut off in the commotion of it all. Shrugging, he touched down to the floor again, helping both women up.
~MB~
"Are you going to drink tonight?" Black Hawk asked Machiavelli, nudging him.
Machiavelli was surprised that the burly immortal had made his way to the back of the group where he and Scatty were talking and even more so that the Native American immortal cared at all. "Just non-alcoholics is the plan."
"Nah, don't do that. I want to see you drunk," Black Hawk teased, throwing a heavy arm on Machiavelli's shoulder.
"Why?"
"I think it would be a lot of fun," was the answer given.
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I've already consumed more alcohol in the past month or so than I usually have in a year, so I think it's time to start cutting back."
"I wasn't going to drink either," Billy commented, turning around and walking backward so that he could look at them. Coming up beside him, Scatty groaned and turned him right side around again before he fell or injured himself. Wrapping his hand around the Shadow's, he continued to talk, looking over his shoulder. "I don't normally drink at all really."
"I have a glass of wine on a semi-regular basis, but I don't usually go to bars," Machiavelli murmured thoughtfully. Clapping him on the back (Machiavelli winced slightly), Black Hawk grabbed Billie Holiday's hand and dragged her back to the front. "Do you think I should drink tonight?" Niccolo asked Billy quietly.
"No," he said immediately. He didn't want Machiavelli losing his inhibitions tonight; he wanted the Italian immortal to be his normal, careful self. But he realized how sudden his answer had been. "I just think that if you don't want to drink, you shouldn't have to," he explained himself hastily.
"Well, if you're not planning on drinking, then I won't feel like such an outlier."
Billy hadn't been planning on drinking much that night, but after seeing Machiavelli snag a girl within minutes of them entering the club, he decided he might need some liquid courage at this point. He ordered a double Scotch and consumed it quickly before leaving the glass at the bar and entering the dance floor himself.
He was surprised to see Black Hawk talking with the bartender and backtracked, but by the time he made it through the throng of people which had closed in around him, Black Hawk was coming back toward him anyways. He gave a little wave and a grin, missing the guilty look the Native American had upon seeing him.
He glanced around. There was a group of 'young' kids next to him, already heavily intoxicated. As a blond, tall woman pulled up her shirt the crowd around her erupted into cheers and Billy looked away quickly. He was glad the lighting was very dark cause he didn't think it was very manly to blush in a scenario where most men would have been very much content.
He scanned the rest of the room, wandering through the crowds. A lot of women smiled at him, he'd always been lucky with women, but now he looked back at them politely, but with some detachment. He grinned wistfully at Machiavelli, who was now dancing with not one, not two, but an entire group of women. The Italian took a sip of the beer in his hand; Billy noticed that the beer in Machiavelli's hand was different from his own, even though they'd both ordered non-alcoholics. He didn't put it together though, distracted by the way his companion -friend- was moving…
Niccolò chose that moment to look up and see him. He fanned his fingers in a slight wave and separated from the girls, slipping through the crowd to get to Billy. "Not bad, Obi-Wan," Billy told him, fixing a smile on his face.
"I learned from the best," Machiavelli told him seriously. He was surprised that on his first night out having fun, the American immortal was now talking to him instead of dancing with all the pretty girls on the dance floor. Finishing his first beer, he ordered another N/A. "I'm surprised these taste okay," he said, holding it up. "The non-alcholic versions sometimes have a poor taste to them… Anyways, come back with me. I told them I had a friend who was better looking than me."
"They might be disappointed when you bring me back then," Billy said as they walked back to where the girls were waiting, but his voice was lost in the crowd. 'Why did he feel warm inside?' He couldn't help but grin at the women when they got back to where they were. "I like your hat!" he shouted over the music to one woman, decked in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
She smiled at him, dancing close to him. "I like your boots," she said back. Her voice was intentionally sultry and she ground into him. They did their best to make small talk in between songs, though she seemed interested in a lot more than that and he felt decidedly less interested.
Paige, she introduced herself as, during one of the dips in the volume. Billy was naturally charismatic, but found that following the normal cursory introductions they didn't have much to say. He ordered two more beers, abandoning his resolution entirely, in the spans of a half an hour, which made him a little bit looser. Finally, an hour after they'd entered the club, Billy was drunk enough to stop thinking too much and have a good time.
The alcohol was significantly lowering his inhibitions. At the end of the second hour, Machiavelli seemed to be having a good time, so he decided he could afford to let loose a little too. Paige had drifted over to other men, losing interest in him when it became clear that he was not after a hookup. That was okay with the Kid; he'd found her a little overbearing. These days he just wanted a couple of deep relationships, not hundreds of inconsequential ones.
Eventually he got tired of the club though. Making his way into the crowd, he was pleased to find Black Hawk and Billie, even if they were dancing in a rather vulgar fashion. "Hey," he slurred, grinning at the jazz singer. "Mac's having quite the time with the ladies."
"He must be pretty confident off the beer," Black Hawk said with a grin.
"He's not drinking alcohol," Billy corrected him. They were able to talk more normally as the song finally faded into oblivion.
"Yeah, about that…"
The observation from before, the connection he'd missed, it suddenly clicked into place at that moment. He gave the Native American immortal a warning look. "What did you do!" Billy shouted, partially because he had a feeling he about to hear something that would make him angry, and partially because a real head banger of a band got on the stage at that moment.
Black Hawk did look sheepish. "I paid the bartender to swap out the non-alcoholics for regular beers. It's okay though," he said quickly cause Billy was opening his mouth furiously. "He's under strict orders to cut Machiavelli off at four. He's not going to get super drunk off that."
"Four? Are you insane?"
"I told you it was a bad idea," Billie told Black Hawk, wandering over to a young man who'd been staring at her for a full ten minutes now. He watched her, looking somewhat jealous as Lady Day trailed her fingers over the kid's shoulders. The outlaw felt a vindictive sort of pleasure watching the jazz singer dance with someone else.
"Where's Scatty?" Billy asked Black Hawk.
"She's over with Fred," he said pointing. "Look, Billy, I do feel bad. I'll make it up to you."
Billy the Kid couldn't understand why he felt as angry as he did in that moment. He knew this was Black Hawk's idea of a prank, and it certainly hadn't been aimed at him, but Billy felt mad all the same. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," he said sourly, watching Machiavelli flirt with another girl.
"I'll make it up to him, too. Why are you so mad?"
Billy shrugged, hanging his head down as Machiavelli disappeared from sight. He didn't know himself. "I just don't like anyone messing with Mac. You don't understand him the way I do." He paced restlessly; this night wasn't working out very well in his opinion. "I'm going to find Scatty!" he yelled over the song.
He went looking for the Shadow, but it was Scatty that found him. "Billie said you're mad at Black Hawk," she said, pulling him to a table in the corner where the jazz singer was sitting with Fred Waite.
"A bit mad," he admitted. He found that he didn't want to tell Scatty what had happened just yet; the Shadow looked like she was actually having a lot of fun with the other two immortals and he was tempted to join them, but something held him back. "I'm looking for Niccolo," he said impulsively.
"I saw him over there just a minute ago," Fred told him, his keen hearing catching their conversation. He pointed toward the far corner.
Billy clapped him on the shoulder with a muffled thanks. "I'm going to go get him." Scooting through the crowd of people and ducking around some dancers, Billy caught up to Machiavelli at the bar. "Hey," he had to shout, leaning in to the Italians's ear.
Machiavelli lit up, seeing the Kid. Billy felt a little bit better, basking in the warmth of Machiavelli's gaze. Niccolo grabbed his hand, pulling him as far away from the dance floor as they could go. "Bring me home?" He gave the American a sloppy smile.
The Kid had a grin half frozen on his face. "Sure," he agreed. Running a hand through his hair, he looked around. "Come on, let's, uh, let's tell the girls we're leaving so they won't look for us." He began to edge toward Scatty. Noticing the Italian wasn't following him, he came back again. "Come on, Mac. Follow me."
"Ah. Sorry." Machiavelli laughed. He felt very lightheaded. He grabbed the outlaw's arm. "Look at the lights, Billy."
Billy gave the ceiling a cursory glance. "They're pretty, Mac." He opened his mouth and closed it again, giving the Italian a soft, lopsided grin. "Come on, Mac," he said again. "Just let me tell Scatty at least, and then I'll bring you home."
"Going to put me in bed?" Machiavelli asked him drunkenly. He let the shorter immortal lead him over to the Shadow.
"Yeah, I'll take care of you," Billy agreed. He gave Niccolo a little yank, finally getting him across the dance floor to Scatty, who'd watched them coming. "Hey!" he shouted over the music. "We're heading for home now! Could you tell the others?"
"Is he alright?" she asked, scrutinizing the tall Italian.
"He's been drinking all night, thinking that he had the non-alcoholic option and he hasn't. Completely drunk off his ass," Billy shouted in her ear. "Long story! Tell you tomorrow!"
"Alright, we'll be home in a couple hours probably!"
"Tell the others!" Then, with a wave, Billy grabbed Machiavelli and pulled him through the long narrow hallway and out into the starry evening. Above them the moon bounced in beaming reflections from window to window, illuminating the city in a surreal light which somehow didn't quite manage to creep all the way down to where they were standing.
"Are your ears ringing?" Machiavelli shouted in the darkness.
Billy laughed, feeling infinitely more free now that they'd left the club. "Niccolo, honey, we're outside now. There's no reason to shout." But he beamed- everything seemed funnier now.
"Oh." The Italian swayed a little on his feet and very abruptly, sat down where he'd been standing.
"Not quite home, yet, Mac," Billy said patiently, hefting the taller man to his feet again with some difficulty. "But you've got the idea. It's time for bed for you and me."
"Billy Bonney?"
"That's my name. Yes, Mac?" The outlaw guided him down the road, slipping his arm around the man's slender waist.
"I love you," Machiavelli said, leaning heavily on the American now for support. "I want- I want to- to give you a kiss. May I give you a kiss?"
Billy chuckled, hefting the other man up slightly as they walked. "You're a very affectionate drunk Mac," he told the older immortal. "Makes me want to get you drunk all the time…" He saw the look on Machiavelli's face and pulled a face, then grinned. They came to a stop under a streetlight. "Okay, okay. Lay one on me if it'll make you feel better." He turned his face and tapped his cheek.
Machiavelli touched his cheek, then tilted his face. Surprising the outlaw, he tenderly kissed him directly on the lips. Billy moved his hands, not sure where to put them now, and then, then the Italian broke the kiss. "I do love you," he repeated, sounding quite serious. He blinked and looked around. "Is this our house?"
Billy touched his lips, then held a finger out, then looked at the building Machiavelli was looking at. He tapped his lips dazedly. "No- no, that's Barnes and Noble, Mac- that's not our house…" He seemed extra flummoxed now. Putting his hand on his hip, he almost immediately took it off again.
"Oh. But isn't that the park?" Machiavelli asked, pointing at the Rittenhouse square.
"Yeah- yes?"
"Don't we live across from the park?"
Billy mouthed for a minute. "Yes. Yes, we do, but Mac- this is going to blow your mind- a park is square. Like, there's four sides."
Machiavelli seemed to be thinking of sitting down again and the outlaw seized him. "What does this mean, Billy?" he asked, loudly. A pigeon up above them took off on gossamer wings.
"It means we have to keep moving," the Kid said patiently. "Mac, you're not going to remember any of this by tomorrow, are you?"
"Remember what?" Machiavelli asked, obediently trotting along behind him.
"Exactly," Billy muttered. He stopped on the front steps of their apartment. One step up, he was at almost equal height to the Italian again, for the first time in weeks. "Well, the thing is," he wet his lips, "I love you too, you know…I'm just not really sure how. This has all gotten very confusing lately. Do you think…" He looked up at the stars, the darkness shrouding his face. "Do you think you'd ever date someone like me?"
Niccolo grinned. "Oh, Billy, I'd marry someone like you."
Billy gave a shy smile, the top front teeth showing. He was intrigued despite himself. "Really?" He leaned in, his lips parted- momentarily he forgot what to do as a blind panic spread over his body- then he captured Machiavelli's upper lip between his own. Their foreheads touched and Billy slipped an arm around Machiavelli's shoulder, feeling lightheaded himself now. He remembered that neither of them were particularly sober.
The Kid broke the kiss a few seconds in. "I shouldn't be taking advantage of you, Mac," he said worriedly. Feeling nervous, and horny, and a rush of other emotions, he stammered slightly as he backed away, putting a foot of space between them. He stammered. "I don't know what I'm doing. We shouldn't be doing this."
Mac looks almost disappointed. "It's okay."
"Nah. Nah, we're both, we're both guys…" Billy trailed off. His eyes were locked on Machiavelli's, he felt a pull deep within him, a feeling stirring that he'd long left behind him, but still he couldn't help but notice the way that even now Machiavelli was swaying on his feet. Not sure himself what he was feeling, or why he'd just done what he'd done, he pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around the Italian. "It's cold."
In the distance a horn blared. Another responded. That was enough to snap the outlaw out of his reverie. Billy rocked backward, putting his weight back on the balls of his feet. Supposed to be taking care of him, not taking advantage, he scolded himself internally. "Sleepy, Mac?" The Italian nodded, blinking a lot. "Okay, well, I'll put you in bed now."
Letting them into the house, he dragged the Italian immortal up the first flight of stairs. He pulled off the immortal's shoes and tie, unbuttoned his shirt so he wouldn't choke, and let him lie down. Machiavelli fell asleep within a half hour of very nonsensical talking, but Billy stayed awake in the dark, waiting for Scatty to come back and wondering what he'd just done. (I'd marry someone like you, he remembered). He touched his lips.
