"You're still up?" Black Hawk called, sauntering into the living room.

Fred and Scathach looked up. Reaching for the remote, she paused their movie. "Got sucked into another movie. Why, what time is it?"

"It's half past two," Machiavelli groaned. Sitting carefully, he began to unlace his shoes, dropping his dress shoes to the ground, rubbing his feet. "I thought we were never going to get home…"

"Oh, you're watching Rocky," Black Hawk interrupted, plopping down in between them. "Which one though?"

"The fourth one," Fred told him, starting it again.

"Well, I'm going to go to bed," Niccolo decided.

"Not going to watch it with us?"

"I think not. Goodnight," he called, getting to his feet wearily.

"Night."

"Goodnight," Scatty said, leaning back. "Billy's probably asleep. Try not to wake him?"

"Of course," he said smoothly. Gathering his shoes, he ascended the steps slowly, his legs aching. Machiavelli tried to open the door to his bedroom as noiselessly as possible, assuming Billy was asleep by now. He was very startled therefore when the Kid sat up. "Billy? Why are you still up?" he asked, coming around the bed to sit by the American's side.

"Wanted to… see you… when you came in," Billy said slowly, sounding tired.

"You shouldn't have done that," Machiavelli whispered. He couldn't help but run a hand down the side of the Kid's face. "You need your sleep. I'm sorry, William."

"S'okay, I just wanted to see you before I went to sleep." Billy blinked. "Did you have fun? I thought you'd never get home…"

Machiavelli held up a hand, rocking it back and forth in an imitation of what Billy often did to show indecision. "Yes. And no. It's been a long night. I've got to change."

"If you don't want to go into the bathroom, I can close my eyes," Billy offered.

"You don't have to close your eyes. It's pretty dark in here right now." Machiavelli began to undo his tie. Absently, he emptied his suit pockets, realizing his mistake too late. He tried to stuff the panties back into his pocket, but Billy had been watching him; he snagged them from Machiavelli.

Holding them between two fingers, he looked at them without comprehension before addressing his companion. "Why?" he asked, handing them back to the Italian. A curious expression was on his face. Perhaps it was the dark, but Machiavelli couldn't decipher its meaning.

"A stupid dare from Black Hawk," Niccolo sighed. "He's got the crazy idea that we're in love," indicating himself and the Kid. He forced himself to laugh, to show that he thought the idea was ludicrous. "I spent the whole night doing stupid things…"

"Why does… why does he think we're in love?" Billy questioned, interrupting himself with a coughing fit halfway through his inquiry.

Machiavelli shrugged, not wanting to go into it. "Don't know…"

"You didn't have to do those things."

"Mm, I probably shouldn't have, but they were kind of goofy and actually some of them were fun- some were humiliating- I guess I just thought…"

Billy cut in, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to prove anything to Black Hawk or to anybody else. I…" He stopped. Machiavelli didn't have any inkling what he might say; he stayed silent, wondering what Billy would reveal. The American shrugged, making a noise of frustration. "Black Hawk shouldn't be asking you to do these things," he burst out at last, before succumbing to a coughing fit.

Machiavelli pulled him completely upright, letting the Kid lean against him for support. Billy's whole body shuddered; Niccolo could feel him as he drew in air, shivering with effort. "Billy," he said aghast, "have you been like this all night?"

He shook his head quickly, finally getting the spasms under control. "No. No, I was just… No. Mac." He collapsed onto the Italian's shoulder. Machiavelli ran both hands down his back, gently massaging the area behind his lungs. He rocked gently. "So what kind of things did you guys do?" Billy mumbled into his ear, calming.

Niccolo eased Billy down, grabbing his hips to pull him down a little in the bed. He yanked the comforter out from under the Kid's body, pulling it up around his shoulders. "We spent an hour seeing who could get the most phone numbers from ladies."

"Did you win?"

"Of course." Machiavelli had to grin. He ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. Exaggerating his accent, he queried, "who could resist a handsome Italian like myself?"

Billy wheezed. "Who, indeed?" He sobered quickly. "How'd you get the panties?"

Machiavelli shook his head. Getting up, he began to unbutton his shirt. "That was hour two's bet. He kind of blackmailed me into accepting the bet… But you wanted to know how I got the underwear? Well, to be honest," he took the second pair of panties out and tossed them to the American. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be." He stepped out of his pants and kicked them aside.

Billy slipped out of the covers again, crawling down to the bottom of the bed where he sat beside Machiavelli, watching him undo the garters on his socks. "Persuasive how?"

Niccolo stalled, not really wanting to tell Billy that he'd slipped into a dark corner of the bar, not wanting to say how she'd straddled his lap. Standing up straight, he shrugged. "I got the second pair without trying. I explained to her what was going on and she… gave them to me."

"You just asked for them and they gave them to you?"

"Well, sort of with the second one… but the first one… she was a little bit of work to get them… I- I don't really like talking about it, Billy."

"Sorry."

"No, it's not your fault," Machiavelli began to say. He moved his lips back and forth, thinking. Giving his head a shake, he moved around the bed and climbed in.

"You're not putting on pajamas?"

"I think the alcohol's giving me the impression I'm warmer than I am. Or maybe it's your fever, spreading heat waves through the room." Machiavelli shifted over and groaned, laying down. "I can put on some pants, if you would like?"

"Nah, it's okay." Billy looked over at the Italian immortal, then back up at the ceiling. "Mac?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

'Why not, I've already put myself pretty far out there tonight.' He opened his eyes. "You may, but I reserve the right to not answer…"

"Did you have sex tonight?"

Machiavelli was surprised at Billy's forwardness, but then again, this was Billy the Kid. "No," he said immediately. "Well… no."

"That's not a very definite answer."

"Depends on your definition of sex," Machiavelli muttered, his face heating up.

Billy rolled over and pushed himself up into a crouch. "What's your definition then?"

"Well, if you're talking about penetrative sex, then no, I did not. However, there are some sexual acts which one might construe as a form of sex and then I guess I would ask you if you thought that-"

"That's okay," the Kid said quickly. He laid back down. And got back up again. "You fingered her?" he suggested uncertainly.

"A bit…"

"How much is a bit?" the American immortal demanded, rather aggressively, Machiavelli thought to himself.

The Italian immortal thought of Black Hawk's words. 'He doesn't have relationships. He has needs. Well, so do I.' "Enough to get her to give me her panties," he said abruptly. 'You're never going to love me the way I want you to, are you?' he wanted to ask, but didn't.

"Oh." Billy might have said more, but they heard the others coming up the stairs. They both quieted, feigning sleep when Scathach came into the room. Billy rolled away from him, curling on his other side. He began to cough quietly. Niccolo reached out a hand to pat his back, but the Kid shied away from his touch.

Machiavelli felt terrible. He'd let his anger flare up- it had come so suddenly, he couldn't say from where it had come- and now he'd hurt his friend. It's not his fault if he doesn't feel the way I do. He resolved to apologize in the morning. Drifting into an uneasy slumber, he curled onto his side, one hand reaching out for the American immortal but not having the courage to try to touch him again.

Falling into an uneasy sleep, he dreamt that Billy decided to head off on his own again and he was left alone. Part of him knew that he was dreaming, but the other part of him ached with sadness. Flipping over in his sleep, he curled into a ball.

When he woke up the next morning, he found the other half of the bed empty, the blankets messed up. Coming so soon on the wings of his nightmare, Machiavelli felt panicky. Going downstairs, the Italian immortal found his youngest companion curled on the couch. He sighed in relief. "Billy, you didn't sleep down here, did you?" he asked, aghast.

"Just the last couple of hours," the Kid replied, putting down his book. He looked terrible- Machiavelli suspected he hadn't slept at all that night. "I didn't want to wake you and Scatty up, but my coughing was getting pretty bad."

"You should have woken me up," Niccolo chastised him. Hesitantly, he touched Billy's hand. The American immortal didn't recoil, as he had last night. "I dreamt you'd gone away," he admitted softly. "When I woke up, you were gone… I was so worried."

"Oh, Mac, I'm sorry," Billy apologized. Sitting up, he moved over so that the Italian immortal had room to sit down. "I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Next time, wake me up, really William." Machiavelli took Billy's hand, giving it a little squeeze. The Kid's hands were cold as ice; he raised Billy's hand to his lips, giving him a little kiss without thinking about it. "Listen, Billy, caro, I'm sorry if I was brusque last night. I was just a little frustrated with the way the night turned out…"

"S'okay. I asked a pretty personal question…"

"I'm worried about you, William. You don't look at all well." Pulling the bottom hem of the Kid's shirt up, he splayed his hand over the American immortal's heart. It thudded beneath his fingers. When Billy breathed in, he could feel the way his lungs shuddered. "Your heart's fine, but your lungs… are you having trouble breathing?"

"Just because I'm coughing so much," Billy said weakly. "I just took some medicine… It's getting better."

"Let me give you some of my aura," Machiavelli begged.

"Nah, let me see how I do today… Maybe tomorrow." He leaned against Machiavelli, apparently all disagreements forgotten. Drawing up his legs underneath him, he looked up at the Italian immortal shyly. "Will you read to me today?"

~MB~

"Are we all in for the night?" Scatty asked.

Fred glanced around the room. "I think so. You weren't planning on going anywhere tonight?" he asked Black Hawk.

The tall man shook his head. "No, but Billie's coming over."

The Kid straightened up, grinning faintly. "I'm already here."

The whole group groaned. "Billy, we've heard that joke so many times," Machiavelli complained. "Can't you come up with better material, at least?"

The Kid looked to his left. "Well, you named a dog after me so…" He chewed on his bread roll in triumph. Machiavelli shook his head.

"I was young," he said defensively. "And Black Hawk encouraged me," he added, indicating the immortal across from him.

"Ah buh buh. First of all, Mac, you were over five hundred years old, so don't give me that young crap. And second," he countered, ticking the points off on his fingers, "don't listen to anything Black Hawk tells you. He's chock full of bad ideas."

Black Hawk laughed, but Machiavelli, remembering the funny expression on Billy's face from last night, had a feeling that behind the outlaw's mild rebuke was something else. He wondered what emotion the American immortal was fighting with last night, and how he felt today.

"Hey, were you going to call that girl you spent the whole night talking to?" Black Hawk asked casually.

Machiavelli started. So did Billy, though the American immortal didn't say anything; still, Machiavelli could tell that he was listening. Black Hawk, you're killing me. "Oh, I don't know," he answered, startled. "I hadn't really thought of it."

Billy's head swiveled back and forth between Black Hawk and him. Knowing this was still a touchy subject (though why, he couldn't imagine), Niccolo put a hand on the Kid's back. "I didn't really have any plans to, no." He felt- imagined?- that Billy relaxed a little under his hand.

"How are you feeling tonight?" he added, pushing the attention off of him and onto Billy. "Better than this morning?"

"No, not really." Billy looked glum. "I told Fred that if I wasn't better by now, he could bring me to a shaman he knows…"

"Ah, the tides have turned," Machiavelli said somewhat gleefully, despite his worry for the American immortal, remembering his own unfortunate doctor's visit earlier that year and how the outlaw had forced him to attend. "I can't say I'm sorry."

"What is this, pay back?" Billy complained. "You were actually sick. I'm going to get over this in a day or so." He tried and failed to suppress a cough.

"You're going to go," Black Hawk said impatiently. He stole some of Billy's fries, then seemed to think better of it. He tossed them back on the plate, brushing his fingers off on his napkin.

"I'll go with you," Machiavelli offered. "If you want the company, that is…"

"If you're willing to drive, I think I'll stay out there after we figure out what's up with our handsomest friend," Fred said casually.

Billy froze, mid bite. "What? You're staying out there?" The words came out muffled, food obviously still in his mouth and Machiavelli nudged him impatiently. He swallowed ungainly.

"Didn't Black Hawk tell you? We finalized plans for me to move out to the reservation the other day. I'm helping them write their histories down for posterity." He smiled at the outlaw, but Billy still seemed to be processing. His smile faded just slightly. "Bill, it's not forever. You know I'm never happy in the city."

"Yes, but…" Billy sounded like he was close to crying and Machiavelli looked over sharply, surprised at the emotionality of his happy-go-luck friend. "We just barely got to see each other after all this time…"

Fred caught Machiavelli's eye momentarily. The Italian remembered the conversation they'd had days earlier and bent over his plate. He knew that Fred had hastened his departure to give him more wiggle room with Billy, but did he want it? Or should he just give up? "We spent a month together," the Chickasaw immortal pointed out gently.

The doorbell rang. "That's probably Billie," Black Hawk said quickly, throwing his napkin on the table and getting up.

"I've missed you," Billy said mournfully, staring across the table at Fred. "I thought you were dead…"

Fred laughed slightly. "Oh, Billy, I missed you too, all those years. There's no one like you. But it's not the worst thing in the world, me going away for a bit. It's not like you're losing Niccolo… I know he's your favorite…" He winked at the outlaw.

Billy looked over at the Italian. He opened his mouth.

"Gang's all here. Jeez," Billie said loudly, leading the way into the room. She plopped down on the Kid's right. Turning to him, she held his chin. "Black Hawk informs me that you're currently dying?"

He nodded. "He informed you correctly. I might already be dead, actually… Did you know that Fred was leaving us?" he added aggressively.

"I did, I did."

"Well, we should do something tonight," he added sulkily. "To celebrate that he's still with us."

"Before he passes on, you mean?"

"It has to be something relatively low key," Machiavelli cut in. Scatty nodded next to him. "Billy's not well at all."

"There goes my plans for naked mud wrestling," she drawled.

"Our plans to jump into the Schuylkill," he countered, his eyes gleaming as amusement crowded out sadness.

"Extreme ironing."

"What?" Billy laughed, the spell broken.

"It's a daring new sport."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not." She grabbed the last bit of Black Hawk's burger. "You can also roll down hills in a gigantic clear plastic ball called a… Zorb? I recommend an empty stomach."

"Well, we're not doing any of those things," Machiavelli interrupted, because Billy was looking far too intrigued for someone who couldn't even breathe when he was sitting down. "Fred got some of the games down from the study upstairs. Why don't we do that?"

"Lame," Billie told him, but the male Billy agreed readily, suggesting that he was perhaps a little bit more aware of his limits than the previous conversation had alluded to.

Clearing the dinner table, they let Fred choose the first game. Black Hawk heavily weighed in and after some conferencing between the two men, they decided to play Sorry, despite the fact that they had more players than was manageable.

"How malicious could this game get?" Machiavelli asked, moving his green pieces to the home place that Billy pointed out.

"So naïve," Scatty said, patting his hand. "Okay, you can't leave your start except if you get a 1 or a 2 or a sorry card, but the rest of the rules are pretty self-explanatory. You bump someone back to their home space if you land on a space with them."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem since I'm never getting out of my home," he said drily, turning over another twelve. "Oh shit," he added, watching Scatty split a seven to bump off both Fred and Billie.

Scatty got knocked out on his next turn when he drew a Sorry card. "I do like this game," he said, moving more of his pieces out on to the game.

"I thought it'd be a good one for someone as bloodthirsty as you," Fred offered up, a faint smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

"You could do… Wow, you really picked up on this fast," Black Hawk said, leaning back.

"This is a vicious game," Fred commented, getting sent back to his home for the umpteenth time. "You're all meaner than I am."

Machiavelli rolled his shoulders impatiently. "Meaner or just better?"

"Is that your phone ringing?" Billy asked him.

"I can't imagine it is… oh," he said, looking at it, "It is ringing. Hello?"

"Hi, this is Jill." She sounded nervous. "The girl from the bar last night? Bet you weren't expecting to hear from me."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I can't say that I was. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good… Hey listen, this is going to sound stupid, but I wanted to know if I could ask you a favor? It's nothing huge, well, at least not life threatening…" She babbled on. It reminded him of the Kid in an endearing sort of way. Nonetheless, he cut her off.

"I owe you for last night. What can I do?" It was his turn to play. Flipping over a card, he saw that he had nowhere to go and leaned back again, listening.

"Well…"

"It can't be any worse than what I asked you last night," he reminded her gently.

She laughed. "Okay, yeah no. That was pretty terrible," she admitted warmly. "But kind of fun for me. My friends think I'm a bit sluttier now though, but they always thought I was a prude, so it works in my favor. Anyways… I need a date for something and I know you're not interested in me, but I thought that might actually be a good thing. Cause it would get people off my back about finding someone, at least for a little while, and I wouldn't… Is this stupid?"

"No. No, I do owe you. Um…" Looking up he saw the whole group watching him; he got up and gave them a sardonic little wave, walking into the living room. "What kind of thing is this?"

She laughed nervously. "My parents are coming to visit for the first time in a couple of years and they've got it in their heads that I need to find a man, that I'm not getting any younger, or something like that… Listen, if you'd do it for me, we could just pretend that we just started dating, you wouldn't have to lie or anything, beyond the initial."

"I can do it," he said before he thought it through. "When is this?"

She exhaled. "This Saturday. Thank you! I'll buy you dinner!"

"It's nothing really," he said, already wondering what was wrong with him.

"And Niccolo?" He hummed to show he was listening. "What's your last name?"

'Damn, my last name.' He didn't want to say Machiavelli; he had a feeling it was a little too well known. Even if people didn't believe that he was the same man, it would certainly raise red flags. "Bonney," he said quickly. "Niccolo… Bonney. Text me the details? Okay. Uh huh." He hung up.

Turning around, he got the shock of his life. "Billy, when did you get there!"

"Just did." Billy was leaning on the doorframe nervously. He tilted his head. "Who was it?"

"Girl from last night. Doing her a little favor," Machiavelli mumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Why'd you give her my last name?"

"Thought mine might be too recognizable. Panicked. Sorry…"

"Niccolo Bonney," Billy repeated thoughtfully. A small smile curved on his lips. "Doesn't quite sound right, does it?" Machiavelli felt a little ache in his stomach begin to make itself known. Billy's smile faded. "Are you going out tonight?"

"No," Machiavelli said surprised. "Saturday night. Are we still playing the same game?"

"No, we just finished. I played in your stead. We lost. But anyways, the games over; we're starting anew one. That's what I came here to tell you. We thought we'd let you pick the next game since you were busy the last one…"

He ended up picking the game of Life. Per Scatty's suggestion, they moved into the living room, crowding around the coffee table. "This is going to take forever with six of us," Black Hawk complained, but Billie elbowed him in the stomach and he grudgingly fit his tiny blue person into the car they handed him. Machiavelli had to admit that it did seem a little ludicrous to force this huge man to manipulate these tiny game pieces. The sullen look on the Native American's face as he pushed his orange car around the board made him laugh involuntarily.

"Oh, you know what we should play?" Black Hawk said excitedly, the minute the last player (Billie) had passed her last payday. "Cards Against Humanity," he went on, without waiting, "Seeing as we didn't get to play it over the summer. This one wouldn't let us play because Machiavelli was 'too young,'" he explained to the jazz singer, jerking his head over to the Kid.

Billy blinked. "Hey, I just remembered. You were sick last time we played games. Guess we've come full circle."

"I guess so."

"Niccolo, pick the first black card," Scatty ordered, putting the stack in front of him.

Machiavelli looked at the group curiously before pulling a card off the top of the deck. "How bad could this be?" His face fell, reading the card. He cleared his throat, in his haste, reading the card in his soft Italian accent. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to…" He jumped back a little when four cards immediately were slapped down in front of him. Waiting for Fred, he flipped over the cards in front of him. "Asians who aren't good at math."

"You have to read the whole thing," Scatty ordered, lying down on her stomach.

He sighed. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to Asians who aren't good at math." There was an uproar of laughter. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to…" Even he laughed. "Historical revisionism. This one."

"You should read all of them before choosing," Black Hawk began, but Billy leaned forward and swiped the black card.

"The man has spoken." Picking up the next black card, he read, "What's fun until it gets weird?"

Putting down a white card with 'the violation of our most basic human rights' on it, Machiavelli was pleased to win the round, but he was more pleased to show up Black Hawk, who shook his head darkly.

Scatty won the next round using the single word 'tongue,' to sweep the others, but Machiavelli soon showed a talent for the game. His years of observing others seemed to be paying out in dividends, he thought bemusedly collecting his third card. And why is Billy so quiet tonight?