AN: Thank you everyone who took the time to write a review for my story! I always mean to say thank you, but I usually forget- I'm a bit scatter brained, sorry about that. :) Let me know if you are enjoying the story and what suggestions you might have for the future chapters. As always I will try to work in what I can, so long as its amenable to the general direction I have in mind. Tschuss!
"And then what happened?" Scatty asked at the end of his story.
"Nothing," Billy said, sitting back.
"Nothing?" she asked incredulously.
The Kid ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them to the side. "I don't know what last night means or why I felt the way I did, I don't know what was going through Mac's head, but I knew he wasn't in his right mind. He ended up sleeping in his clothes. I didn't want to send him the wrong signal… Promise you won't say anything to anyone?" She nodded, but he still looked troubled. "I feel like I took advantage of him, I mean he didn't even know he was drunk for Christ's sake."
"But you didn't do anything to him," she pointed out reasonably and he forced himself to nod, feeling like a horrible person. He hadn't told Scatty that he'd kissed Niccolo back, had decided that he wouldn't tell anybody about that. "Hey," she said, breaking into his thoughts. "I sent Black Hawk out this morning to get you an air cast. We won't have to bind your arm anymore and in a couple of days, you should have the full use back. When Mac changes your bandages, you can put it on then." Reaching under the table, she grabbed a bag.
"Did you guys sleep at all last night?" he asked. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned himself. "When'd he get this?"
"I sent him out this morning before any of you had woken up." She handed him a mug of coffee. "I think we should have lobbied harder for the upstairs bedroom."
"Is it the futon?" he asked her anxiously.
"No, it's the shower on our floor. If we're going to be so generous as to call it that." Reaching her left arm over to her right shoulder, she stretched. "I like Fred," she offered, catching his worried look.
He brightened. "I'm glad. He was one of my oldest friends you know… it was a surprise to find out he's been alive all these years. I don't really know how to act around him," the Kid confessed. "He's older than me now… I mean, he always was, but physically it was only six year's difference and now it's more like twenty years… It just feels weird. What do you think I should do?"
She was about to reply when they heard footfalls on the stairs. They looked up as the Italian immortal came in. Moments later, Machiavelli came down, looking positively ragged. "Hey," Billy said nervously.
"Good morning," he said quietly, holding his hands over his eyes.
"Morning," they said in unison.
"Do we have coffee?" the Italian whispered, holding his head.
Billy stood up. "I can get you some," he offered shyly.
"Ohh… That would be very kind Billy," Machiavelli moaned. He ground his forehead into the granite countertop. "Why am I drunk anyways? Wasn't I drinking non-alcoholics?"
"Yeah, about that, honey… Black Hawk played kind of a mean trick on you," Billy said, glancing at their coffee pot. "He paid the bartender to give you the alcoholic kind…"
"When I feel better," Machiavelli said weakly, "I'm going to murder that man."
"So what do you remember from last night?"
"Nothing…" Machiavelli moaned. He glanced down at his body. "Why am I wearing my pants from last night? Why didn't I change? And where is my shirt?" he asked, uncovering his eyes enough that he could see the American immortal, but still shielding them from the light.
"Well, you were pretty out of it last night, so I just pulled off your tie and got you out of your shirt so that you wouldn't choke. But I left your pants on, cause I figured…" Billy trailed off. He shrugged. Behind them, Scatty turned off the overhead lights and pulled the shades down lower, letting only enough light in that they could still see.
Machiavelli sighed in relief and dropped his hands. "That's better," he mumbled. He squinted at his companions. Why does Billy look so nervous?
"I'm going to talk to Black Hawk about his stunt last night," Billy told him.
"It's okay," Niccolo decided. He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. "I'll just be careful next time."
"You couldn't have known. I didn't know either; I would have told you if I had," the outlaw said anxiously. "I didn't think it was funny at all. You know I wouldn't have let him do it, don't you?"
"Of course, Billy, I trust you."
"So, do you remember anything of last night?" the Kid asked again.
Machiavelli squeezed his eyes shut. "Umm…" He remembered talking to Billy and a Scatty at their table… he remembered dancing with a black-haired girl… and standing outside of Barnes and Noble. An image of Billy standing on their steps in front of him rose, unbidden, from his sub-conscience. One minute, he was looking into the green of Billy's eyes, and then the American immortal had closed them and- "It's hard to say what I remember is cause… it all kind of flows together, you know?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Billy pressed on.
"Uh… dancing with some girl? She had dark hair? And then you and me, we walked back home, didn't we… I don't really remember much more than that." He watched the American's reaction, not sure why Billy was so interested. "Did something else happen? Something bad?"
"Nothing bad," Billy said absently. "It's just you were pretty drunk last night. I didn't want anybody to have taken advantage of you, when you weren't in control."
"Huh, well I felt like you were with me for most of the night, weren't you? I remember you being around…"
"I was. Especially after I found out what had been going on."
Machiavelli nodded. "So, who would have taken advantage then?" He looked around. "Was there any more coffee?"
"No, there's no more in the coffee maker, I meant to tell you that, but we were talking…"
Scatty began looking in their cupboard. "We can make some more… except we're out of coffee grounds. Nevermind," she told him apologetically. "I can run down to the corner market."
"No, that's okay," Machiavelli said. "It's not that serious."
"Here." Billy pushed his cup towards the Italian immortal. "You need it more than I do."
"Oh, I think I do," the Italian immortal groaned. "I'm still half out of it."
Across from him, Billy dropped his head into his hands. Letting out a pitiful sound, he pushed his palms into his eyes as if hoping to force them back into his head. "I think I'm finally willing to admit that I might have a cold."
"Big step," Machiavelli said sarcastically. He coughed a little himself. "I'm sorry, apparently I get a little- how do you say- bitchy when I'm hungover. And I think I'm getting what you have."
"You two should spend the day inside," Scatty suggested. She beamed benignly at Machiavelli, who stared at her hard, questioning her true intentions. "Go upstairs and get comfortable on the couch. I'll bring up some soup in a little while." She looked from one man to the other. "If you don't die on the way up. You both look awful."
"Okay," Billy agreed right away, choosing to ignore her last comment. Sliding off his stool, he slipped an arm around Machiavelli's waist. "Come on, old chap, we're heading for the upstairs. We'll be sick together..."
Coughing into the crook of his arm, Billy went ahead, shutting any shades which had been left open accidentally. Machiavelli wandered over to the couch where he laid down. They both looked up when Scatty came up. "Soup's ready already?"
"No, I do have to go to the store," she said, toeing her shoes on. "We have no coffee and nothing remotely soup-like."
"I thought we just went to the store?"
"Like a week ago now," Scatty told the outlaw. "I'm going to pick up some medicine anyways, try to head off this cold.
She headed out into what was becoming a cold October day. Going upstairs, Billy retrieved his flannel robe which he handed over to the Italian immortal. Machiavelli grabbed it gratefully, pulling it on. It was rather short on him, but the sleeves were long; at any rate, he felt warmer.
He read a book; Billy called the other two men on his cell phone.
By the time Scatty came back, they'd switched on the television. Billy was flipping through the channels using the remote. Beside him, Machiavelli had curled onto his side and was resting his head on the American's lap. They both sat up when Scatty brought up the soup at last.
"How'd I get your cold anyways?" Machiavelli groaned, burrowing deeper into his blanket. "I've been careful not to come in contact with your germs."
Billy shot a warning look at Scatty that the Italian immortal would have picked up on under normal circumstances. "Must just be from sharing a bed," he said, his sore throat masking the odd tone in his voice. "Sorry about that."
"It's okay… I was bound to get sick anyways. It's been a couple of months…" He accepted the soup bowl from Scatty, clinging to the bowl's handle like a lifeline. "You've been good to us, Scatty, are you sure you don't want to go out and have fun with Black Hawk? Wherever he is?"
"Me and him are going to go bowling tonight," she admitted. "For now, I'm happy to be with you." She wrinkled her nose as Billy began to hack next to them, but Machiavelli wrapped his arm around the outlaw, rubbing his back roughly.
"I like bowling," Machiavelli told her, surprising both American immortals so much that Billy stopped coughing. He made eye contact with the American, wondering why he was looking at him like that. "It's like bocce ball, I played it when I was young…"
"Well, Black Hawk and I have a bet between ourselves on who's going to win."
"Black Hawk is pretty good at it," the Kid cautioned vaguely. "We used to play in a league back when we lived together… that was back in the sixties though…" He made to lean his head against Machiavelli's shoulder, then remembered what had gone on the previous night, and thought better of it. He settled back, looking faintly uncomfortable.
"I'm going to win," Scathach said decisively, watching the two men. She'd hoped that what Billy had told her about would begin to clue the American immortal in on what he was feeling; she suspected that at least a small part of him reciprocated the feelings Machiavelli held toward him. For now, however, it seemed that the outlaw was unable to connect the dots. She could tell he was confused as to where everything stood in his relationship with Niccolo; watching them, she felt a small pang.
Machiavelli, for his part, seemed to have no memories of the previous night what so ever. From what Billy had told her, she wasn't really surprised- convinced that he was drinking non-alcoholics, Niccolo had drunk as much as the rest of them, but without knowing he'd be suffering the same ill effects. "I still think what Black Hawk did was lousy," she said suddenly and angrily.
Both men startled- it was lucky Machiavelli had already eaten most of his soup or he would have been wearing it. He lowered the bowl as a precaution. "Yes," Billy rasped, speaking for both of them. "When I get my voice back, I'm going to chew him out."
"I don't think that's totally necessary," Machiavelli said mildly.
"I don't want him doing it again," Billy said sharply, his voice rising to a squeak and fading entirely.
Machiavelli pushed the soup bowl onto the table in front of them, moving it into the center and away from them. "I don't think he's going to try it again. He sounded pretty abashed this morning when you were yelling at him. Either way, I'll keep on my toes for a little while…"
"When'd you yell at Black Hawk?" Scatty asked, sounding intrigued.
"I called him around noon." Billy still sounded indignant. Leaning over, he fumbled for his drink before answering. "You shouldn't have to play it safe, he's supposed to be your friend. He knows not to hurt you…"
"Well, Black Hawk and I get along alright, but we've never been close friends," Machiavelli reminded the American immortal. "We probably wouldn't be friends at all if you weren't connecting us… that's not to say I dislike Black Hawk, it's just how it is," he added hastily, seeing the expression on Billy's face.
"You two are friends," the outlaw argued, wanting it to be true.
Machiavelli might have pressed the matter, but they heard the front door opening, and all three of them stopped talking.
"How are the sickos?" Black Hawk asked casually, striding into the room a minute later. He tossed Billy his keys; the Kid caught them deftly and threw them onto the table.
"Still angry," Billy said thickly.
"Oh, come on, really? Niccolo forgives me, don't you Big Mac?"
"Please don't call me Big Mac," Machiavelli groaned, clutching his ears. "And I'm not in the mood to forgive you just yet. I just threw up for the third time today."
"Ah, well. I do want to make it up to you," Black Hawk said, sounding unusually contrite. "You let me know how I can make it up to you."
"I'll think about it," Machiavelli said darkly, walking quickly out of the room.
"Where's he going?" Black Hawk asked Billy, watching the Italian run upstairs.
"Probably throwing up again."
"Oh. I'll go check on him." Heading upstairs, Black Hawk knocked on the bathroom door before entering.
~MB~
"Are you sure you won't let one of us sleep there instead?" Billy asked for the third time since they'd settled into their room for the night. Crawling gingerly over to Machiavelli's side of the bed, he pushed his way under the tall Italian's legs so that Niccolo eventually lifted them up and rested them instead on his back. Hanging over the edge of the bed slightly, he looked at her.
"Billy," she said less patiently than the first two times she'd responded. "This mattress pad doubled the depth of the bed. I slept in it last night. I'm going to be fine."
"I just don't think it's very gentlemanly to let you sleep there," he protested. "Why don't you sleep up here with Mac? He's a good guy to bunk down with. Hardly moves at all."
"I know," she said, throwing back the covers.
Billy stopped mid prattle to look at her suspiciously. "How do you know?" He looked over at the Italian who was steadfastly avoiding his gaze. Machiavelli raised the book he was reading up so that it was covering his face, but Billy, moving quicker than Machiavelli had through he could in his current state, pushed it down so they could see each other eye to eye again. "How does she know?"
"It was only one night, Billy," Machiavelli said quickly, stretching out on his side of the bed. "I fell asleep, is all… Maybe two or three nights. Not much at all." He closed his eyes, feigning instantaneous sleep.
"Don't downplay it, boo, it was very romantic," Scatty called from her spot across the room. She cracked her neck and back, before wriggling down under the covers.
Billy loomed over the Italian immortal. Reluctantly, Machiavelli opened one eye, then the other. He gave a little startled cry, finding the outlaw crouched over him like some enormous bird of prey. "She's like our sister, Mac," the Kid said accusingly.
"You said she was like your sister," Machiavelli retorted, a cheeky grin forming on his features. "How was I to know that meant she was off limits to me?"
"Wait, I'm your sister, Billy?" Scatty sat up again so that she could see them.
Billy shrugged. "Well, yeah. I love you," he said unabashedly. Machiavelli could tell, just from what he could see of her from where he was lying, that while touched, Scatty also didn't know how to deal with the sudden surge of affection. They were both surprised when Billy broke the moment himself by slapping Machiavelli with his good arm. "Alright, what did you do to my sister? Oompf."
"Ohh… Billy, you fell on me," Niccolò groaned.
"I overbalanced."
They were laying, nose touching nose. Billy flailed a little, trying to find a way to push himself back right side up. "You shouldn't be allowed to use the word balance when you so clearly didn't," he continued to grumble. "Are you just going to stay like this forever?"
"Excuse me, I'm trying to get up. I only have one arm. You could help a little, you know," Billy huffed.
"I'm trying- you fell right on my arms."
Scatty crawled out of bed. "And you were worried about what he did to me," she joked, helping to pull Billy off of the Italian immortal. "We really didn't do anything," she comforted the Kid, pushing him back onto his side of the bed.
Billy crawled around, trying to get under the covers. "I knew that." Niccolò smacked him on the ass when it got too close to where he was laying, perhaps afraid that the American immortal was going to 'overbalance' again. Billy gave a little, rather unmanly yelp and quickly sat down on his side, pushing down under the covers. Folding his arms behind his head, he looked down at where Scatty was sitting.
She got comfortable, wedging herself between their legs. "Anyways, why would it bother you if me and Mac did anything? The two of you exclusive?" She winked at Billy. He mouthed at her, seeming beyond words. She couldn't know how she'd touched on something he'd been preoccupied with all day.
Oh, goodness Scatty, Machiavelli thought fondly. Like Billy, she just dives right in, instead of trying to be subtle. "The two of you are making me sound downright promiscuous right now," he broke in. He refused to look at the American immortal, not sure what his reaction to Scatty's teasing would be.
"I'm just a little possessive of Mac. I took care of him all summer. Now he doesn't need me." Billy yanked the covers up, only managing to cover half of himself.
"Oh, Billy, I still need you," Machiavelli murmured, fixing the blankets. He curled on his side and patted the bed between them. "Lie down, Scatty. Let's talk for a while. We don't have to sleep right away."
"Billy's pretty tired," she observed.
"I'm okay, come sit with us," he mumbled. Already his eyes were closing. "This is nice… like a sleepover…"
Grabbing her fleece blanket, she eased down between the two of them. Her weight anchored the blankets over them; Machiavelli shifted his pillow over to share with her and she looked up at the ceiling.
"Did you have fun bowling?" Billy asked sleepily.
"I did. Fred came along," she pointed out redundantly. "We played against Black Hawk and Billie. Our team won," she said, knowing he would ask. "But I'm not sure it counts as me winning over Black Hawk because Fred's surprisingly good at it. I guess we'll have to try again."
"We'll go with you when you go next," Billy murmured into her ear. He'd thrown an arm around her middle, trapping her slightly between them. He smiled. "I want to see Mac bowling."
"Careful, that was Black Hawk's logic for getting me drunk…"
"But you like bowling. I'd never make you do something you didn't want to do," Billy argued. He was quiet for a minute, a thoughtful silence. "When you go bowling, would you wear a suit?"
"Probably not," Machiavelli laughed.
"Aw, but that could be fun to see… Scatty, are you sure you won't get sick from being around us?"
"I have a higher immunity than you and Machiavelli do." She looked at him curiously. "What's it like, being sick?"
"You really don't know?" Billy scratched his head. "I feel lightheaded, my throat is sore, I can't breathe through my nose, and I feel woozy." He picked his head up, looking at Machiavelli. "Are those your symptoms, Mac?"
"I'm not quite there yet, but it's good to know I've got something to look forward to," the Italian immortal called back sarcastically.
The Kid couldn't help but giggle, and after a moment, so did Scatty. "He's awfully sassy, isn't he?" Billy whispered in Scatty's ear.
"Please," she said back. "He's the king of sass."
