AN: Phew! Made it! I recently began teaching an autistic 6 year old boy English and as you might imagine, it occupies a lot of my time. I'll try to keep the updates on track though. Hope everyone's well!


"Billy's clingy, huh?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

Scatty tapped Machiavelli on the forehead. "He likes to cuddle in his sleep."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." He stretched, moving his legs slowly. Having just woken up, he felt a bit scatterbrained. "Do you need to get out? I can get up."

"Nah, I'm okay for now. I'm glad you're awake though… I was beginning to get bored." She rolled onto her back carefully. Raising her eyebrows she gave him a little look. "No wonder you always volunteer to sleep with him," she whispered. "You get to cuddle and he doesn't even know."

Machiavelli raised his head off his pillow to make sure Billy was really asleep. With one arm wrapped around Scathach's waist, the outlaw lay, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. He chuckled. "I greatly enjoy it. After Fred leaves, and Black Hawk goes, you should stay. Then we'd have to share a bed." He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

She grinned.

"Nora made a bit of a fuss when she first came over here about us sharing a bed and I think it got to Billy," he told her quietly. "That's when we set up this room- it had a ton of junk in it before- but I could have gone on sharing a bed with him upstairs for all of time…"

The Kid made a willowy sighing noise and stretched slightly. They thought he was waking up- both of them turned to watch the American- but he just shifted, adjusted himself in his sleep (Scatty gave an undignified snort and Machiavelli prodded her to quiet her), then rolled around onto his other side. "Guess you're free now," Machiavelli muttered to her.

"Ugh, I can see half of his ass," she complained, going to pull up his flannel pants. Machiavelli lightly slapped her hand away, stopping her. Turning around, she looked at him accusingly.

"I never claimed to be a good person," he demurred.

"You're an awful person," she shot back, but quietly and she was still grinning. "Objectifying Billy like that, honestly."

"I'm not objectifying him, I'm simply admiring the circumstances," he retorted, laughing when she began punching him in the arm. "Enjoying fate? Oops…" Their horseplay had nearly knocked over the lamp on his side table. At the last moment, Machiavelli caught it and pushed it back.

Billy woke up with a yipping sound. Sitting up, he blinked at them. Shaking his head (rather like a dog, Machiavelli thought privately), he glanced over at them. "Getting it on with me in the bed? That seems impolite."

Scatty looked up from where she was bending over the Italian, clutching the lapels of his sleep shirt. "Please, he wishes. Pull up your pants, Billy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can't go gallivanting all over the place half undressed, kid, you're giving Niccolo a hard on."

"Are you sure it's not the half-naked woman practically on top of him?" he shot back at her.

Niccolo snapped his fingers together. "I'm completely flaccid right now," Machiavelli insisted quietly. They both ignored him.

Scatty waggled a finger at Billy, letting go of the Italian. He raised a finger in protest, but they ignored that too. "You know I could put up with the cuddling from you, but then you started adjusting yourself at one point."

"I can't help that," Billy protested, laughing a little. "Do you want me to be uncomfortable?"

"I would have thought you could pull it together for one night, at least while you have a lady in your bed."

Billy beamed at her. "You're just lucky that Long Schlong over there doesn't find more interest in you."

Machiavelli sat up. This was getting out of hand. "Billy, that's the worst name you've given me so far."

"Actually, it's kind of flattering, isn't it?"

"Billy, why don't we fix your arm up? I think it must be nearly healed," Machiavelli suggested, changing the subject.

"Look at you blush," Scatty said to him, moving over so he could kneel beside the Kid. "I'm going to take a shower and make breakfast."

"We'll be down soon," Machiavelli mumbled, rolling up the sleeve of Billy's shirt so that he could get to the aircast. "Does this hurt? Let me look at your arm again," Niccolo ordered. Billy'd been back for more than a full week now, but they hadn't looked at his arm recently to see if it was making progress or not. He worked steadily, listening to the rain lashing against the windowpanes outside.

"Let me get this cast off," Billy mumbled. He groaned in frustration, finding it difficult to undo the tight straps on his arm. His fingers scraped fruitlessly at the bindings, seeming a little too stiff and unskilled.

"Let me do that," Machiavelli chastised patiently. He undid the straps one by one, before carefully pulling the cast off Billy's arm and over his hand. "You really are bad with your left hand."

"Well I don't think it's working just right today, but I feel a little… sluggish today. But no, I'm no great shakes at doing stuff with my left hand. You know what it's like to spend more than a century with people thinking you're left-handed when you really can't even scratch out your name with that hand? Hmm…"

"What's the matter?"

"It's still not completely healed," Billy complained, holding up his arm.

Machiavelli ran his fingers over the scars, assessing the damage still to heal. While it was vastly improved over what it had been, his arm hadn't improved at quite the rate that the outlaw desired. "It looks almost completely healed, William. Look on the bright side."

"I guess so. That's the first time you've said that to me, that I didn't suspect you were lying, Mac." Billy laughed. "These bottom two bones are finally mended, I believe." He turned the arm. "And the burn's mostly gone, too."

"We're just waiting on these two gashes to heal up," Machiavelli murmured in agreement. "But I think we can keep the cast off during the day today, at least. Maybe put it back on before you go to bed tonight so you don't crush it if you roll over…"

"That'd be nice," Billy said enthusiastically. "It'd be nice to be able to zipper my own pants for once. And shave."

"You don't like the way I did it?" Machiavelli teased softly. He worked his finger's over Billy's arm, checking the mobility of his limb. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," the Kid said and Machiavelli stopped what he was doing immediately. "No, really, it hardly hurt at all. And I need to stretch the muscles." He flexed his fingers. "No," he continued vaguely. "I can even put weight on it again, just a little. See?" He leaned on it. Machiavelli searched his face for traces of pain the younger man might be hiding, but Billy smiled at him. He fixed the collar on the Italian's shirt; Machiavelli hadn't noticed that it was sticking up.

"Well, I bet you'll be glad to not have to dress me anymore." He laughed.

Machiavelli smiled, but in his mind, he had very different thoughts. "I didn't mind taking care of you this week. Makes up a little for what you did over the summer."

"Well, that was fun, Mac," Billy argued, wiping his gashes with rubbing alcohol. "This… not so much."

Machiavelli began to look around for the salve they put on Billy's arm to clear up the cuts. "You haven't been able to go anywhere really, but I've liked being with you this week." Billy sneezed. "Salute," he said idly. "Here, when we find the salve, we can put it on your cuts… and leave the rest of your arm open to get a little air… and we'd be done. How does that sound? Comfortable?"

"Much better," Billy said happily, bending his arm at the elbow. "I can move for once." He sneezed again. "But I wish my cold would clear up now," he said gloomily. "Am I going to be sick or broken for the rest of all time?"

"You'll get better, you're just having a couple of bad days…" Machiavelli said idly. "I don't like you being sick, caro, but I still feel like I have a debt to settle with you. I want to take care of you."

"There's no debt between us," the outlaw protested. "You wouldn't have been stuck in a kid's body all summer if you hadn't saved me in the first place. So the way I see it, you're tipping the balance again."

"Found it!" Machiavelli said at last, holding up the little tin. "Your arm's going to be all healed in a day or so, I know it. Has it been hurting you?"

"Nah, it's much better these days." Billy looked over his shoulder at the closed door. "Hey, Mac? Did Scatty see anything?" he whispered.

"She saw your ass hanging out."

"I can live with that," he decided. "Anything else?"

"No, I mean, we both saw you grab at your dick just before you woke up, but nothing else."

"I can't help it. Don't you get wood?"

"You know that I do," Machiavelli muttered, not looking Billy in the face now.

The Kid hmmed. Grabbing at the noticeable bulge in his pants, he ran his hands back and forth in a couple quick jerks. "I have to pee," he complained. "I've got to get rid of this."

"Want me to leave you alone?"

"No- ehm- no, I'm going to sneak down to the bathroom on the first floor. Unless you don't mind me getting rid of it here? I'm close, I can tell."

Machiavelli finished dabbing at his wound. There were only faint scars now on his arm. "I have to get dressed. If you don't look at me getting dressed, I won't look at you."

"Deal," Billy agreed. He climbed back under the covers. "I'll wash our sheets today," he added as the Italian got up.

"That would probably be prudent." Machiavelli dug into the closet, trying not to listen to the breathy noises Billy was releasing. Unbuttoning his shirt, he dropped it on the ground behind him, hoping that Billy was keeping his end of the promise. He pushed down his pant bottoms and stepped out of them. "You're still sick. We should take it easy today," he called behind him. Hesitantly, he pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into one of Billy's henleys.

"I think- ugh- I think that's a good idea."

Hearing Billy give a muffled moan, Machiavelli cautiously turned on his heel. "You done? That didn't seem to take long…"

"What do you want from me, I've been sick," Billy defended himself weakly. Folding his arms behind his head, he gazed up at the Italian immortal. "Woo…"

"Billy, you still look tired." Machiavelli observed the American immortal. No, the Kid didn't look good at all.

"Think I might go back to sleep… still have to pee though… damn." Billy's eyes were closing.

Machiavelli reached out a hand, feeling a thrill at touching the other man after such an intimate moment. "Come on, Billy. You don't want to piss all over the bed. You'll thank me later for this."

"But Mac, I'm so comfy… okay, fine." Billy struggled to his feet. Machiavelli did his level best not to notice the way Billy moved, how he brushed his hands off on his pants. He sat down on the bed on his side, pulling his socks on.

Billy came back before he had even gotten up the motivation to get off the bed. "Scatty's still in the shower," he explained. "I peed out of the window facing the back."

"Billy that's disgusting!"

The Kid laughed. "I was just joking. Really, I was," he added hastily because Machiavelli was still giving him a hard, searching look. "She let me come in and pee. I told her we're sleeping for another hour. It's early yet."

"William, I'm already dressed," Machiavelli reminded him, spreading his arms wide.

"Ngh, come back to bed with me. Just take the pants off- everything else would be fine to sleep in." Burrowing back under the covers, Billy patted Machiavelli's side of the bed.

"Alright, just a little while. Look away," he ordered him, undoing his jeans.

~MB~

"Is it still raining?" Billy 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 under the covers 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…"

"Did you ever get back to sleep?" Billy asked, stretching out his whole body. He glanced over at his companion.

"Mm, no, but I was enjoying my rest very much. Scatty came in about a half an hour ago. Her and Black Hawk were going over to Billie's apartment for the day or so. Help with something… I don't know what. Fred's still sleeping though, last I knew. They had quite the late night last night."

"Hmm…" Billy was quiet, his silence having a thoughtful aura to it. "Hey, Mac, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he agreed, dropping down into the chair in the corner of the room. He began to get dressed for the second time that day.

Billy fell back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was hard to hear what he asked because he mumbled it, but leaning forward, Machiavelli caught the words nonetheless. "…think I'll ever have someone love me?"

"Billy, you already have lots of people who love you," Machiavelli said quietly, meeting his eyes when he looked over. He got up, tugging the blanket off of his friend.

"Do you?"

"Of course." Machiavelli ran a hand through Billy's hair. "You saved me… Billy, you're burning up."

"I've got a fever?" Billy asked dizzily.

"Yeah," Machiavelli agreed, leaning over him. He looked at the American immortal. Billy was flushed, but not really sweating. "No wonder you don't want to do anything today. Come on, sit up. I think if we put you in the shower you should be okay." He helped pull the American immortal to his feet.

The Kid clung to him. "Feel like I'm going to fall… shower might not be the best idea…"

"I'll run a bath then, we'll go upstairs."

Pulling him up the stairs, Machiavelli knocked on the bedroom door at the top of the stairs. He heard Fred yell 'come in' and entered. The Native American immortal was sitting on the bed, reading, when they came in. He got up. "What's wrong with Billy?"

"He's pretty hot, isn't he?" Machiavelli told him. Invading Billy's personal space- the American swatted at Fred a little, but Fred ignored it- the Native American pressed a palm to Billy's forehead. "I'm going to run a bath, try to get it down a little."

"That's for the best," Fred agreed. He ran a hand down the side of Billy's face. "Hey, handsome, I thought you didn't get sick?"

"Don't," Billy said stubbornly. "Except for that time when we were holed up in the McSween's house, do you remember that? That was awful, with them shooting at us and half of us sick…" He pulled his shirt over his head.

"You took the lead there, even though you were sicker than any of the rest of us," Fred remembered. "You kept us safe." He gave Billy a gentle push towards the bathroom. "I'm sure Niccolo's got the tub ready."

"Hi. Think you're okay getting in the tub on your own?"

"Oh, sure, Mac. I'm not feeling as bad as you guys seem to think," Billy agreed, already fastening with his belt. "I'm going to leave my skivvies on though, just in case you need to help get me out of the tub when all is said and done."

"I'll be out here with Fred, then," Machiavelli said. He was distracted by the scars on Billy's torso. "I thought those would go away," he said, unconsciously touching the faint silver outlines of the Kid's stomach wound.

"Nah, gives me something to talk about at parties."

"You've never talked about them before," the taller immortal pointed out, swatting at Billy's backside as he edged out of the room.

"Haven't gotten to that point yet, is all!" Billy shouted around the door.

Both the older men waited for the sound of Billy falling, but after a minute, they relaxed. "Care for some company?" Machiavelli asked Fred.

"Sure." Fred gestured to the end of the bed, so the Italian sat down. Inside the bathroom, they could hear Billy singing, the words reverberating off the tile walls. "Do you ever play rummy? We always used to play a lot of card games; they were cheap and portable…"

"He taught me rummy this summer."

"Black Hawk was telling me about what happened this summer. That must have been a surreal experience."

"It still is," Machiavelli mumbled, taking four cards off the bridge and playing them down. Fred laughed a little, calling rummy on a card Machiavelli had discarded. "Billy! Your singing sounds just awful! Why don't you give it a rest before you start the twilight bark?"

"I'm not going to start the twilight bark, it's barely the afternoon!" Billy shouted back.

Fred smiled so that his whole face crinkled up with merriment. "He was always a good man. I know you can see that."

"He took care of me the whole summer like I was his family. I've never met anyone like Billy. He's…" Machiavelli looked up. He realized he'd been carrying on. "He's a wonderful man."

Fred nodded. He played out all of his cards, but it turned out Machiavelli had a slight point advantage. "He is, indeed. Sounds like a dying cat right now, but that will work its way out with his cold."

"I hope he gets well soon," Machiavelli said, glancing at the bathroom door. Billy had kept on singing despite their protests. A coughing fit had the Italian a little worried, but he waited, and soon it cleared up again. Glancing at the man he was playing cards with, he felt he should explain himself. "I get worried when… I just don't want him to suffer at all."

Fred nodded. Dealing them each their hand, he said quietly, so quietly Billy wouldn't be able to hear in the next room. "You love him." It wasn't a question.

Machiavelli dropped his hand. He hadn't suspected that Fred knew, but by the look on the Native American's face… he knew. "How'd you know?"

Fred glanced up quickly. "I see the way you look at him. And how he is when you're around. You bring out the very best in him." He paused. "Don't worry, I like you. I think you'd be good for him. That's one of the reasons I'm looking for a new place to settle."

"Why?"

"Well, you can't do much about anything with all these people in the house… Damn…" He'd lost again- Machiavelli had gone for a quick victory, cutting Fred off before he could gather any points. He chuckled, shuffling the deck. "Scatty didn't tell me, you know," he added conversationally.

"I didn't think she did," Niccolo said smoothly. "She keeps our secrets well."

"You're afraid that Billy wouldn't feel the same way in return?"

"Yes," Machiavelli admitted bluntly. "I don't think he would at all. And I'm afraid to lose his friendship," he added. "I lost my family many years ago… thinking back on it now I should have realized the prices you pay with immortality… since then I haven't had many friends. I prefer not to get close to mortals, you see, as it hurts too much to lose them and I've lost quite a few. But Billy, Billy could be my friend for a long time. If I play my cards right," he laughed, putting down a run.

Fred gazed at his cards steadily. "I wish I could tell you how he's feeling. But I've been away from him for so long… I can't say for certain."

"Why'd you let him believe you were dead for so long?"

"Well, Mr. Machiavelli, you bring out the best in our boy, but me, for the longest time, I was afraid that I, we, brought out the worst in him. Our friends, the other Regulators," Fred explained, seeing the questioning look on Machiavelli's face. "Spending time with him now, I realize that wasn't it at all- the circumstances in which we lived our mortal lives were not conducive to our growth as honest men. There was guns and violence all around us, and Billy, he didn't have anyone looking out for him."

Standing up, Fred glanced at his watch. "He's been in there for a good twenty minutes without making any noise. I'm going to check on him." He rapped his knuckles softly on the door before entering.

Machiavelli couldn't help it; he got up to follow the other man to the door.

Fred glanced back at him. "He's asleep," he said laughingly. "Oh, Billy." The fondness in his voice was unmistakable. "The water's still pretty warm," he observed, dipping his fingers in to check. "I'll drain a little, so he doesn't accidentally slip under. We can make lunch and come get him."

Machiavelli came a little closer. "We shouldn't leave him alone too long," he decided, "but for now he should be alright."

"Alright, we can bring some soup up. Good thing he fixed the dumbwaiter." Following Machiavelli back out of the bathroom and down the stairs, Fred related to Machiavelli some horrendous tale told to him by Black Hawk, of an out of control party and some second degree burns which had happened in the sixties.

The Chickasaw immortal had plenty of stories of his own. As they worked- most Fred, actually- he told the tactician about when he'd first met the Kid and what he'd been like when he was really young. He'd met Billy apparently when Billy was just barely fifteen. Machiavelli mentioned the story about Billy getting lost in the canyons of Texas and Fred nodded.

Machiavelli felt greatly relieved that Fred didn't disapprove of his feelings for the outlaw. He was surprised that their fellow immortals seemed to be rather progressive in their thoughts; then again, perhaps they'd seen the rise and fall of hatred and indifference long enough to see beyond meaningless prejudices.

As they headed back upstairs, he almost asked Fred how he thought Black Hawk might react when they heard a loud crash come from the floor above. All thoughts of conversation aside, they both ran up the flight they'd been on to find Billy lying flat on his back on the stairs, moaning and holding his head.