Sophie was definitely weary of him; Machiavelli could tell it. He couldn't really blame her- he'd been actively working against her over the summer. Billy, she was less suspicious of, and Scatty, Scatty she seemed to genuinely like. He wanted to apologize to her, but he had the feeling that she was avoiding him in particular and he let her have her space. She wasn't going to trust him without a reason to do so, or at least a history of him respecting her.
He'd been reading upstairs in the study all the next day, but it was getting late now and he wanted to see the others. He felt restless from being inside all day and part of him ached to get out and about, just to be somewhere else. Closing his book, he wondered what the chances were that they could eat out.
They must all be downstairs, he thought, finding both the bedrooms dark and empty. He grabbed Billy's sweater, intending to bring it to the American. Hearing voices, he paused where he was.
"Was Machiavelli really three years old at the beginning of the summer?" he heard Sophie ask Billy. He couldn't help himself- he liked hearing Billy talk about him. He hovered in the hall, wanting to hear the Kid's response.
"He was. He was so cute," Billy said instantly, and he smiled a little. "He was like this big…" Machiavelli couldn't see what the American immortal was doing, but he imagined from experience that Billy was over exaggerating how small he'd been again. "He was the sweetest little boy- you wouldn't believe…"
"Was he still there- mentally? Like, was he actually a child?"
"No… a little of both, I guess," Billy pondered out loud. "His mind was always there, but especially when he was little, there were times where he'd be less of his adult self and more of whatever age he was at, at that current time. It kind of waxed and waned with the time of the day."
"So, why were you the one that had to take care of him?" Machiavelli wondered if anyone else heard the accusatory tone in her voice.
There was a slight pause before Billy answered. "I wasn't the one that had to take care of him, I wanted to. And I wouldn't let anyone else take him from me."
"Yeah, but don't you think…"
Billy interrupted her. "I owed it to Mac, to take care of him. He saved me from dying. He takes care of me in his own way.
"But you really trust him? I could understand when he was in his child's body, but now he's got his aura back, doesn't he? How do you know he's on the right side?"
"Of course he's on my side."
"It's just that manipulation is his strong suit, isn't it?" She cleared her throat, cutting Billy off, because the American immortal had been about to say something. "I'm just saying, how do you know that he's not fooling all of you?"
"Well, if you're going to tar him with that brush, you'd have to do the same to me," Billy protested and Machiavelli was slightly gratified to hear a tone of anger laced underneath his normally reasonable tone. He was tired of being held to the mistakes he'd made in the past- hadn't his actions on Alcatraz proven that he was a better man than he had been?
Scatty spoke up for the first time. "Sophie, I didn't like Niccolo either when we met this summer, but if I trust him now, I think you can too. Give him a chance."
"Hm, maybe."
"Mac's the best guy I know," Billy told her and Machiavelli felt his heart swell. At that particular moment, the Italian immortal didn't care what Sophie said next; he felt like he was going to burst from happiness.
"You're such a funny pair, you know that don't you? You're completely different," she said softly, Machiavelli straining to hear her voice from where he was hidden. He slipped down so that he was sitting on the steps, wanting to know what the outlaw was going to say.
"Mac and I are good friends for each other, I think," Billy countered, not aggressively, but insistently. "He's smarter than me, but I remind him that he needs to have fun."
Machiavelli got up, realizing too late that someone was coming out of the living room. The Shadow gave him an arch smile, which he returned shyly. Scatty sat down beside him. "Here you are," she said softly.
"I can't help it," he told her. "I yearn for information."
"I know that."
"Do you need to go upstairs?"
"I was just looking for you. Are you getting hungry?"
He nodded. "And a bit lonesome, I think…"
"Why've you been hiding upstairs all day?" she asked, sitting beside him.
"Don't get the feeling that she likes me very much," he mumbled. "Hers is probably the first appropriate response I've gotten since this whole thing started, you know. I still am not sure why you and the others forgave me so quickly."
"Who could stay mad at you when you were so sweet looking?"
He half smiled. "So, if I had stayed my adult, curmudgeon-y self, it would have been much harder for you to come to like me?"
"Don't know- perhaps. I'm a stubborn person after all. I was prepared to dislike you even when you were cute." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. "Why don't you come downstairs? She can't come to like you if she doesn't know you."
"Sure," he agreed. He offered her a hand up, but she was already pulling herself to her feet on her own. "Are you hungry?"
"I'm never really hungry," she told him, slipping her arm around his.
"Hmm, well would you come out with us if we went somewhere?"
"Where are we going?"
"Wherever you want," he promised. He rapped his knuckles against the frame of the doorway before entering the living room, feeling a bit silly. "Hey," he said, his eyes meeting Billy's before they saw anyone else. "I was getting a bit hungry upstairs."
"We were just talking about you," Billy told him, getting up. He stretched, his joints popping down the line.
"All good things, I'm sure," Machiavelli quipped.
"Oh, of course, Mac." Billy grinned at him. "I don't have a bad thing to say about you in my vocabulary." Behind them, the tactician could feel the newest immortal in the room stare a little at them, but he didn't pay it much mind. He gave the Kid a tiny grin. "What are we having for dinner? Do we even have food? I feel like it's been a while since we went grocery shopping…"
"I'd like to go out to eat, if you don't mind," he said instead to the room at large.
"Sure, I have a new place I'd like to try." Billy held his leather jacket open for Sophie, who put it on hesitantly. "We should really get you a good winter coat," he told her kindly. "You'll freeze to death otherwise."
"I thought the point was that I couldn't freeze to death," she said smoothly.
He waved his hand. "Semantics. You'll still be unnecessarily cold and that's unpleasant. Why put up with unpleasantness if you don't have to?" He hung back, the two female immortals moving towards the car. Lightly, he touched Machiavelli's hand. "Mac, I haven't forgotten my promise from earlier. But I wonder if I could have a day more just to consider my options?"
"I suppose if you think it will help, William."
"I think it will. I've been thinking about things a lot, you know."
"Well, alright. But just one more day. No longer. I don't like things being so awkward between us."
"Deal."
~MB~
"I'm excited that the Flamels are going to be here," Billy told the Italian, bouncing on his feet a little.
"Yes, I'm glad to see them too, but you seem extra happy."
"Well, I have a surprise for you," the Kid said, bumping shoulders with his tall companion. "I almost told you last night at dinner, but I've been trying really hard to keep it to myself, and I think we're going to make it this time. No secrets give away." He nodded as if assuring himself.
"What's my surprise?"
The outlaw scoffed. "Mac, it's hardly a surprise if I tell you before it happens, now isn't it?"
"But you could give me a hint," Machiavelli wheedled. Billy just shook his head, his eyes shining brightly, live coals glimmering in a fire. "Well, I'm glad you're so happy today. I think you're the happiest person in here."
Billy glanced around the airport. "I have a good life," he said cheerfully. "And enough experience to say that being able to wait in an airport for someone you know and love is a priceless blessing…"
Machiavelli felt like his breath caught in his throat sometimes, listening to the outlaw. "There they are," he pointed out, recognizing the casual elegance of Perenelle from the minute she stepped off of the plane. "No sign of your surprise though…"
"Oh, Billy, cher," she said, rapidly making her way over to them. People separated unconsciously to let her by. Billy looked surprised, but pleased, when she hugged him. A moment's decision was all that separated them before he threw his arms around her.
Nicholas appeared next to Niccolo, his hands in his pocket. "Bonjour," he said wryly.
"Bonjour. Comment vas-tu?" Machiavelli murmured.
"Achy," the Frenchman complained lightly. "We saved some money by buying commercial. Never again, my friend." Seeing that his wife had released Billy, the Alchemyst stepped forward, kissing Billy's cheek.
"You've grown a lot since we last saw you," Perenelle said, also embracing Machiavelli.
"Ah, yes, I'm finally back to my full height," he commented, following her over to the baggage claim. "Oh, Billy…" He stopped where he was.
"I asked them to bring the pets," Billy told him excitedly, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to where their cat and dog were crated. "Our babies, Mac! See, I figured," he explained, fixing Machiavelli's collar, "that the Flamels couldn't leave them alone for the two weeks or so that they are visiting us so they might as well come along. We're going to keep Georgette in our apartment and the Flamels will bring the Pup back to Montana after our visit, cause he really deserves to live out in a wide open space…" He knelt down in front of the cages, poking fingers through the slots. "I missed you," he said keenly.
Machiavelli rested a hand on Billy's back, using the outlaw to stabilize himself as he leaned over to look at the animals. "Hello, tesora," he said to the feline. "You look a little scared, honey."
"Isn't it great, Mac?'
"It is. You did good, William."
Getting everyone into the car was a little more difficult than Machiavelli had planned and, privately, he thought that Billy should have foreseen this difficulty beforehand. Perenelle, they let have the front passenger seat, while Machiavelli and Nicholas were jammed together in the back, a tiny cat carrier balanced on the Italian's knees and the husky curled in the Frenchman's lap. The Pup's case had been tied to the top of the car, while two suitcases (one of clothing and one filled with books) had been jammed in their trunk.
Billy seemed blissfully indifferent to the pandemonium unfolding around him. He chatted incessantly with the Flamels about Sophie and the recent developments they'd just become aware of. Both Flamels were shocked to hear that she'd become an immortal.
Machiavelli sensed that Nicholas at least, like him, was rather uncomfortable when it came to the youngest female immortal. While Perenelle and Billy discussed at some length the necessary precautions she would have to take in re-entering the shadow realm, Machiavelli and Nicholas exchange a silent half glance. Niccolo was a little relieved to find someone just as mistrusted by the female as he was; he could deal with having to earn back her trust, but it was nice not to be the sole pariah of the house again.
"Oh, by the way, Perry," Billy said with forced casualness in his voice. "Do you still want to go looking for my mother?"
"Of course Billy. Sophie was always a very determined girl," she said, glancing back at her husband to gauge his reaction. "It's not likely that we'll be able to hold her, if she wants to leave again. Nicholas is going to offer his help though, if she'll allow it."
"We're partly responsible for what happened with the twins," he agreed from the backseat. "Even if it was fated all along, we could have done things differently… So I'll go with Sophie and you can go with Perenelle."
"Niccolo's coming too, aren't you?" Billy asked, craning back to look at him.
"Of course, but keep your eyes on the road, will you?" Machiavelli said, motioning forward.
"Good, cause I need you there. I really do. But Perenelle, are you really sure you want to waste your time like this?" Billy asked anxiously, glancing at the older Frenchwoman. "Cause Mac and I were talking and there's a good chance that we won't find my momma there. Which means we'll have driven eight hours both ways, for nothing."
"Billy, cher, if there's a chance that she's there- any chance at all- it's worth it," she assured him.
Machiavelli, however, thought he understood what Billy was doing- he was trying to deliberately set his expectations low so that he wouldn't be disappointed. He knew why Billy would want to take this precaution. Having lost all of his loved ones, it would be painful to think that he might make contact with them again, only to find that it wasn't possible in the end.
"Here's our street," Billy said finally, turning onto the tree lined Rittenhouse Square. "We'll just park and then you'll be in."
"That's it there," Machiavelli pointed out to Nicholas, indicating the brownstone with its brickwork and black shuttered windows.
"It's nice," Nicholas commented. "Billy does have good taste sometimes, now doesn't he?" he teased, patting the outlaw's shoulder.
"I have impeccable taste," the Kid crowed, puffing out his chest a little. "Here, we are," he added, parking the car expertly. "We'll come up from the basement, we can reach the stairs through the kitchen… Ah, here's Scatty!"
"Nick," she said, dropping the carrot she'd been peeling.
"Oopfh," he groaned a little, staggering as she tackled him. Taking a few steps back, he laughed, giving her a kiss. "You must have missed me- you're not usually this affectionate."
"I've spent the last two months living with these two," she said indicating the outlaw and the tactician. "Touchy and Feely."
"I'm Touchy," Billy told Nicholas brightly. He laughed at his own pun. "I'm glad you're making dinner, Scatty, I feel like my stomach is dissolving as we speak… Want to see your room? We had to put you in the study cause we don't actually have that many bedrooms here…"
Machiavelli listened to the Kid ramble on about the house. He could hear Sophie's voice join Billy's, the conversation animated but unintelligible from where he stood with the Shadow. "Need help making dinner?" he asked her, wanting to be useful.
"That would be nice." She gave him a bowl of chicken to brown up. "I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk since Sophie got here. How are things with you and the Kid?"
"Okay… we get along well, but there's something strange up about him lately, have you noticed that?" He looked at her, wanting to gauge her reaction, but she ducked into the cupboard, perhaps looking for something for the soup they were making, perhaps blocking him from observing her. "He's pretty happy today, but the last couple of days, he's been… off. Do you know why Billy's acting funny?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me?"
"No."
"Ah, I guess that's fair," he sighed. "Hmm…" He turned over the chicken in the pan, revealing a golden brown side. "Ow, why'd you hit me?"
"You're not supposed to just give up, you're supposed to be grilling me for details. There might be something I can answer."
"But you can't tell me which questions to ask?" he said, rubbing his arm. "Or better yet, just tell me the answers without the questions?"
"No."
"Okay, so this is like that horrible twenty questions game I've heard of…" He squinted. "Does it have to do with me?"
"Obviously."
He frowned. "I've done something wrong?" She shook her head. "But he's worried about me?"
"He's worried… about you."
Machiavelli tore the bag of spinach open with more force than was necessary. Leaves exploded all over the counter top and he scrambled to pick them up. "What on earth does that even mean?"
"He's not worried about you like he thinks you're going to get in trouble. He's worried… about what you might think of him if he tells you what he's thinking about."
"Oh. But then, why did he agree to tell me what he's been thinking about then?"
"Has he?" She tilted her head. "Maybe that means he'll actually let you know how he's feeling."
"Will I be upset by what he tells me?"
"No, definitely not."
He looked up in surprise. "Well, if it's not something that's going to upset me, why doesn't he want to talk to me?"
"He doesn't know it won't upset you."
Niccolo groaned. "This is crazy. You can't tell me anything?" She shook her head, pointing out the vow she'd taken with the other American immortal again. "Okay, here's a different question. Do the Flamels know how I feel about him?"
"No, I haven't told anybody."
Machiavelli felt relieved. With no foreseeable hope of winning Billy over, he imagined he must look quite ridiculous, chasing after a man who was hundreds of years younger than himself.
They both went quiet hearing footsteps. Billy thundered down the stairs, grinning wildly. "I love a full house," he said, wrapping his arms around Scatty. "Do you need help making dinner?"
"We're almost done, kid. Why don't you count out some silverware? There's- what? Six of us tonight?"
"I can do that," he agreed immediately. "Hey, Mac, guess what? Perenelle wants to start looking for my mother this week," Billy told the Italian immortal, not giving him any time to make any guesses. "Two days from now, I think she said."
Machiavelli straightened his tie unconsciously. "That's nice."
"And you are going to come with me when we start looking for my mother, aren't you? You meant it, when you said you'd come, right?" the Kid asked anxiously. "Cause I want you with me."
"Of course I will."
"Good. I thought maybe you wouldn't cause of your date…"
Machiavelli looked over in surprise. "I don't know when I'm going to meet up with Jill at this point, but you come first. And you said you'd come with me, remember?"
"That's true, I did."
Machiavelli took down six plates. "You keep your promise and I keep mine. And we both will love Scatty in the mean time."
"Of course. Scatty's the best," Billy agreed right away. He grinned at her. She sighed and looked over at Machiavelli, who kissed her on the temple. "You love us," the Kid told her enticingly. She shook her head, but finally smiled. "I knew it," he crowed. He hurtled upstairs with the silverware jangling.
"Is it painful, loving him?"
"Yes."
