The futon was rather uncomfortable for Machiavelli. He couldn't tell if it was because the bedding itself was not comfortable, or if it was because he was so tall that his legs hung off the end of the mattress when he lay straight. Early in the morning, he got up, unable to stay another minute in it.

Standing, he found that Billy had apparently shifted around some in the night. He still lay with his feet on his pillow, but he'd straightened out some now which made it much easier for Machiavelli to climb in beside him. He changed his mind about what he'd do next; originally, he'd thought of going downstairs to sleep on the couch, but now he untangled the blankets from where they'd been wrapped haphazard around the Kid's frame. Covering Billy with the blankets, he retrieved his pillow and put it at the bottom of the bed. It felt strange to be turned around in the bed, but at least, he told himself, he could now sleep without being folded in half. He fell asleep within a half hour.

When he woke up again, sunlight was streaming into the room. Glancing to his side, he found Billy watching him.

"Hey," Billy said immediately, looking rather guilty that he'd been caught. He rubbed Machiavelli's forearm roughly. "Couldn't stay away?"

The Italian snorted. "Couldn't sleep on that damn futon of yours any longer. I'm over six feet tall." He snuffled and turned on his side. "How are you feeling today?" he asked kindly. He touched Billy's forehead, feeling for a temperature. The American immortal still seemed hot, but then he always did- Machiavelli was going to have to get the thermometer out to be sure.

"A little better," the Kid rasped. He cleared his throat experimentally and it cleared up a bit. He blinked slowly, getting used to the light in the room. Machiavelli couldn't help it- he lovingly stroked the American immortal's face. He opened his mouth, then closed it resolutely. "What's the matter?' Billy asked, blinking dolefully at him. He stretched out his legs, accidentally kicking Machiavelli in the knee. "Sorry."

"Apparently Black Hawk wants to go out tonight."

"Why's that a problem?"

Machiavelli shrugged slightly. "He wants me to come with him."

"Why you?" Billy coughed again. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. I just meant…"

"Black Hawk and I don't spend a lot of time together, no," Machiavelli agreed, knowing exactly why Billy was surprised. Given what Scatty had told him the night before, it didn't take a lot of intuition to know why the Native American immortal wanted to bring him out, but he didn't repeat these thoughts to the American. "But he asked if I'd go with him tonight and," he shrugged helplessly, "I agreed."

Billy ran a hand through his hair, processing. "Well, there's nothing wrong with that Mac. Unless you don't want to go?" He looked up at the Italian immortal. Again, Machiavelli shrugged a little.

"I was going to keep you company," Machiavelli reminded him.

"Is everyone going?"

"No, just me and Black Hawk. Not even Billie or Fred…"

"Oh." Billy yawned. "Well, you should go out with him. No, I mean it. You've been taking care of me for days. When's the last time you got to go out and have fun? Just- just come home tonight, you will, won't you?"

"Where else would I go?"

Billy shrugged himself but he looked wistful. Bending over, he dissolved into a coughing fit. Machiavelli watched him, feeling helpless. Slipping out of bed, he grabbed a bottle of water he'd been drinking from the night before and held it out to the American. Billy took it with muffled thanks.

"Well, why don't we go downstairs?" Machiavelli suggested, running a hand through his hair. He checked his watch, noting the time.

"Good morning," Scatty called, looking up as they came downstairs. They joined her at the front window, Billy sitting immediately at the window seat.

"Mornin'," he said back.

"Did I offend you last night?"

"Hm?" Machiavelli asked, looking through their latest issue of his French magazine.

"Why'd you leave me in the middle of the night? I've got a reputation to protect, you know."

"Oh, pardon, the futon is too short for me. I was rather uncomfortable."

"I thought I was just irresistible," Billy interjected, looking out at the street below.

"Yeah, that must be it," Scatty said sarcastically. "You must have been pretty uncomfortable to crawl into bed with Miss Typhoid here…" The Shadow was talking, but her audience had lost a lot of its focus on her as a twenty something girl walked by them wearing skimpy jean cutoffs and a tank top. Both Machiavelli and Billy stared after the girl as she walked down the street. The female immortal snapped her fingers in front of them. "I hate to interrupt your drooling time, but I was talking, you know."

Billy shook his head like a dog getting dry. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. Machiavelli echoed his sentiments. "I was just thinking that she must be awfully cold out there. It's November now," he said emphatically.

"Yeah, I'm sure you were worried for her welfare," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"I was," he said slyly, grinning at her.

"You know, I expect this from you," Scatty told the American immortal. "But I thought he," she jerked her head at Machiavelli, "would have a little more decorum."

Machiavelli turned a faint shade of pink, but Billy laughed. "Fair enough."

"I matured, ah, a little later in life," Machiavelli explained. He rushed to move the conversation along. "What were you saying Scathach?"

"I was saying how touched I was to be included on your continuing adventures," Scatty said somewhat acridly. She blew some of her short hair out of her eyes. "Now that I'm here though, I'm beginning to realize that I'm just here to scare off your crazy neighbor girls."

"Oh, that's not the reason at all," Billy said, squeezing her hand. He got up out of his seat and attempted to pull her up too. "You know we both love you. Now, come on, dance with me."

"Billy, I don't know-" Scathach began, but Machiavelli unceremoniously pushed her to her feet, grinning sweetly at her. He took the seat she'd vacated so that she couldn't sit down again. She sighed, but clasped hands with the American immortal and was promptly drawn closer. "What do you have planned today?"

"Nothing. But Machiavelli's got an appointment to be waxed today."

"Billy!"

"Oh, sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?" Billy grinned and spun Scatty in a wide circle.

"What are you going to get waxed?" Scatty asked with interest, looking back at Machiavelli and waggling her eyebrows. Machiavelli just shook his head and crossed his legs, refusing to answer.

"To look at the last bill, everything."

"It's just that as a Mediterranean man, I need to wax regularly," the Italian mumbled darkly. "I don't enjoy being hairy."

Billy actually pish-poshed at him. "You were hardly hairy before. He just had a bit of a happy trail. You know what I mean?" He motioned at his own naval, pointing suggestively.

"Billy!"

The outlaw finished up their dance by dipping Scatty.

Surreptitiously, Niccolo checked out Billy as the outlaw banged his way around room. Glancing at Scatty, he saw her give him a knowing look, but thankfully did not comment either to him or to Billy about it. He was going to have to be more careful, he thought ruefully to himself. 'No wonder Black Hawk's on to me.'

"And then I have to go out with Black Hawk tonight," he told her.

She sat down next to him again. "Well, you don't have to go."

"Nah, I should go, I think," he said idly.

She bumped shoulders with him. "A full body wax is not going to be a plus in your column when you're trying to prove your masculinity to Black Hawk."

"I realize that, but an appointment's an appointment. Unless you think I could get Billy to take it and I'll reschedule?" They watched the Kid sneeze so hard that he took two steps back and wobbled. Billy let out a moan, grabbing a fistful of tissues, and blotting at his face. "Yeah, that seems unlikely. You'll keep him company tonight, won't you?"

"Sure. Me and Fred."

~MB~

"You picked the dirtiest bar you could find, didn't you?" Machiavelli yelled in Black Hawk's ear, after taking one sweeping glance at the placed they'd just walked into.

"I've seen worse," the other immortal yelled back. Seizing the Italian immortal around the shoulders, he plunged in, dragging Machiavelli through a slurry of tables and chairs, around a pool table laden down with drinks, and over to a dimly lit bar where he got them both a beer. "Bottles are clean though," he said, beaming.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Machiavelli told him, but there was no malice in his voice. They turned, leaning against the counter. Machiavelli surveyed the room.

'Then again,' Machiavelli thought. 'Perhaps Black Hawk chose this particular establishment for the number of women found in it.'

"Want to make a bet?" the Native American drawled, breaking into his thoughts with a nudge.

"For what?" Machiavelli asked suspiciously.

"Hmm…" Black Hawk thought about it. "What would be valuable for you? Ah. For information." He gave the other man a lopsided grin.

"You know me well. Okay, what's your bet?"

"I bet that I can get more numbers than you can in the first hour."

Machiavelli felt like it was a poor idea to take this bet, but at the same time… he saw the look of bold bravado on the Native American's face. 'He thinks I'll turn him down.' "Deal," he said instead.

"Good man." Black Hawk clapped him on the shoulder, knocking him forward a step. He glanced at his watch. "Okay, it's 9:45 now. At 10:45, we meet back at this spot to see who wins. No cheating."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He took another sip of his drink before wandering into the crowd. Almost immediately, he thought, 'I shouldn't have accepted this bet. Oh well, might as well have fun…'

"Pardon," he said, approaching a table surrounded by women. Adopting the fakest Italian accent he could, he spoke with the same cadence that he'd heard many 'Italian' characters on the television used. Exaggerating his native accent made him smile and he almost gave up, afraid he'd start laughing at any moment. "I was supposed to meet my American friend here, but I can't a-find him. I wonder if I can buy you bella ladies a drink…"

They giggled and crowded around him. Deliberately slowing down his speech, he asked several touristy questions. He listened carefully as they kindly and adamantly told him information he knew was false. Suppressing his instinct to correct their creative interpretation of modern democracy, he smiled flirtatiously. At the end of the drink, "seeing" his friend, he tactfully suggested that he collect one of their phone numbers and immediately received five napkins which he pocketed with thanks.

He made his way through the haze, now slightly grateful that Black Hawk had picked a place where their actions would be masked by the flood of activity around them. Sitting at a little table by the dance floor, he nursed his beer and was soon approached by a woman in form-fitting leggings and a halter top.

Several numbers later, he reflected that he was actually enjoying himself. Somehow, hamming it up as an Italian tourist with a tenuous grasp of the English language had a way of freeing him from his normal reservations. He felt a little bit bad about deceiving the women- he had no intention of calling any of these women, but resolved to himself that he was also the least likely among all of the people in the bar to hurt them.

The particularly strange part, he felt, was the number of women who wanted to take a picture with him. He couldn't imagine what particular charm was working in his favor tonight- perhaps the fact that he was the only man wearing suit or the five minutes he spent, patiently teaching Italian to a giggly group of college girls, who dissolved into laughter at almost anything he said.

In fact, when 10:45 rolled around, he was still caught in a conversation with a young woman; it was, in fact, the first intelligent conversation he'd had all night and he was loathe to part with this woman. Overall, he'd found that Americans were often kind and friendly, but close minded on issues of importance; this woman was a nice reminder that some were still not only capable of profound thought, but also reveled in it.

It was Black Hawk, therefore, who came to find him. Glancing up, Machiavelli was quick to introduce him and offer a seat. Black Hawk drew a seat and rubbed at a rough spot on the table with his thumb. After a half hour more of conversation, she got up to leave.

"Okay, let's count," Black Hawk said as they watched her head out the door.

Machiavelli took a stack of napkins out of his right pocket. Cutting the other man off before he could say anything, he pulled another stack out of his pants pocket and tossed it on top of the other one with a sly grin cutting across his face. He downright beamed when he beat Black Hawk out by two numbers.

"Alright, you won fair and square. But now I have another challenge for you."

"I think this one bet was enough," Machiavelli protested.

"Nah, don't do that. The night's still young!" Black Hawk sorted through the numbers until he got to the last one that Machiavelli had been talking to. "Call her," he urged, pushing it towards him.

Machiavelli opened his mouth to object, then realized that the Native American immortal actually thought that Machiavelli had been interested in this girl and that he wasn't actually acting maliciously. 'Merda, how do I get out of this?' "I don't think so," he stuttered, blushing.

"Come on Niccolo, you're a good looking guy. Have some fun." Black Hawk swiveled in his seat. "Okay, we'll come back to that. I'll keep this for you, for safe keeping," he added, pocketing the last napkin. They dumped the rest of the numbers into a nearby trash bin. "Fine, you won't do that challenge. So I've got something better in mind…"

Machiavelli had a feeling he wasn't going to like what the Native American was going to say next and wished that he had obliged the man on his other request. He could have gotten out of that one, on his own time. But this… "You have nothing more that I could want."

"Not true," Black Hawk countered, pointing to him. "If I lose this bet, I will never force you to make a bet with me again… this year, at least."

"Oh my god, that's tempting!" Machiavelli moaned. "Damn it all."

"Okay, at least hear my bet." He bent over and whispered it in the Italian's ear.

"Oh, absolutely not."

"Come on."

"No."

"Agree to this bet and I won't have to come up with one for all of the fifty six remaining days of the year…"

"You don't scare me."

"Hmm… Hey, why don't we eat everything fried on the menu?" Black Hawk suggested, looking at the menu above the bar and hitting Machiavelli in the shoulder. "They do fried pickles- who would believe?"

"What do you win if you win the bet?"

Black Hawk paused. He almost seemed to have not considered that eventuality. "I win… I'd just be happy to see you try. So you might say that you have everything to win and nothing to lose."

Machiavelli furrowed his brow. It seemed like the Native American immortal had painted him into a corner this time. "Alright," he sighed, totally against this particular idea. "What's our time frame?"

"None. We don't leave until we accomplish this."

Machiavelli winced. "What if I were to just go home?"

"I'd haunt you for the rest of your life."

Machiavelli got out of his seat wearily. He was glad that in the time they'd been talking, most of the women he'd initially talked to were now elsewhere. 'This task is going to make me seem like a real asshole,' he thought, entering the dance floor.

Catching the eye of a pretty girl, he made small talk for several minutes. Not knowing a better way to do it, he flat out asked her. The resounding slap he received was not wholly unexpected, he reflected, apologizing and moving on.

'Black Hawk's probably laughing his ass off watching me,' he thought savagely, drying off his shirt after his next attempt failed.

Several other tries ended in varying degrees of failure. He began to realize, as the night wore on, it was less about asking and more about accomplishing. His heightened sense of morality too, was an uncomfortable barrier he was having trouble jumping over.

Finally, long after they'd passed midnight, he was able to do it. Feeling kind of gross about himself, he decided he'd spend time with one more girl, just to reach out to one person without any underlying motivations.

Recognizing one of the girls near him as someone he'd spoken to before, he danced closer to her. She smiled at him, giving a little wave. "You're back," she said. "Did you ever find your friend?"

"Si, but he's with someone right now… I thought you had moved on to somewhere else." He searched his memory for her name. "It was Jill, wasn't it?"

She lit up a little and he felt bad for deceiving her. "You remembered! Good memory."

"Well, I couldn't forget someone as pretty as you." He gestured around the room. "You like coming here?"

She leaned in, yelling in his ear, to be heard over the music. "It's kind of a dive, but the beer's cheap and I have fun. Not some place I go when I'm looking for something serious though…"

He felt a rush of relief. "Bene. Good. I wouldn't want to hurt you, but to be honest… I already have my heart set on someone else."

"Why'd you come out here then?" she asked curiously. Pulling him off the dance floor, she found a little corner near the front where there wasn't a lot of people.

He scratched his ear. "My friend wanted me to come. He doesn't… I'm not sure if he knows or not, but… I don't think he wants me to be in love with the person I am. So he wanted me to kind of get out here tonight, prove myself."

"How about the person you love? Does she know?"

He laughed. "No. No, Billy's not aware of it."

She startled in surprise. "Oh. I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "Surprises everyone. Surprised me."

"So why are you spending the night with me then?"

He colored. "My friend's been giving me a lot of stupid challenges tonight… I don't want to tell you this one."

She laughed. "No, tell me."

The blush traveled across his face and onto the corners of his ears. "He wants me to get some lady's underwear," he mumbled.

Again, she laughed. "I'm sure he didn't phrase it quite that way. Well… I'll help you."

"You'll what?"

"I'll help you." She looked around. Seeing the bathroom, she patted his arm. "Stay here I'll come back."

"You don't have to do that," he called. "I already…" But she'd been swallowed by the crowd and, she thinks she's helping me, he thought, so he when she came back he didn't say anything besides a muffled thanks.

Rubbing his hand, she gave him a small smile, looking a little embarrassed but still quite pleased with herself. "Good luck with both your friends." She joined her friends again.

Machiavelli headed for the back of the bar. Finding Black Hawk, he gestured to the contents of his pockets and jerked his head towards the door, pleading with him to let them leave. "Ready to go? I can't believe you did it," Black Hawk laughed. He pulled Machiavelli out of the bar.

"I got slapped twice," Machiavelli complained, straightening his shirt. "And one woman dumped her drink on me. I probably deserved it too."

"I can't believe you did it twice."

"Well, after the first one…" He looked sideways at the Native American. "I saw you sitting in the corner at one point; you weren't even trying."

"No," he admitted. "I just wanted to see if you could do it. Sorry about your suit. But, who would have thought you had it in you?" Black Hawk crowed, slapping him on the shoulder.

Machiavelli moved more quietly, carefully picking his way in the semi-darkness of an ill-lit road. "Who indeed?"

"You sly old dog, Billy's going to laugh himself silly when he hears about this…"

Machiavelli himself was wondering what the American immortal might feel when he heard about what they'd done that night. He hoped feverishly that the Kid was asleep when they got back to the house… he needed some time to sort out his own emotions before confronting those of Billy's.

Black Hawk continued to yammer, seeming to not notice the general silence of his companion.

"Black Hawk," Machiavelli broke in, at last. "Why'd you bring me out tonight?"

The Native American paused. Tilting his head, he was silent for half a block, thinking it over. "I mean," Machiavelli hastened to continue, "It's not that we aren't friends, but we are also not very close friends. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about something…" Like what you're thinking about when you look at me and Billy together.

"Oh, I don't know. You've been cooped up with Billy these past couple of days. I figured I'd spring you from your prison." He bumped shoulders with the Italian immortal, in a show of masculine solidarity.

"I haven't minded being with Billy," Machiavelli countered cautiously. "I missed him when he went away… I got used to him being around, I suppose."

"Yeah, that's what he was saying," Black Hawk muttered.

Machiavelli opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to ask, 'what are you afraid of?' but he felt this might be too personal for them. Still, he had the feeling deep within him that Black Hawk wasn't as oblivious as their outlaw friend, and that even if Black Hawk wasn't aware of it yet, that he didn't and wouldn't approve of a relationship between Machiavelli and Billy.

Looking up at the quarter moon above them, Machiavelli decided to work his way back around to the conversation. "Nora doesn't mind you going out and meeting all those ladies?"

Black Hawk shrugged. "We've never been committed. She doesn't want any more than she already gets from me…"

Machiavelli didn't think he could maintain an open relationship himself; he understood how it might appeal to Black Hawk and to Billie Holiday, both extremely independent people, but he… he wouldn't want that for himself. "Is Billy ever in relationships?"

Black Hawk considered it. "He tends to avoid them." Machiavelli's heart sank right through the sidewalk. They stopped at a busy intersection. "Whenever he is in a relationship, he really goes for it though. But when those break up, he tends to go on a spree… Let's go now," he added. They ran across as soon as there was a break in the traffic. Slowing back to their usual pace, they turned onto a road that the Italian recognized at last.

Machiavelli thought that was all he was going to get from the Native American immortal, but Black Hawk kept talking. "He had a few women that he really loved back before he was immortalized, but he was really young back then and I hadn't met him until years later. I thought he might leave it there, but he did seem to spark to some girl up North… that was fifty years ago. He's pretty committed to the plan not to mix with mortals though. So he came down here."

"I heard about that," Machiavelli said lightly. "Then he started dating a bunch of women, didn't he?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it dating," Black Hawk said with a wolf's smile. Niccolo felt as if his stomach turned around a couple of times. This whole conversation seemed to be a mistake. "But yeah, he slept with a whole string of women. Billy's not at all like me," he admitted in a rare moment of total honesty. "He's not really the type to do that sort of thing. "

"No, I can't see Billy continuing that," Machiavelli acknowledged. He jammed his hands into his suit pockets; it was getting pretty cold now and he wished he'd remembered his jacket now more than ever. "Still, that seems like a pretty low number for our Kid."

"Well, he slept around a little from time to time, but everybody's got needs. I don't think there was a lot of expectation on either side's part from those…unions." They turned on to their road. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I'm not sure."

Black Hawk laughed. "Well, I hope you did. At least we're home now. It's getting cold out here."