"Oh, Mac," Billy groaned, the next morning. His eyes were red rimmed- he looked awful. "I'm so tired, Mac. Please don't make me go."
"It'll be good for you," Machiavelli said as gently as he could, grabbing a pair of Billy's jeans and a Henley top. Throwing them on top of the Kid, he pulled him upright by his arms.
Billy's eyes were already closing; he couldn't seem to keep them open for anything. Swaying slightly, he went to lie down again- Machiavelli caught him before he could complete the motion. Sighing, the Italian immortal tugged impatiently at the shirt Billy was wearing, encouraging him to take the initiative on his own.
"Why can't I wear this shirt?"
"Billy, it's all sweaty. You must have a fever again." Giving up, Machiavelli pulled the shirt over his head and used it to wipe off the excess moisture from the Kid's chest. He handed him the fresh shirt.
Getting up- and stumbling slightly- Billy got the jeans on himself. Following Machiavelli downstairs, he traveled with a hand wrapped around the Italian's bicep at all times. Plopping down on the couch, he made no effort to put his boots on.
Machiavelli grabbed them and dragged them in front of the outlaw. "Purposefully being difficult or are you just almost dead?"
"Almost dead."
"Okay," he sighed. Kneeling in front of Billy, he slipped them on, pulling them over his jeans. He pushed himself up off the coffee table.
"Is he ready?" Black Hawk asked, poking his head in.
"I'd say so. He might need someone to throw him in the car though…"
"I'm up," Billy said reluctantly. He wrapped an arm around Fred's shoulder, noticing him behind Black Hawk for the first time since the other Native American had entered the room. "You're so much quieter than him. Why can't you be like this?" he asked frankly, glancing at Black Hawk through his long lashes.
"I'm cooler."
Billy turned a slight tinge of green when he saw they were heading for Black Hawk's Jeep, but the bigger immortal boosted him in surprisingly gently. Throwing a blanket over him, the dark skinned immortal climbed over the rest of the seats and sat down at the driver's seat.
Machiavelli scrambled into the other side of the backseat, not sure that Black Hawk wouldn't 'accidentally' take off on him as a joke.
It seemed that the American immortal was beyond all pretenses. As soon as Machiavelli climbed in next to him, Billy slunk down, leaning heavily on the Italian's chest. Wrapping an arm around him, Niccolo could feel the warmth coming off of his companion in waves.
"Better step on it, Black Hawk," he advised.
"Sure," the Native American immortal agreed. "You should get comfortable though, Billy. It's an hour and a half trip up to the reservation."
"That long?" He coughed.
"It's the closest Indian community around here," Fred explained, throwing an arm over the back of his seat so that he could look at Billy. "There aren't any federally recognized Indian reservations in Pennsylvania or most of the surround states. The nearest reservation is three hours away."
"So where are we going?"
"It's called the Eastern Lenape Nation of Pennsylvania."
Billy frowned in confusion, or surprise, Machiavelli couldn't tell. "I thought you'd be with a Chickasaw tribe…"
"There aren't any around here," Fred said patiently. "Get some rest Kid."
Billy complied. Sighing a little, he burrowed his head into Niccolo's chest. Stroking his hair, Machiavelli was slightly surprised at the intimacy of the moment. Even for Billy, it seemed unusual, especially since the Kid shied away from displays of affection in front of Black Hawk and Fred.
"I think he's asleep," Machiavelli mused quietly as they traveled into the countryside.
Black Hawk glanced back in his rear view mirror. "We hear him coughing, up in our room, at night. He must not be sleeping much."
"So, we're bringing him to a shaman?" Machiavelli asked curiously, trying to keep any traces of incredulity out of his voice. He knew that many of the Native American tribes actually possessed auric abilities and therefore was not surprised that this was their final choice. His curiosity stemmed from the newness of the experience. He'd never seen a healing ritual in action before, though he'd read quite a bit over the years about them.
He knew too, that Billy was sad to see his oldest friend go; Fred had been his companion long before either Black Hawk or Machiavelli had met him and Niccolo knew that for him, the departure of the Chickasaw immortal was much sadder.
They woke the Kid up an hour in to get some food in him. They slipped into a corner booth of a dusty old diner, Billy trying and failing to look totally awake as their waitress came for their order.
"Why didn't Scatty come?" Billy asked, looking around their group of men.
"The vampire thing," Black Hawk said over his mug of coffee. "We didn't know how they'd take to it."
"But Scatty shouldn't have to hide just because of who she is," the Kid argued, waking up a bit more because of pure indignation. "Nobody should have to hide themselves. We're all good people. They would see that."
"I agree, caro, but she felt this was not the time to make a spectacle, not when you need the help," Niccolo said quietly, soothing him slightly, but not totally dismissing the matter from Billy's mind; that much was obvious from the way Billy quietly sat, staring out at the road in front of them.
The tactician followed his gaze out onto the pockmarked road stretching out endlessly in both directions. He was glad that Black Hawk had decided to drive the group over in his Jeep. Perhaps he had foreseen what the road conditions would be like, Machiavelli thought privately. Billy would not be happy, driving his baby over these ruts.
"How are you doing, Billy?" Black Hawk asked, interrupting Machiavelli's thoughts. Billy grimaced but put on a brave face. "Okay. Are we almost there?"
"Another half hour or so."
Billy didn't seem to have it in him to eat a lot of food, so after poking at a piece of toast for a half hour and eating some toast, he gave up. Black Hawk sighed, but paid the bill and headed out for the car. Letting Machiavelli and Billy get in first, they did the last leg of the trip with Billy looking slightly queasy the whole way. They were all relieved to get there at last.
Fred led them to a woman he introduced as Mary Driggers, the medicinal healer of this particular settlement of Delaware Indians. She was short, with thick hair pulled back into braids, and she wore jeans with moccasins. She reached out for Billy from the first, holding both of his hands as she spoke with him.
"Come with me," she signaled, leading them away from her ranch style home. "I think it would be best to treat you in the sweat lodge." They walked up the road a ways, before turning into the woods. About a hundred paces in was a strange little building. Low and wide, it almost looked like it was part of the ground. Niccolo, the tallest among them, had to basically crawl through the entrance way, and Black Hawk and Fred were similarly handicapped. Only Billy and Mary were fine, ducking through and congregating in the center of the surprisingly big room.
Inside, Machiavelli had to wait for his eyes to adjust. Light fell from openings at the top of the building, gently illuminating the otherwise soft gray angles of the room. Black Hawk set Billy down on a rug near the center of the room. Edging over, Machiavelli sat so that the Kid could rest his head in his lap.
Billy looked up at him, eyes flashing. "We've done this before," he rasped.
"That's cause you're always getting in trouble," Machiavelli chided him, sweeping the hair off his forehead. "And I always have to save you."
The medicine woman approached them, smiling warmly at Billy. "You seem quite ill, my young friend."
He grinned back. "I'm actually probably double your age, to be honest. But yeah… don't feel too good today."
"And how old are you?" she asked, preparing a fire in the immediate center of the room.
"Oh, I'm about a hundred and sixty years old," he said faintly.
She didn't bat an eye. Putting on a kettle of water, she assessed him with a practiced eye before collecting strips of what looked like bark from a jar in the corner. "Cherry bark," she added, catching Machiavelli's curious look. "Makes a tea. We're going to have you drink that first."
"And then what?" he asked nervously.
"Pimewakan," she said absently, pushing flat stones into the fire now with a set of tongs.
Billy looked over to Fred for reassurances. He leaned forward. "It's a steam treatment," he explained. "Water is poured on the hot stones, producing steam. Once the illness has been sweated out of you, you get plunged into cold water. Which closes the pores," he concluded.
"Then we'll wrap you in bear skins and let you warm up again," Mary finished, coming to kneel before him.
Billy sat up, looking back at Machiavelli with wide eyes. Taking pity on him, Niccolo pulled him back so that he was resting against the Italian immortal's chest. "We've tried everything else," he reminded him in a low voice. "You're not doing well at all." Reaching forward, he accepted the tea handed to him by Mary. He helped to tilt it towards Billy's mouth, allowing small sips.
"Okay," the outlaw agreed in a small voice.
"Good." Mary clapped her hands together. "Let's start. You'll have to strip down for this to work properly."
"I'll have to what?" Billy yelped.
Fred stood up. "Come on, Black Hawk, I want you to meet Chief Robert Redhawk."
"Good, we can form the colored hawk society," Black Hawk joked blithely. He pushed Machiavelli back down, interrupting him as he tried to stand up as well. "No, stay with Billy. He's most comfortable with you."
"You can leave your underwear on," Mary said patiently. "But the illness won't come out of you if it doesn't have a clear path."
"Okay," Billy agreed, still blushing furiously. Crawling away from both of them, he struggled to get to his feet. Instead, he collapsed in another one of his intensifying coughing fits.
"Here," the elderly female Native American offered. Approaching him, she guided him into a sitting position. She helped to pull the shirt back off of Billy, before lying him down on his back. Billy undid his belt buckle and jeans, eyes fixedly staring at a point above him as he pushed down his jeans. He shivered, reaching out a hand for Machiavelli.
"Let's talk," Mary suggested. "Bad illnesses are often caused by other theaters of our life- unfulfilled desires, fears…"
"I'm going to give you some privacy now," Machiavelli said gently, squeezing Billy's hand before letting go. The Kid nodded, watching him as he left the confines of the space.
Outside it was much cooler. Seeing Fred and Black Hawk a little ways off, he carefully picked his way over to where they were standing in front of a Algonquin style longhouse. They introduced him to the chief and to several members of the elder council. Machiavelli bowed politely to each in turn, stopping to discuss with the chief the seriousness of the preservation of cultural heritage.
"How's Billy doing?" Black Hawk asked at last.
Machiavelli watched a team of boys playing lacrosse. He made a slight gesture with his hand. "He wasn't too excited to strip down. Apparently, he's more shy than I thought."
Black Hawk laughed a little. Fred offered to show them around so they walked for quite while, listening to Fred describe his future plans and what he hoped to accomplish. Black Hawk and him seemed to revel in the atmosphere- Machiavelli wondered if they missed the environment of their childhoods, now surely long gone.
"Mac, is something wrong?"
Niccolo looked up. "No, nothing. I was just a little sad that so much of your land," he began, before reconsidering his words. He tried again, "the passing of time hasn't always been kind to our memories."
Black Hawk nodded. In that moment, all of Machiavelli's frustrations and annoyances with the Native American floated away; they understood each other completely for once. "My home city of Florence is, of course, still standing, but all of the familiarities are gone and our customs in some cases, changed entirely."
"Well, hopefully, I'll be able to help these people preserve some of their traditions during my stay here," Fred demurred. He got up. "I'm going to pull my stuff out of the jeep. I'll meet up with you before you guys leave."
Black Hawk grasped his shoulder for a second. Checking his watch, he made a motion to the Italian immortal. "It's been hours. Let's go see how he's doing."
They ambled back down the thoroughfare. Entering quietly, they stopped just inside the door but the healer motioned them to come in.
Billy was asleep, tucked between two bear skin furs, it appeared. His hair was sticking up all askew, but even as they walked over, Mary was fixing his hair with a small comb. "It really took it out of him, poor dear," she said, patting his head gently. "But we got through it."
"Is he dressed?" Black Hawk asked, groaning as he sat down beside Billy.
"Oh, yes. He dressed himself afterwards. He's quite the talker, isn't he?" Both Black Hawk and Machiavelli snorted. "He's probably going to sleep for a long while now. You'd be okay now, moving him."
"Well, we can at least sit him up," Black Hawk said. He gestured to Machiavelli. "Want to get behind him so he doesn't fall backwards?"
"Sure."
Billy stirred as they peeled away the layers of blankets over him. He didn't seem to wake up entirely, even when they lifted him into a sitting position. Fred came in, crouching to get through the door, and padded over to where they were.
"What you did seems to have worked," Machiavelli told the gray braided Native American.
"It wouldn't be unusual if he should sleep for a long period of time after what we've done today. He'll be dazed for a day or so, but then he should be himself again."
Machiavelli hugged Billy from behind, catching him before he slumped forward.. "This is basically Billy."
"Hey," Billy slurred. Leaning back, he gave the others a goofy grin. "I'll have you know that…" A snore interrupted the rest of his sentence.
"Is he asleep again? What was the point of waking up?" Black Hawk asked.
"Oh, Billy," Fred said fondly. Getting down on his knees, he embraced the Kid's slumbering form. Niccolo gave the outlaw a push forward, letting Fred take him away. The Chickasaw Indian kissed Billy's temple. "I'm going to miss you."
"Well, you know he's going to make you visit again," Black Hawk drawled. Bending down, he pulled Machiavelli to his feet first, then picked the Kid up as though he was a rag doll. "Okay, Niccolo, let's hit the road."
"Thank you," Machiavelli said to the shaman. "It'll be a load off my mind when he gets better." She nodded, following them out.
It was rather like running a gauntlet, getting back to where their car had been parked. Young children, in a mix of traditional and modern garb ran in and out of the others, peering at them as they bowed their way out and speaking behind their hands to each other. Clapping Fred on the shoulder, he followed Black Hawk out, nodding to those they passed.
"Put him in the passenger seat," Machiavelli suggested. "I can take the back. We can lower this seat down so he can lie down."
"Sure," Black Hawk agreed. Laying Billy down in the indicated seat, he lowered it down so that he was lying as far back as he could. Machiavelli dug through the trunk, finding the blankets from before which he handed over to the other man. "Long day, huh?"
"Si." Machiavelli clambered into the back, leaning back. He felt quite tired himself. "Are you going to be okay to drive back?"
"Oh, sure." The whole car dipped a little as Black Hawk climbed in. They waved to Fred, still standing at the top of the hill looking down at them. "Wonder what Scatty's been doing all day," he mused, pulling out onto the main row.
"There's really no way of knowing…" Machiavelli said, making Black Hawk laugh.
~MB~
Billy stretched, his bones cracking. He twisted his torso so that he arched off the bed and laid back down with a happy sigh. "Just because you can do that now," Machiavelli mumbled. "Doesn't mean you have to."
"Seconded," Scatty said from her place on the futon.
The Kid sat up, grinning lazily. "If you lost use of your arm for two weeks, and then got fucking pneumonia, you'd celebrate too, having finally gotten it back." Rolling over, he threw his arms around the Italian's slender waistline. "And I can tickle you again."
"Don't," Machiavelli gasped, but it was too late.
"You're ticklish?" Scatty said interestedly.
"I'm- not- ticklish," he yipped, curling into his side to fend off Billy's attacks. "Oh, god, Scatty, get him off of me." He wasn't expecting her to join the American in his attack. "Nguh." He made a pathetic squeaking sound as they laid into him. "Guys!"
The Italian was slightly surprised when Billy leaned over and casually kissed him on the cheek, before pulling the switch down on the light. They were cast into relative darkness. Machiavelli shifted slightly, very aware of his breathing and how loud it seemed to be. "Are you comfortable William?"
"I am," Billy breathed in his ear. The American wrapped an arm around the Italian's waist and burrowed in closer to his side. "You need to relax, Mr. Machiavelli," he said sleepily.
Machiavelli looked over at the American sharply. In the dim light, he could just barely see the flash of Billy's teeth. The younger immortal was smiling. "Why are you calling me that?" he asked, his Italian accent creeping into his speech.
"Why are you calling me William?" Billy shot right back. Machiavelli could hear the playfulness in his voice. Billy stroked the Italian's side, all boundaries put away. The outlaw was delighted when Machiavelli actually squealed at one point, the American having unconsciously found a ticklish spot on the tactician. "You're so ticklish, Mac," Billy laughed, scooting over immediately.
"I am not," Machiavelli protested, clutching his sides. "No, don't!" The American began to attack his sides anew, lightly prodding his sides and eliciting peals of laughter from Machiavelli. The tactician laughed so hard he turned bright red. Billy finally took pity on the Italian and stopped but not before Machiavelli had curled into a tight ball, attempting to protect his sides.
"Why did I never realize this before?" Billy said, leaning against the Italian's side. He beamed down at the Italian and couldn't help but trail his fingers lightly over the man's stomach. His fingers provoked a visceral reaction.
"It was a well guarded secret," Machiavelli gasped.
"Are you ticklish too, Scatty?" he asked, twisting to look over at her. She shook her head, backing away from them immediately.
Billy got off of the Italian, perhaps afraid that he was cutting off the man's air supply and perhaps realizing how physically close they were. His absence introduced a sudden coolness to the Italian and the tactician watched Billy sink into the bed with obvious pleasure. The outlaw caught him watching. "Go to sleep, Mac," he murmured sleepily. "I love you so. Where's Scatty? I love her too."
"I love you," Machiavelli said back. He listened to Billy's even breathing and unconsciously moved closer. His fingers crept onto Billy's hand and he closed his eyes.
