AN: Thanks as always for the kind reviews to the story. They always motivate me to write more! I've had pneumonia for the past couple of weeks so that's the cause of the delay... Funny how just when I grant my characters health at last I lose my own. ;)


Sunday had been quiet for the immortals, each finding their own space to be in. Billy had been particularly pensive, Machiavelli thought, but a nonverbal conversation with Scatty had told him to lay off, at least for the moment. Billy would tell him what was up in due time.

Monday morning, however, he was dismayed to find the Kid's side of the bed already empty when he woke up, the covers disheveled and a trail of night clothes leading towards the door to the hall. Straining his ears, he couldn't hear the shower; Billy must already have gone off somewhere.

He got up and couldn't help it; per his OCD, he had to make the bed. He also gathered up the discarded clothes from the American immortal and set them into the basket against the wall before getting dressed himself. Pulling up the blinds, he glanced out at the world. Already, the snow from the beginning of the week had disappeared. It was now misting lightly, the whole world wet and grayish in the streets below.

He found Scatty upstairs in the study, curled in one of the armchairs like a cat. "Hey," he rasped. He made a face, coughing a little to clear his throat. "Good morning." He was pleased to sound more like himself that time.

"Hey," she said, straightening a little in her chair. "Looking for Billy?"

"Well, yes, but also for you. Where is he?"

"I don't know… he said something about needing some time alone and he went off…"

Machiavelli frowned. "Didn't we all just spend yesterday pretty much alone?"

"Well, that's what I thought, but…" She shrugged, watching him closely. "Have you talked to him much since your date?"

"Do you think that's why he's upset?" She shrugged again and he sighed. "No, not too much. He's been in kind of a funny mood, hasn't he? I mean, we did speak for a bit that night, but yesterday I left him alone. Do you know why he's acting funny?"

"Yes, but like you, he wants to keep it between the two of us," she said stiffly. "And I'm bound to that, so I can only talk to you about your problem."

"Oh, okay," he said, feeling a shiver of fear. "I haven't offended him though?"

"No, different than that. He'll come around," she said bracingly. "The three of us should do lunch out somewhere. Get us away from here."

"I'd like that," he agreed cautiously. "Why don't you call him? He might respond better to you."

"Okay." She fished her phone out of her pocket. Punching in Billy's number, she let it ring. Machiavelli perched on the couch, listening as the Kid picked up. She put it on speaker phone. "Hey," she called.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Good. Hey, listen Billy, we were wondering?"

"Is Mac there?" he interrupted. She said yes. "Oh, good. Hey Mac!"

"Hey, caro," Niccolo called, a faint smile breaking over his features. "Where are you, angelo?"

"Ah, I just went for a ride," Billy said, sounding airy, but they could hear the nervousness hiding beneath his jaunty tone. "You know I need to get out of the city. I'm an open air kind of guy."

"Well if you've had enough of your open air, we were wondering if you wanted to go out to lunch somewhere," Scatty broke in.

"Uhm… can we make it a dinner kind of thing? I'm kind of far away."

"Where are you?"

"I'm visiting Fred," Billy mumbled. "I know we just left him last week, but I wanted to- I thought that he… I figured if I was going somewhere I should have a destination in mind. So I went to visit him. So I won't be back in the city for a couple of hours, even if I left right now. Is that alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, sure. Take your time."

"I know where we can go though, if you don't already have some place in mind," Billy said swiftly. "I've been thinking about it for a while. It's called Ralph's Italian Restaurant- it's the oldest Italian restaurant in the country."

"You usually don't bring me out to Italian restaurants."

"Well that's cause I can't compete with actual Italian food. But they've been around for a hundred and fifteen years, that's almost the same as me. So I figure it's got to be good," Billy's said spiritedly. "Do you want to?"

"Yes, Billy, that sounds lovely," Machiavelli said with half a glance at Scatty to make sure it was okay. "We can meet you there. Say, about seven o'clock?"

"Okay. If you take a taxi over, I can drive us back, obviously. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

~MB~

"Wait, what do you mean you're not coming?" Machiavelli asked, turning to see Scatty already halfway up the steps.

"Just a gentle push in the right direction, Niccolo," she said evasively. "You have fun with him."

"You never give up do you?" he asked, but he wasn't upset with her. It was reassuring to him that she could continue to have faith, even when he began to have his doubts.

She shook her head. "I ordered myself a pizza with your credit card, by the way," she called. He gave her a sardonic wave, and, stepping into the road, flagged down the taxi she'd called. He gave the driver the address of the restaurant, half listening to the man prattle on about the state of the economy and half wondering who had done what in this backseat.

It was almost a relief to arrive at the place, if just to get away from this man's increasingly negative views. He paid his fare before quickly getting out and onto the sidewalk. Walking along briskly, he felt the buzz of his phone, but he'd already saw the Kid up ahead and Billy turned around the next minute, saw him, and put his phone away.

"Where's Scatty?" were the first words Billy said to him and he felt a flash of annoyance. "Is she sick?"

"She said something about wanting a pizza," he murmured, stepping into lobby.

Billy followed close at his heels. "Well, as long as she isn't sick," he said, approaching the manager. "It's under William Bonney, but our third member won't be joining us."

"Right this way," she said, grabbing two menus and leading them through the dining room. Billy held out his hand to let the Italian immortal go first; they were seated in a corner by the window, the Kid taking the seat to the right of Machiavelli.

"You're more dressed up than I thought you'd be," Niccolo commented to Billy.

The outlaw flashed a smile. "I realized that we were going to a fancy restaurant about a half hour ago, so I bought a pair of dress pants and the shirt at a suit shop and changed in the car. I always keep a tie in the glove compartment…"

"Why, you never wear ties?"

"That's true, but I threw this tie in there about 2 decades ago and I've never taken it out since. I don't intentionally keep it in the glove compartment, I just do, is what I should say." Billy fiddled with the menu, flipping through pages rapidly, without really looking at them. He moved his drink over and then moved it again. "What are you going to have?"

"I was thinking of the veal parmigiana," Machiavelli mused. "What about you?"

Billy made his way through the menu again, albeit slower this time. "Chicken trombino. What kind of wine should I get?"

"You never drink."

"I know. But I think I will tonight."

"You would get a white wine, like Sauvignon Blanc," Machiavelli said cautiously. He put his menu down. "How was Fred?"

The outlaw cleared his throat. "He was good. He's happy, I think."

"Good."

There was a nasty moment of silence between the two of them. Machiavelli was beginning to feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Something was clearly off between the two of them tonight and he wished now, more than ever, that Scatty had come with them. This was clearly a mistake. They were both relieved when their waitress came over to them. Feeling that it was going to be a long night, he ordered himself a glass of Beaujolais.

"Hey, Mac?" He nodded to show he was listening. "What do you want to eat at Thanksgiving this year?"

He blinked. "I don't know," he said honestly, surprised. "I suppose whatever is customary. I've never celebrated Thanksgiving before. Do you usually celebrate it?"

Billy held up a palm which he rocked back and forth. "Some years. Holidays can be kind of lonely," he admitted. Machiavelli nodded in understanding; the tension between them eased. "After my mother died, I thought I would grow up and have lots of babies and have a big family, but then I became immortal and I realized too late that the two were incompatible."

Machiavelli didn't like the way the conversation was progressing. "Well, we won't be alone this year. That's a good thing."

Billy smiled. "Yeah, that's true. We should actually have a pretty big group of people, won't we, with the Flamels and Scatty and the rest of them?"

"And we'll have each other. I always felt alone before I met you."

"I won't leave you alone again," Billy promised him and Machiavelli relaxed. "We should get together every year for the holidays," he added suddenly.

Machiavelli felt a twinge of fear at the mention of the future. "That shouldn't be hard," he pointed out carefully. "Seeing as we're banded together for the foreseeable future."

They both went quiet when their meal came. Taking a sip of his wine, Machiavelli glanced out at the restaurant around them. There was an older couple at the nearest table, laughing at each other in low tones; he felt jealous of them. They were free to love who they wanted without fear. A young woman two tables down caught his eye as he was looking around and he hurriedly looked down.

"Your birthday's coming up, isn't it?" Niccolo asked the Kid.

Billy looked surprised. "Oh, yeah, it is. Right around Thanksgiving."

"It's the 23rd, isn't it?" Billy nodded. "What would you like for your birthday?"

"You don't have to get me anything," the outlaw laughed. "It'll be enough to have friends around this year. Last year, Black Hawk was on assignment- something for Kukulan- and some of my other friends were scouting a shadow realm."

"So what did you do?"

Billy smiled self-consciously. "Went up to my cabin. There wasn't anywhere to go. It actually fell on Thanksgiving last year, so everywhere is closed, except if I wanted to go shopping."

"You don't strike me as the shopping type."

"No, not really," Billy scoffed.

"Hmm. Well I'm still going to get you something." Almost unconsciously, he touched the pendant around his neck. "I'm going to figure it out."

The Kid laughed. "Okay," he agreed. "I look forward to it. But you know… I'd be happy with a new pair of socks and a chocolate cake."

"I'll let Scatty know that."

"You're a good guy, Mac," Billy told him, grabbing his arm. He squeezed it, smile lines appearing around his eyes. "I've been lucky all my life, barring a few major incidents."

"You deserve to be happy. You're still very young-," Billy laughed a little at that, but he nodded, "-I hope you find someone who makes you happy. Who knows, you might get your big family yet."

He had meant to cheer up Billy, to prove that he could support the American immortal's happiness in whatever form it took, but there was something a little lost about the way Billy was regarding him which made his stomach clench. "I want you to have a family. You deserve it."

"You do too, Mac," Billy pointed out.

"I had a big family," Niccolo reminded him. "Six babies. I should have spent more time with them. You can't imagine how I regret it now…" He cleared his throat. "This has all been very serious. Do you like your dinner?"

"It's good, try some." Before he could do anything, the Kid had speared some of his pasta on his fork and held it out for him. Feeling a little ridiculous, Machiavelli let the outlaw feed him. They were definitely getting some covert looks, but Billy didn't seem to notice. The American immortal used his thumb to swipe away some of the sauce that had trickled down his chin. He forgot how to swallow and choked for a split second before common sense kicked back in. His eyes watering, he cleared his throat. "This is a good restaurant. We should go here more often."

"We should. Niccolo?" Billy was giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, you can have some of mine."

Billy speared a piece of meat immediately, as though afraid the Italian immortal would change his mind. "I was actually going to ask you something different, but this is good too."

"Oh, well what were you going to ask?"

"Do you miss being little? Like you were this summer?"

"Some parts of it, I suppose," Niccolo said hesitantly.

"Like what?" Billy prodded.

"Like… I don't know, Billy, like you reading to me. I liked that. And-," Machiavelli faltered, feeling embarrassed. "The way you talked to me was a little different."

The Kid frowned. "How'd I talk to you differently?"

"I don't know. It's sort of the same, but sort of different. I can't describe it. You told me you loved me more. I know we're both grown men," he stammered. "But it was nice."

Billy was watching him steadily. Machiavelli realized that he didn't know what was going on in the Kid's head- he might think he was stupid or he might be embarrassed by what the Italian was saying- he couldn't tell. "I miss being able to hug you," he offered quietly. "And kiss you goodnight." Niccolo nodded.

"That was nice," he agreed. Machiavelli watched Billy look out the window. "What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking of ordering dessert, what about you?" Machiavelli pushed the menu aside, laying a heavy hand on it. Billy sighed, but met his gaze. "I'm okay. It's nothing."

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed, taking his hand off.

Billy scanned the menu. "Maybe we should just get something at home? I'm starting to get tired…"

"We can do that."

"Are we getting dessert tonight?" Their waitress was back. Machiavelli was half glad to see her.

"I don't think so," Billy decided. "Unless- wait are you sure you don't want something?" Machiavelli shook his head. Their waitress told them she'd come back with the bill and they nodded.

Billy tapped his knuckles on Machiavelli's arm. "I love you, Niccolo. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, William. You're a good friend."

The Kid paused for a second. "Do you love me too?"

Machiavelli looked over at him. "Of course I do."

Relief flooded the outlaw's features. "I've always been afraid that the relationship we had over the summer was just a fluke," he admitted. "Don't you think that one day you'll wake up and realize you've been hanging around with dumb old Billy?"

"I would never think that about you," Machiavelli said firmly.

Billy nodded, obviously turning it over in his mind. He took the receipt the waitress brought over, holding it up to the light. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Know why I call you Niccolo sometimes?"

"Because it's my name?"

Billy shook his head. "Cause you smile every time I do. And I love your smile."

Machiavelli couldn't help but beam at his companion, feeling a fresh surge of affection for the Kid. "Thank you," he stammered, feeling like his heart had burst. "Nobody ever tells me things like that."

"People should," Billy said earnestly. "I love every time that I see you smile, Niccolo. I want you to be happy, every day."

The Italian immortal didn't know what to say to that. He squeezed Billy's hand under the table, shaking it a little before letting go. "You always make me happy Billy. Life seemed to be standing still for a long time until I met you. I'll pay," he intervened quickly, reaching for his wallet. He left cash on the table.

They grabbed Scatty's to go bag, wending their way out of the restaurant. It was already very dark when they went outside; a thick darkness which seemed to consume them whenever they stepped between the streetlamps. It was a slight sense of relief that Machiavelli recognized Billy's Thunderbird a block up.

Machiavelli got in first, being closer to the car. He watched Billy cross in front and open his door.

Billy got in, ducking his head. He shut the door with a snap. "Okay, let's see where our errant Scathach is," he said, revving the engine.

"Billy can I ask you one last question?"

"Sure." Backing out, he pulled through. He went to put his hand behind Machiavelli's chair, as he usually did when he was driving, but this time, he abruptly decided against it. He shot the Italian immortal a quick, strained smile.

"Do things seem weird between us tonight, William?"

"A little bit," Billy admitted. "That's probably on me. I've been in a funny mood all day."

"Is it my fault?"

"No…"

"Talk to me, Billy," Machiavelli begged. "We can talk about anything. You know how much I love you." He watched the Kid. "Billy, you're still acting strange. You have been all afternoon. Are you feeling all right?"

"Sure," the outlaw said quickly.

"Maybe you're sick again," Niccolo insisted. He put a hand to Billy's forehead at the next stop light. "You don't have a fever."

"I'm just tired, I guess."

"Didn't you sleep last night?"

"I was up for a while… I was thinking about some stuff…" He trailed off, looking evasive.

"Care to share?" Machiavelli prodded a little, starting to worry a little. Perhaps I did something wrong.

"Not quite yet," Billy said quietly. He glanced again at the tactician. "Don't worry, Mac, this is all on me. I'm not actually trying to keep a secret from you, Mac, I just don't want to go off on some half-baked idea." He paused. "If I haven't figured it out in a week, I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

They pulled up to the brownstone. "I can get the garage door open," Machiavelli offered, opening his door. He ran ahead, pulling the door up and ducking out of the way. He leaned on Billy's window the minute the Kid parked the car; he tapped on it and Billy rolled the window down so they could talk. "Have you ever considered getting a remote garage door opener?"

"And miss you getting your workout, fatso? Wouldn't dream of it."

Niccolo pushed back, mildly offended. "I am in no way fat."

Billy got out of the car; he touched Machiavelli's cheek lightly. "No, Mac, you're… you're perfect. Let's find Scatty," he said abruptly, coughing slightly. "I've had too much wine."

"Just cause you think I'm perfect, you also think you've had too much wine?" Machiavelli asked, jogging up the stairs behind him. "Many people think I'm perfect. They can't all be drunk," the Italian teased.

"You're very funny when you get drunk, Mac."

"I only had one glass. So did you. We're not that drunk," Machiavelli pointed out reasonably.

Billy half smiled. "I suppose that's true."

"You know it is."

They came out on the first floor landing. Billy hitched a full smile on his face, ducking into the living room. "We're home! We brought you a meal in case your pizza didn't work out." Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. Machiavelli sat down by her side, raising his eyebrows at her ever so slightly. He shook his head at her unasked question.